Hell Hath No Fury
by Little.Miss.Chloe
Summary: Ours is the Fury, those are the words of House Baratheon. And every young Baratheon child grows up memorizing them. But never have the words held more meaning than when Lenora Baratheon, the only true-born heir to the Iron Throne finds out the truth of her family, and of the kingdom. When she is left at the hands of the Starks will Lenora find an ally or an enemy?
1. Chapter One: Prologue

_Cersei_

She should have been happy. By all accounts she should have been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

She was married to the King. Not the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name. The King that the people of the Seven Kingdoms had lived in fear of for years. No, the old, Mad King was gone. She was married to the new king; a young, handsome king. One who was beloved of the people.

There were many maidens across the Seven Kingdoms who would have delighted in being Robert Baratheon's chosen wife. She was not one of them. She had not been given a choice.

The man, no, the King she had married was young. He was handsome. He was strong and brave, to be sure. But he had not been her choice. And she had not been his. Their marriage had been one of convenience. They both had loved others.

But Robert's love was dead. And hers was forbidden. And her father had practically bought Robert his throne, it only seemed right that he also named the young King's wife after the war was won. It seemed little surprise to anyone when he named his own, beautiful daughter.

Her beauty was not enough to tempt the new King though. He mentioned his first betrothed often, even calling her name out on their wedding night. He compared her to his first love. And she always came up wanting. He was heartbroken and had a temper and she seemed to always be pushing his buttons.

She had made the mistake once of suggesting that he should not have been the King. The war had started when the Mad King's son had kidnapped a Stark girl from the North. Her older brother had rode down to King's Landing to demand her be returned to her family and the Mad Targaryen had imprisoned him and ransomed him out to his father. The old fool had followed orders and rode down to King's Landing only to be burned to death by wildfire and had his son's head cut off for his trouble.

It was then that Lord Stark's youngest son, Eddard, the new Lord of Winterfell, had taken up arms against the Mad King. The war was called Robert's Rebellion, and it was Robert Baratheon who was seated on the throne, but it had always been Ned Stark's war. And it was Ned Stark that the people would have truly rejoiced in seeing on the Iron Throne.

But after the war Ned had seen his best friend put on the throne and then had quietly returned to Winterfell to marry his brother's betrothed and mourn the deaths of his family.

She told him that Ned Stark would have made a better king after a night when he had been too busy drinking and whoring to fulfill his duty as her husband and king. The look of defeat in his eyes when he had slapped her across her face and told her to keep her mouth closed had been all she needed to see to know that he agreed with her.

Yes, she should have been the happiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. She was married to King Robert Baratheon, she was Queen. She had been born a Lannister of Casterly Rock with all the riches that attended the family name. She was gold of hair and complexion and had more jewels than she could wear in a lifetime.

She was pregnant at a time when the kingdom desperately needed an heir to secure Robert's throne and line of succession. Her future looked bright, golden even. And yet, she could not find it in herself to smile when she felt the young babe kick within her. She could not delight in the knowledge that within a few short weeks she would hold the child in her arms. She could find no joy in knowing that if the child within her belly was a boy as the maesters predicted that her place as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms would be safe forever.

She should have been the happiest woman in the Westeros. But instead she was bitter and betrayed.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He had believed that his sister would be a better actress than this. He knew that he alone knew her better than any other in the Seven Kingdoms. But she was so bad at hiding her displeasure that he was not the only one in the castle who knew she was unhappy.

The servants were talking.

And when servants talked in the castle, people talked in the streets.

He supposed that it was his fault. He had been the one to suggest that they put an end to things between them after all. He had not meant permanently, but the way Cersei had railed against him it would have seemed that way.

She had called him weak. And spineless. She had thrown that vile name at him, just to hurt him. Kingslayer. She had gone through every emotion imaginable, trying to get him to stay.

At once angry - using bitter words in an attempt to goad him into changing his mind. Then sad - her green eyes filling with tears, making it hard for him to turn away from her. Then enchanting - smiling at him with that bewitching smile she had inherited from their mother. And finally simply untying her robe and stepping out of it, naked as the day they were born - showing him exactly what he was trying to give up.

He could have happily taken her right then; but it was that, the last attempt that had steeled his reserve and forced him to push her away from him. At one point she had said that she needed him. And maybe that was true, but what he needed to worry about was what the kingdom needed.

And right now, the kingdom needed an heir. One that was completely and obviously Robert's. One that people would look at and without question, know that it belonged to the King. A boy child, an heir with the dark hair and grey eyes of the Baratheon line.

Jaime and Cersei had never been as sneaky as they liked to think they were. There were already quiet whispers around Lannisport of what the two of them did behind closed doors. And their younger brother Tyrion had made more than one sarcastic slight about them. The last thing they needed, the last thing the Seven Kingdoms needed was for those whispers to spread to King's Landing.

So he had made a vow to himself to stay away, to stay away from Cersei until she had produced a legitimate heir to Robert. One that the King and the people of Westeros would not be able to question. His sister had called him a fool, she had told him that she would never be able to produce a child with a man she was so little attracted to and she had slapped him across the face when he had told her that a woman need not be attracted to her husband to do the deed, she need only the patience to lay on her back and spread her legs while he took what he wanted.

She refused to speak to him for a week after that comment. But what he had said had been true and within a matter of a month or two after the wedding there had been a royal announcement to the people of King's Landing and in Westeros beyond, that Queen Cersei was with child.

As much as Cersei had said that she hated him. As angry as she had been. He knew that deep down, his sister would be grateful to him one day. That one day, Robert might get suspicious of her and that she would be able to parade this child in front him - this heir with his eyes, and his hair and she would be able to tell him to look at what she had done for him.

Robert may have won the war for the Seven Kingdoms, but it would be Cersei who would secure the throne.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robert_

Gods, but the woman was infuriating. There were days when he was sure that she was trying to bait him, trying to make him angry at her. He wondered in part if it was his fault; he never tried to hard to hide the fact that he was still in love with _her._

Lyanna was the only woman he would ever love. That much Robert knew for fact. There was no woman in all the Seven Kingdoms and the world beyond that would compare to her. Least of all Cersei Lannister.

They were different to be sure. Lyanna had been small, a slight little thing - a girl one felt compelled to protect and watch over. Cersei was tall, almost as tall as himself - her body was sharp lines and strong muscles, Cersei could protect herself. Lyanna had been dark haired and dark eyed, like all the other Starks. Cersei was as gold as the sun, a perfect human representation of the lion of her house. Lyanna worshiped the old gods. Cersei worshiped no one, save herself and perhaps that brother of hers. Lyanna had been gentle and quiet - she was no push over, the girl had a quiet strength and stubbornness like all Northerners, but she knew when to hide it. Cersei wore her strength like a badge, though Robert often wondered if she used it more as a shield than anything else. Lyanna ... Robert would have married Lyanna without a moment's pause. Cersei ... he had needed to be convinced of Cersei.

Funnily enough, it had been Ned who had first suggested the Lannister bitch to Robert. Just after the end of the war, while they were both still mourning the loss of Ned's sister. Robert could remember the day like it was yesterday. They were back at Winterfell after having laid Lyanna to rest. Robert hadn't been able to find the words to express his gratitude to his friend for having a statue made for her among the others of the Northern Kings and Lords of Winterfell.

Ned had waited until they were each one tankard of ale in before he had turned to Robert and told the new King that he needed to find himself a wife. Robert was shocked, but before he could vocalize his shock Ned had surprised him further by suggesting that the wife be Cersei Lannister.

It was no secret the Ned Stark hated the Lannisters and that they, in turn, hated him. Perhaps it was the sheer absurdity that New would be suggesting this at all that had kept Robert from upending the table and storming out of the room.

Instead he sat. And he drank. And he listened as Ned explained all the benefits of the match. The Lannisters controlled the Westerlands and were Wardens of the West. They had 60,000 men under their power. They had gold. Ned understood that his friend would just as soon not marry, to take time to mourn the loss of the woman he loved, but Ned was also a smart man. He saw what Robert, in his grief, could not. That while he had won the war and was seated on the Iron Throne it would never well and truly be his until he had an heir. Ned pointed out that Robert would always have the support of the North, but the Lannisters were a tricky sort, the only way to secure their support would be to marry one of them. To give them an heir that would sit on the throne of Westeros, one they would never be able to abandon.

It was then, once Robert had drunkenly agreed to the match that he began to cry. He cried for Lyanna; he cried for himself; he cried for his best friend, nay brother, and all that Ned had lost during the war to put him on the throne.

Ned, the strong Northern man, had cried too.

And then, once their tears were dry, and the ale was finished. Robert had sent his Raven down to Lannisport to propose the match to Tywin Lannister.

He had never admitted it to Ned, but watching that Raven fly away - a blackspot against the grey of the Northern sky - had felt like a death sentence to him.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Gods this was a hard chapter to post.  
Not sure if you read the first edit, but I forgot how much the "copy and paste" option hated me.  
So, here's version two.  
I hope you enjoyed it, it's a prologue, of sorts. Setting us up for some very exciting things to come in the future.  
Stay tuned!  
Much love,  
Chloe


	2. Chapter Two: Hear Me Roar

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The Reading and Enjoying is for you ... the Reviews are for me!)_

* * *

 _Cersei_

It was more painful than they had told her, childbirth. It was harder, took longer, and with each passing minute became more and more painful. She could not help but think of her poor mother, her beautiful mother who had gone through this twice. The first time she had pushed two screaming babes into the world. The second time, more pain, resulting in her death.

She turned wide, frightened green eyes on her brother. Silently asking him if she was going to turn out like her mother; dead, for bringing a child into the world. Her brother knelt beside her, one of his hands going to her shoulder and the other reaching for her hand so that he could give it a gentle squeeze, "You are stronger than she was," he whispered, responding to her fears even though she had never voiced them. "You will come out of this and live to produce several spares for Robert before he is done with you. This is not your end, Cersei."

She scoffed at his use of the words spares. As far as she was concerned this would be the only child that she would bear Robert Baratheon. She might have others, but she was sure that they would not be his. She hated the man too much, and loved her brother too well for that. It was not as though anyone could argue that she mattered to Robert, if she did he would have been there.

The nurses who were attending her had clucked out their disapproval when Jaime arrived in the birthing chamber, but Cersei would not hear it. Robert was out, he had told her that the closer she got to the end of her condition the more unbearable she got. He had told her that he could not bear to see the blood. He had told her many things, all of which she saw for what they were - excuses.

The excuses of a weak man who would rather whore his way around King's Landing than be there for his wife in her time of need. It did not matter. She had Jaime and that was all she needed.

"Seven Hells!" she cursed as another clenching sensation racked through her body. It felt as though someone had placed their hands on either side of her stomach and was violently pushing the two sides in toward the center. She was on fire from her chest to her knees and everything just hurt. "Make it stop!" she begged, her green eyes struggling to stay focused on her brother's. "Nothing is worth this. Make it stop!"

It was hard to look at him, for the double pain. She was in so much pain, and yet when she looked at her brother's face she saw the worry lines in his forehead, he was in pain just from watching her go through this. She cursed again, why wasn't Robert there? He was the reason she was going through this. He should have been the one to watch, to suffer her pain with her.

For a dark moment a thought crossed her mind, if she had been Lyanna Stark Robert would have been there beside her. He wasn't here because as much as he wanted an heir to secure the throne he did not really want one with her.

Unbidden tears sprang to her eyes. Why couldn't she be wanted for once? Jaime mistook her tears for ones of physical pain rather than emotional pain and he reached out to smooth her sweaty hair away from her brow. "Shush, Sweeting," he whispered calmly to her as the nurses had instructed him. "It will be over soon and you shall have a little boy or girl in your arms for your troubles."

"It better be a boy or it will be an unequal trade!" Cersei bit out, causing Jamie to smile at her fierceness.

"A boy then," he told her with a slight nod. "By sheer force of will if nothing else."

Her stomach started to clench again and she screamed, trying to sit up to better push the little devil out of her. Jaime and the nurses were there in an instant to help her. "Strong as a lion," she heard her brother whisper to her.

"Hear me roar!" She yelled as she felt another clench rip through her body.

...

Once it was all over the nurses had taken the baby away to clean it off and have the maester look at it to make sure that it was healthy. Cersei was worried, the room was so quiet, too quiet. The babe had barely cried when he had made his entry into the world. For all her bluster and complaint about the child birthing process she was already attached to the helpless babe. She could see why they said that a mother's love was the fiercest in the world. "What's wrong?" she asked, her head turning from side to side trying to catch someone's eye. "Is my son healthy?"

"Shhh," Jamie hushed her as he took a seat in the chair beside her bed. "The babe is perfect," he told her, "They just want to make certain before they tell you or the King."

"You saw him?" she asked, her green eyes widening at the thought that her brother had seen her son before she had. "What does he look like?"

"Perfect," Jaime told her again. "Big grey eyes and a head full of dark hair like Robert's." Cersei nodded, the child looked like Robert, the King would like that. He would enjoy having someone that looked like him, belonged to him in a castle full of her blonde family - their father had wasted no time putting his family and supporters into places of power after the war. "Small, so unlike you and Robert, hard to believe that a babe can be so small. But she's perfect, just like her mother."

"She?" Cersei asked, forgetting everything else Jaime had told her about the child and focusing on the one word that could burst her bubble of temporary happiness. "The child is a girl?" Suddenly the silence after the birth made sense. They had been afraid and unsure of how to tell her that she had failed.

Jaime's green eyes found hers and he nodded solemnly. "She's a beautiful one," he told her sister. "And so strong. You will be proud. And when you are ready you will try again. And this time you will give the King a son."

But Cersei would not listen to him. She could not listen to him.

And when the nurses tried to bring her the baby, to place it on her bare chest to hear her heartbeat, to try to encourage her to feed it. She couldn't do that either. She shook her head as tears slipped down her cheeks.

She could not see the child.

All that work and she had failed. She had not given the King or the kingdom an heir. She had stayed away from Jaime, her true beloved for nine moons and she had gotten nothing in return. Deep down she knew it was not the babe's fault, but she could not separate it from her pain at the moment.

She heard her brother make some excuses for her to the nurses. Heard as he happily accepted the little wench into his arms. She would not turn, would not look. She heard and ignored all of his attempts to make her look at the baby he was holding.

No matter what he said, she had failed. Her eyes narrowed at the thought of that girl child that would be sleeping in the crib beside her bed. In that moment she knew that she hated it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robert_

They told him that she had given birth. They told him that the babe was healthy. They told him that the child looked like him.

They told him everything, save the one most important detail.

They failed to mention that Cersei had given birth to a daughter.

He had assumed that because no one had mentioned it that it was safe to assume that she had given him a son and heir. Now he realized that no one had told him because they were afraid of his reaction.

He stormed into the birthing chamber, drunker than he probably should have been, and prepared to yell at Cersei. She had promised his a son after all, swore for nine moons that she knew the child would be a boy. And instead she had given him a girl. A useless daughter.

He went in prepared to yell at her, to curse her to the Seven Hells. To push into her and use her in the way that she hadn't let him during the entirety of her pregnancy. To force his seed into her once again and this time come out of this ordeal with a son, the way it should have happened the first time.

But in order to get to Cersei, he first had to walk past the crib with the new babe in it. He stopped, out of curiosity, and looked down at the small child. They were right, she did look like him. It was like looking at a younger version of himself. She had his grey eyes, that had the ability to both dark and stormy and light and friendly depending on his mood, he wondered if she would keep them as she grew up. Her head was covered with dark, black hair. She was clearly a Baratheon from her head to her tiny little toes.

He reached down and ran his index finger across her cheek. She was so soft. He had never known that babies were so soft. Or so small, how could a baby survive? His daughter was a tiny, helpless little thing, how was she going to survive the world, he wondered.

He reached down and gently poked her tiny fist with his index finger. He wasn't sure what he thought would happen, maybe he thought the babe would start to cry. Instead she wrapped her tiny fingers around his finger and squeezed. Her grasp surprisingly strong for someone so small. He smiled down at her. She was most certainly his daughter, a strong Baratheon through and through.

He turned to the bed to see Cersei watching him silently. "You did well, Wife," he told her, his tone gruff. He realized that he should have praised her as soon as he walked into the room. That was the noble thing to do. It's what Ned Stark would have done.

But Ned and his wife had been happy during the nine moons leading up to their son's birth, just a year ago. Catelyn had been everything one would expect of a wife. She had involved Ned. She had let him put his hand on her ever growing stomach and feel the movements of their small child within her womb. She had given him a son. And she had handled Ned's bastard son with grace when he had brought the small child to Winterfell a few months after his legitimate son had been born.

Robert had not been happy during Cersei's pregnancy. Cersei had not let him near her let alone touch her since the moment the baby had quickened in her womb. She had not accepted his illegitimate children with grace. And, although Robert was now sure that he would love his daughter, she had given him just that ... a girl. He needed a son to secure his throne and instead she had given him a daughter that he would have to trouble himself with marrying off to this great Lord's house or that one's. Daughters were more trouble than they were worth.

"It's a girl," Cersei bit out, as if that were a reason not to accept his praise. "Just a girl. Even your little whores in the city can give you a daughter. I meant to give you a son."

Robert took a deep breath before he answered her. She was baiting him, and if that small child wasn't still holding onto his finger he might have taken the bait. But he did not want to upset the small child. He took another deep breath, realizing that much of her hostility came from the fact that he had not been there for the birthing. He had failed her in that, he knew it. "And you will," he told her. He paused for a moment and looked back down at the baby, unable to look at his wife while he admitted that he had made a mistake. "I should have been here. For the two of you. During the birthing."

Cersei shrugged her shoulders, her gaze still never landing on the small baby in the cradle, she hadn't looked at her the whole time Robert had been in the room. "As I said, it's just a girl."

Robert lifted the girl in question out of the cradle and held her to his chest. "What should we name her?" he asked his wife, carrying the small child over to the bed and sitting down next to his wife.

"I don't care," Cersei told him, turning her head away from his so that she did not have to look at the child. "Name her whatever you desire."

Robert turned to look at the small babe in his arms. "How about Le -"

"Don't you dare suggest that we name our first child after _her_!" Cersei yelled at him, her blonde hair flying through the air as she turned her head to glare at him. Her green eyes found his and they tightened with anger and pain. "I can live knowing that I was never your first choice, that you loved another first. But do not force me to remember that every day by naming our daughter after her."

It took Robert a moment to realize that Cersei thought he had meant to name the girl after Lyanna. He almost felt pity for his wife. But the fact that she still had yet to even look at their child quickly eliminated most of the pity. "I would never do you that dishonor, Wife," he told her, his voice hard and cold before he looked back down at the child. "I was going to suggest Lenora, after my grandmother."

All the fight quickly left Cersei then, "Lenora," she murmured softly, trying out the name. "Lenora Baratheon." She nodded. "It will do her well."

...

It was three days after Lenora's birth. Robert was sleeping in his bedchambers when one of his manservants rushed into the room to wake up the King. "Your Grace," the manservant apologized, "I apologize for disturbing you. But the maester has sent for you."

"Why in the Seven Hells would the maester need me at this time of night?" Robert growled, but despite his anger and his question he was already climbing out of his bed and reaching for a robe. "What is so important that it could not wait until the morning?"

"It's the Princess," the manservant told him, his tone worried, it had only been three days and little Lenora had already won over most of the castle. "Princess Lenora has taken ill. The maester is unsure if she will survive the night. He sent for you so that you could make your peace and say goodbye if need be."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He shouldn't have been there. He had no right to be. The babe was nothing to him, simply his niece. And children died all the time. Her father should have been there. And her mother. And maybe even Tywin, her grandfather. Her uncle had no reason to be there. But Robert was not there yet, Cersei still would not look at the child, and Tywin had only said that she was a daughter when he was told that the small baby was sick, as if her being a girl negated any importance she might have.

Jaime had been present at her birth. He had spent more time with the babe than her own mother. And he could not bear the thought of her being left to old, Grand Maester Pycelle and the the nurses. She was a sick child and she needed her family. At the moment Jaime was the only family she had.

He stood at the head of her cradle, out of the way of the healers trying to fight whatever was happening inside her tiny body, but close enough that he could still see the small child. "Hello, Lenny," he spoke to her softly, using the nickname that he had given her the first time he had heard that Cersei and Robert had chosen to name the girl Lenora.

It was a good name, Lenora, but it was a big name for such a small child. Lenny, while not particularly royal sounding fit the small babe much better. Her grey eyes opened at the sound of his voice and even though her gaze never found his, she was much to young for eye contact, he felt sure that she knew he was speaking to her.

The door to the chamber opened and even though Jaime could not look away from the baby in front of him he could tell by the hush that fell over the room that the King had entered. Jaime Lannister had never particularly liked Robert Baratheon, but he smiled when the King moved around the cradle to stand beside him. It was good that Lenora had a parent that cared about her. Cersei had not even moved from her bed when the nurses told her that her daughter was sick. "I was praying to the Seven," Robert murmured as he looked down at his daughter. "Praying to the Mother for mercy and the Crone for guidance."

Jaime's lips quirked into a smirk. He was not religious and had never prayed the the Seven, but as every child in Westeros, he knew the prayers. "Perhaps you should have prayed to the Maiden, to watch over the little princess."

"I did," Robert told him with a nod. "I prayed to all of them. Even the stranger, begging him not to take her. Telling him that it was not her time yet."

Jaime nodded quietly, wondering if the King's prayers would be enough. Wondering if the small child would make it through the night. He turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, "What do you think is causing this, Grand Maester? She was perfect when I saw her this afternoon. No sign of a fever or sickness."

The Grand Maester looked up, his gaze slowly flitting between the two great men standing behind the princess's cradle. He was afraid to tell them, he knew what the implications of his statement would be. But there was no way to avoid answering, it was a direct question and it deserved a direct answer. "Your Grace," he said slowly, nodding toward Robert, "Ser Jaime," another nod toward the knight. He was stalling and everyone in the room knew it. "It is my belief that the child, the Princess, was poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Jaime asked, echoing the maester's words. "But who would do that? Why the only person who has been alone with her this entire date is the Queen. She wouldn't -" he stopped, unable to defend his sister honestly. He wanted to say that his sister would never be able to poison her daughter, but then he remembered that in the three days since Lenora had been born Cersei had not been able to look at her daughter.

"Without knowing what poison was used I am unable to cure the child," the maester was telling the King. Jaime could not stand there and listen to how Grand Maester Pycelle could not help the child though. He quickly turned and stormed out of the child's nursery, ignoring the maester's call of "Ser Jaime?" as he left.

It was easy to find Cersei, with the exception of when he had seen her in the child's nursery that afternoon she hadn't left her bedchamber since the birth of her daughter. The guards in front of her doors knew better than to try to stop Jaime from entering, but the servants inside the chambers made noises of surprises and displeasure to see him there at this time of night. Cersei did not seem surprised to see him though. She was sitting calmly in front of the fire reading a book when he let himself into her rooms.

She gave him an almost serene smile as she closed her book, her hand between the pages, saving her place. "Have you come to tell me that my daughter has died?" she asked her brother, her tone almost hopeful. It was then that Jaime was sure that his suspicions had not been misplaced, Cersei had attempted to poison her own daughter. And if they took very much longer she would very likely succeed.

"Not yet," Jaime told her, moving closer to her. He was moving slowly, cautiously, as if Cersei were a wounded animal that was extremely dangerous. "She's a fighter, your daughter. Stronger than she looks. She's trying to beat this. We could help her, if only you'd tell us what you used to poison her."

Cersei's green eyes brightened, she hadn't expected her brother to jump to the correct conclusion so quickly. And she most certainly had not expected him to want to save the useless child. "So you know," she breathed. "Clever boy. No, I won't tell you what I used, you must figure that out on your own if you want to save the little wench so badly."

Jaime stared at his sister, as if he was seeing her for the first time in his life. Cersei might have been content to let her daughter die, but he was not. Once again he spun on his heel and left the chamber without a word. On his way back to the child's nursery he thought of the small Princess's symptoms. Vomiting, diarrhea, she was having trouble breathing, her heart beat was irregular, and the fever. Of course the fever, the small child was on fire. What did all of those add up to? "Wolfsbane!" That was the word he used to announce his presence in her chamber again as he strode back over to the baby's cradle. "She was poisoned with Wolfsbane."

The maester looked at him for a moment, his eyes moving rapidly as he thought through all the Princess's symptoms and came to the same conclusion as Jaime. "Of course," the old man murmured, "It's the only poison that makes sense." He turned to one of the nurses, "Go to my stores," he ordered her. "Bring me henbane, belladonna, and charcoal. We will need it all to save the Princess."

...

The sun rose to fine Jaime standing on the balcony outside of the Princess's nursery watching the ships sailing in and out of the busy harbor. He had always loved to watch the ships when he was a child at the Rock. They were still as comforting now.

He was having trouble reconciling the sister he loved with the woman who had condemned her own child to a painful death for simply being born a daughter. He had always known that Cersei could be cruel, but this was a new level.

Lenora was doing better. Thanks to the Grand Maester she had made it through the night and was getting stronger every minute. He had not been lying when he told Cersei that he daughter was strong. But she could not be left alone with her mother anymore, that much was sure.

As much as he hated to admit it, it was time to go talk to his father.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tywin_

It did not surprise him when Jaime came to see him. He had known that his son was intelligent, it had not taken either of them very long to realize that Cersei had poisoned her own daughter and left her to die. What neither of them could figure out was why she had done it.

Jaime walked into Tywin's chambers without allowing anyone to announce his presence, but Tywin was already waiting for him. Without saying a word the elder Lannister poured each of them a goblet of his strongest Dornish wine and took a seat, gesturing that Jaime should do the same.

They both sat in silence for a moment, drinking the wine, waiting for the other to start the difficult conversation. After a few minutes Jaime had finally had enough with the silence. "She poisoned her own daughter," he told his father, turning to look at the older man, silently asking for advice. "Since the day Lenora was born Cersei has been unable to even look at her, she was so disappointed at having a daughter instead of a son. She can't even see the child, but she tried to poison her. You should have seen her, Father, when I confronted her, there was no remorse. She is not sorry for what she did." He paused and shook his head, "She'll do it again," he admitted, his deepest fears. "If given the chance she will do it again."

"She will," Tywin told his son with a nod. "Your sister, for all her intelligence and cunning can be very short-sighted. When she found out the child was a daughter all she could see was that she had failed to produce an heir for the Iron Throne. She did not see all the prospects and good a daughter provides. She still does not. The girl is not safe in the palace until your sister has a son."

"So you will send her away then," Jaime replied, it was not a question. He knew that his father was already planning to send the Princess away, whether the King liked it or not. The only question was where she would be sent. "To be a ward. Where will you send her? Surely not North to the Starks. Nor East to the Vale. South to Highgarden?"

Tywin shook his head, "She'll go West, to the Rock." He told his son, glancing at the young knight in front of him and wondering when he would realize what his father had planned. "I've already spoken to the King and we think that it would be best if she stayed with her family."

"But there is no one at the Rock besides Tyrion and he is but a boy himself, only fifteen. And in his condition he cannot be expected to take care of a child." He watched as Jaime's eyebrows knitted together, trying to figure out his father's plan. "Oh," he murmured once he had figured it out.

Tywin nodded. "You will ride west with her. You will leave the Kingsguard until such a time as it is safe for her to return to Kings Landing. You will raise her at the Rock, not necessarily as your own, she must always know who her parents are, and what she is. She must never know what her mother did to her. No one can know that. We've already spread the word that a servant tried to poison her, in the name of the Targaryens. The people will believe that. They will believe that we have taken her away from Kings Landing to protect her from would-be assassins, no one will no.

Jaime looked at his father, ready to argue. He loved the small child already, cared for her. He had wanted to protect her, but that did not mean that he had wanted to be the one to raise her. That did not mean that he had wanted to be the one to raise her. "Father," he argued, shaking his head. "My place is not at the Rock. My place is here, in Kings Landing. My place is beside -" he paused, he was about to say his sister's name, he corrected himself with a slight shake of his head, "Robert, the King."

"Your place is where I and the King see fit," Tywin all but roared at his son. "And at this time we see it fit that you travel to Casterly Rock to protect the Princess."

He left little room for argument, and within the day his son would leave with the Princess and a small guard to protect them along the Gold Road as they road for Casterly Rock.

* * *

Author's Note:

There we go! Chapter one. And we finally have our main character and OC, Lenora.  
Don't worry, she will not be a baby for long. The story will progress quickly.  
Speaking of progression, just so you guys know now I will be playing with the ages of some of the main characters. In Book one Robb is like fourteen. That seems really young for the adult content I may or may not have planned for him.  
So, I'm going to play with that a little bit. Hopefully you guys don't mind too much.  
Please review! Review love lets me know I'm doing something right and may or may not persuade me to update faster ... just saying.  
See you guys back here soon!  
Much love,  
Chloe Jane.


	3. Chapter Three: The Little Fawn

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The Reading and Enjoying is for you ... the Reviews are for me!)_

* * *

 _Jamie_

It had been five years since he had truly lived in Kings Landing. In those five years he and Lenora had truly made Casterly Rock their home. Her toys filled the rooms; her school books filled his study; her tiny pony was stabled with his large charger; her tiny, dirty, child fingerprints marked the walls; her footsteps echoed through the halls; her laughter filled the castle.

The castle at Casterly Rock had been built into a natural rock formation over a large and successful gold mine over six thousand years ago. And as far as Jaime was concerned the castle had never been filled with as much happiness as it was now, with Lenora there.

The small Princess bewitched everyone she met, from stable boy to King. Even Lord Tywin had been unable to maintain his usual stoney silence and courtly manners around the young girl the last time they had visited the Red Keep at Kings Landing. Robert seemed to love the young brunette more than anything, and her residence at Casterly Rock meant that the King traveled West much more than he might have if she had been able to stay with her parents in the capital.

The only one who seemed to be able to withstand Lenora's magic was Cersei. The older the child got the harder it was for her mother to ignore her, but when Cersei looked at the child it was still not as a mother should look at her child. Cersei still saw her failure every time she looked at the young princess, her inability to produce a male heir for the Iron Throne.

Not that she had been trying too hard from what Jaime could tell. In the five years since he and Lenora had fled Kings Landing Cersei still had yet to produce a true heir for Robert. Not for lack of trying, at least on the King's part. The last time he had seen Robert the King had confided in him that he and Cersei had sex almost nightly, trying to conceive. He knew she was not barren, she had birthed Lenora, and he knew that there was nothing wrong with him, he had almost half a dozen bastards running or crawling around Kings Landing. It simply was not happening for them. What he did know was that Cersei had been with child several times over the last five years; but each time, out of spite for Robert, she had found a way to kill the child before anyone even realized that she was pregnant.

This child was different, the one she was pregnant with now. She was sure that it was Jaime's and she had been unable to kill it. They, he and Lenora, would be traveling to Kings Landing for the birth once it was closer to her time. Jaime prayed to the Seven almost every night that the child in his sister's womb would be a boy. Gods knew that the kingdom needed a male heir for the Iron Throne. And once Cersei and Robert had a male heir it would be safe for Lenora to return to Kings Landing to live instead of visit.

He clenched his fists when he thought of Cersei. He was still angry at her, for attempting to poison Lenora. He was still disgusted that she could do that to a child simply because they child had the misfortune of being born a daughter. But he could not turn away from his sister. He still loved her. He could still remember how she had felt the last time he had seen her - writhing underneath him, wrapped all around him. All silky skin and silky words.

She had told him how she couldn't bear to have Robert touch her. How she hated her husband. How she had to pretend that she was having sex with him, her brother, just to get through the act with her husband. And Jaime had let those words convince him to take his sister for his own, as he had once done on a daily basis while they were growing up at the Rock.

The difference was that this time it had felt wrong. Before Cersei had always been able to convince him that they were right for each other. They were twins, after all, two halves of a whole. There was no one in the world that would have been more right for him than his sister. Or so he had once felt. But now, now that he had seen the real Cersei, the one who was willing to kill her own child. And every day as he watched Lenora grow more and more into her own intelligent, strong willed, beautiful person he realized what a crime that would have been. He had done the deed because he believed that he still loved his sister, but he had felt dirty afterward. He had felt as if he had betrayed his niece. As if the act of being with her mother in that sense would cause harm to the beautiful child that he had been raising for the past five years.

And she had grown into a beautiful child. She was still small, smaller than the children of Lannisport that were her age. She was fragile and dainty looking, breakable. But when one looked into her eyes they could not help but notice the strength she held inside. She had kept the grey eyes she had been born with; they seemed to change with her mood - silver, like the crescent moon or wisps of cloud at twilight when she was happy; glinting, like polished steel when she was annoyed; a dark grey, the color of the stormy sea when she was sad; gathering storm clouds when she was angry. Her dark brown hair was wild, already past her shoulders in loose, natural curls. She refused to let her maids and ladies do her hair, she preferred to let it fly behind her in a tangled mess as she ran through the castle. She was stubborn to a fault, a true Baratheon through and through despite her upbringing at the Rock.

She was a beautiful, fearsome thing to behold now, Jaime could only guess at what a handful she would be once she grew into womanhood. He shook his head, smiling at the thought that he was for once glad that Lenora was not his child. She would most certainly be a handful when she was older, but thankfully she would not be his problem. Much as he loved the child, much as he would do anything for her, he was not her father. Robert would be the one who would have control of her once she was older. He could only imagine the fights and disagreements that would shake the Red Keep once Lenora was of age and back under her father's charge again.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a loud, clanging noise coming from the tilt yard. His eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed at the noise. None of the Red Guard or the squires were meant to practicing in the tilt yard that day. He wondered at what was going on, but only for a moment before he heard a high pitched squeal and a curse. Then he took off running through the hall toward the yard.

The sight he was greeted with upon entering the tilt yard caused him to stop in his tracks. Not from anger or fear though, instead he felt laughter bubbling up in his chest as his green eyes landed on his niece. Lenora had dressed one of the squire's sons in armor several sizes too large for the boy, the helm fell well past the boy's eyes. Lenora, herself, was resplendent in her dress of Lannister red and gold, though Jaime could already spot at least three new tears in the fabric that had not been there when the small child dressed that morning, and the fabric was covered in dirt. Her dark hair was flying behind her as she ran toward the young boy, Jaime's own large sword raised above her head, prepared to strike.

Jaime could only guess what the young princess was playing at. But he had a feeling that despite the armor and his assailant's small size any blow might cause actual physical pain to the young squire's son. He moved faster than Lenora, his legs were longer, his stride more sure, after all. He caught up with the small child easily, and despite the sword lifted over her head he easily caught her in his arms and scooped her up, carrying her across the yard and only placing her back down on the ground once they were a safe distance away from the squire's boy. Lenora made to lunge for the boy again, but Jaime placed himself between the two children and squatted down so that he was at eye level with his niece. "Lenny," was all he needed to say. After that he waited in silence for his young charge to explain herself.

"Seven Hells, Uncle Jaime," the young girl cursed at him, her eyes the dark grey of a truly bad storm. "Why did you stop me? We were not finished yet."

"Finished with what, exactly?" Jaime asked, glancing between the two children. The squire's boy took off his borrowed helm and opened his mouth to explain, to apologize. Jaime raised his hand, "I'll hear this from my niece, thank you," he told the young boy before turning his green eyes on Lenora. "What is this, Len?" he asked the young child, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders, silently telling her that she was not going anywhere until she told him what was going on.

She sighed, her small chest heaving with the effort of the breath as she crossed her arms over her chest, looking every bit Cersei when she didn't get her way. She looked so much like her mother that Jaime's breath caught, with her Baratheon looks it was easy to forget that she had Lannister blood running through her veins until she did something that was so much like Cersei. "I told Thomas that when I grew up I was going to become a member of the Kingsguard like you," she told her uncle, finally meeting his gaze with her grey eyes. "I told him that I was going to be a knight, strong and brave. He told me that I couldn't be a knight because I was a princess. I told him to be quiet, but he wouldn't. He said that even if I wasn't a princess I would never be able to be a knight because I was not strong enough. I told him that I was too strong enough. I told him that I would be able to cut him down, even with armor on, with no more than seven strikes," Jaime's lips quirked up into an unbidden smile at the random number of strikes, and at the fact that his niece held up _eight_ fingers to signify her seven strikes.

"And how many strikes did you get?" he asked her.

"Only three," the young girl pouted.

Jaime glanced over at the young boy who was struggling his way out of his borrowed armor. "Thomas, is it?" he asked the boy. The child nodded, silently, in awe of being addressed by the Kingslayer. Jaime nodded, "Thomas, I believe that my niece has well and truly demonstrated just how strong she is. You would do well to remember that. You would also do well to remember that you are addressing the Princess of Westeros when you speak to her. I would not tempt her to injure you if I were you, as she has much more power to hurt you than you will ever have over her. Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded and all but tripped over himself in an attempt to run away from Jaime. Once they were alone Jaime turned to his niece and took her hand, "Come," he told the young child, taking his sword out of her grip easily and steering her out of the tilt yard, "let's you and I go for a walk on the beach, shall we?"

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She couldn't tell if her uncle was angry with her or not. Her uncle Tyrion would have been much easier to read. She knew that Tyrion would have found her fight amusing, that he would have let her finish her seven strikes before he took the sword away. Her uncle Jaime was harder though. She wanted to tell him that she had done nothing wrong, but that would have been a lie. Stealing her uncle's sword had been wrong. And fighting with Thomas had been wrong, even if it was to defend her honor.

She was a lady after all, and ladies did not fight. Ladies sewed, and ladies painted, and ladies played instruments, and ladies were quiet and well behaved. The problem was that Lenora was so bad at all of those things. She would much rather be out of doors at sword play, or horseback riding than she would like to be indoors doing all the things that proper ladies were supposed to do. It was hard because she thought that being a lady seemed boring, but at the turn of the coin she wanted to be good at everything and please her uncle. She couldn't do both.

She felt tears start to fill her eyes and scrunched her face up in anger, angry that she was crying over this. Only stupid girls cried. And according to both of her uncles she was not a stupid girl.

"Why the tears?" her uncle asked her, he stopped walking along the sand and knelt in front of her, dropping his sword into the sand so that he could take both of her small hands in his and meet her eyes. "There is no reason for tears, my sweet. I have not even begun to punish you."

Lenora pulled one of her hands free from her uncle's grasp so that she could swipe angrily at the tears that were sliding down her cheeks. Jaime waited patiently until she was done and had slipped her hand back into his grasp. And then he raised his eyebrows, silently waiting for an explanation.

"I've disappointed you," Lenora sobbed out. "I was supposed to be at my dancing lesson, I was supposed to be a good young lady. And instead I snuck out of the castle to ride Pepper," Jaime's lips quirked up into a smile at the name of his niece's pony. The pony wasn't even grey, she just liked pepper. Lenora was glaring down at her left shoe and did not notice her uncle's smile. "And Thomas was polishing armor in the tilt yard. He told me that one day it would be his job to make sure that your armor was always bright and shiny. I told him that maybe it would be his job to polish my armor, for I am going to be a knight like you when I grow up. And he laughed at me, Uncle Jaime. He laughed at me."

"He shouldn't have done that," Jaime murmured, shaking his head with mock seriousness, something that was lost on his young niece.

"No he shouldn't have," Lenora agreed, stamping her tiny foot in the sand, and then stamping it again, not satisfied by the lack of noise her stamp had made. "He mocked me, I had to defend my honor. You always say that honor is the most important thing a person can have in this world. And he was mocking mine. I had to defend it, you see? I had to. So I snuck back into the castle and I stole your sword. I wanted to show Thomas exactly what happens to those who mock the Lannister family."

Jaime laughed, "But you're not a Lannister, my little fawn," he told her gently, "you are a Baratheon."

"Fine," Lenora muttered, switching her glare to the other foot, "then I wanted to show him exactly what happens to those who mock the Baratheon name." She paused for a moment, "I am the Princess of Westeros and regardless of my name I am not to be mocked."

"No you are not," Jaime agreed, sitting down in the sand, dirt on his pants be damned, he pulled his small niece into his lap and wrapped his arms around he small body, pulling her as close to him as he could. "But as the Princess of Westeros you are also expected to be gentle and kind and forgiving. Thomas is only a squire's son, he cannot be expected to always know how to speak to a Princess. It is your job to show him. And stealing my sword and attempting to _cut him down_ is not the correct way to do that. Do you understand me?"

Lenora thought for a moment and then she nodded, silently telling her uncle that she understood him. She buried her face in her uncle's chest, inhaling his familiar scent and feeling herself calm down. Jaime was not satisfied though, "Do you understand me, Lenora?" he asked her again, his tone making it clear that he expected a verbal answer.

"Yes, Uncle Jaime, I understand," Lenora told him. She was quiet for a moment and then came the question that Jaime had known would come since he had caught her in the tilt yard with his stolen sword. "Are you going to punish me?"

He sighed, he hated punishing his niece, but it was also his job at the moment to ensure that she grew up into a kind, noble woman, one who knew her place in the world. He couldn't do that if he allowed her to run wild throughout her childhood, beating up on squire's boys to defend her honor and the like. "You know that I will have to," he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her windswept hair to soften the blow. "Your whipping boy will receive five strikes for this, you will eat your dinner alone in your chambers tonight, you will spend an extra hour with the maester for the next week, and," he smiled when he heard Lenora's gasp at the word _and_ , this was already the biggest punishment he had ever given her. "And," he repeated, "we will see about getting you your own sword so that when you start your sword fighting lessons next week you will not have to steal mine."

"Really?" Lenora asked, her eye wide and bright, the light silver they were when she was happy. "Do you mean it, Uncle Jaime?"

Jaime smiled and nodded, "No niece of mine should grow up without some understanding of sword play," he told her. "Especially if that niece wants to grow up to be a knight."

...

The sword she was given was nothing like her uncle's, but she could not expect anything more. She was only five years old, after all, and the sword really was a beautiful thing, the most wonderful thing Lenora had ever owned. She named it Ashe, for the way it glinted grey in the light like her eyes.

She was only allowed to use it during her sword fighting lessons when she was working on a solo drill or if she was sparring with her uncle. She tried not to let it hurt her feelings that he was easily able to deflect her advances with Ashe even when he was using a simple wooden play sword.

But she was so grateful at him for helping her, for teaching her. And she was amazed at how easy it was for her to pick up sword play. It wasn't so much different from dancing after all. She wondered at why every lady didn't learn sword play if it was so similar to dancing. Her uncle Tyrion had thrown his head back and laughed heartily when she had mentioned it to him. He had called her a clever girl and she had beamed at him, proud of his praise.

Her uncle Jaime was less generous with his praise when it came to her sword fighting lessons with him. He wanted her to be absolutely perfect, just as good as him. Anything less than that and it was not good enough.

"No, no," her uncle told her, shaking his head and stepping away from her with his wooden sword. "What have I told you, Lenny? An empty fade is when you leap backwards as if to run away from my strike, but then to immediately leap forward again and strike at me. Do not keep leaning back, do not add a war cry, that only tells me that you are coming, do not pause. If you pause during a fight that means certain death."

Lenora nodded, she was tired, and hot, and sweaty. The shirt and pants her uncle had borrowed from one of the maid's sons were covered in dirt. Her arm hurt from holding Ashe up in her fighting stance for so long. And she knew there were bruises covering her arms and legs where her uncle had hit her with his wooden sword. Just because she was a princess did not mean that her uncle was going to take things easy on her, if anything it meant that he expected more from her. She lifted her right arm back up, finding her fighting stance. She smiled a bit at the nod of pride her uncle gave her before he lunged toward her again with the practice sword.

She leapt back one, two graceful steps, just out of his reach and then as he prepared to lunge for her again she leapt forward, without a war cry this time, and struck him with the flat, side of her blade. She knew that he was moving slower, to accommodate for her small size and inexperience, but it felt good, this was the first hit she had gotten on her uncle since he had started teaching her.

She did not miss the look of approval on her uncle's face after that. She smiled up at him and reached up one of her hands to push her hair out of her eyes. "What now, Uncle?" she asked him. Now that she had succeeded at something she was ready and willing to learn more.

"Now for your daily guard drill," her uncle told her. These were always Lenora's favorites. Her uncle had told her that the best offense in a sword fight was to understand and excel at guards. Each day she and her uncle ran through this drill she got faster and better, more sure of herself ... stronger. "Ready?" Jaime asked her.

She stepped away from him and nodded, she held her sword in front of her in both hands and took a deep breath in, preparing herself for all the work that was to come. "Ready," she told him.

"Guard of the woman," Jaime barked out, waiting only a few moments for his niece to find the correct position before he continued on. "Boar's Tooth, Window guard, Half Iron Gate, Front Guard, Left Short Guard, Tail Guard, Left Guard of the woman, Full Iron Gate, Left Two Horn, Long Point, Left Window, Short Guard, Left Front Guard, Two Horn Guard, Left Long Guard, stop!"

The entire drill had only lasted at most two minutes, but Lenora was out of breath. She dropped Ashe to the ground and placed her hands on her knees, folding in over herself to try to catch her breath. Jaime moved closer to her and stood her up straight, "It's easier to breathe while standing straight than folded over," he told her, though he wasn't looking at her, his gaze was up at the sky at the dark raven that was flying surely toward the castle. "I think we are finished for the day. Go get yourself cleaned up and then we shall see to that raven, shall we?"

Lenora nodded, enjoying that her uncle let her take part in adult things like ravens. Her uncle smiled down at her and gently tapped her on her behind with his wooden sword, "Very good, my Lady," he told her, giving her a low, deep bow. Lenora smiled up at her uncle before she sank into an equally deep curtsy. "Very lady like," her uncle told her, his voice approving, "even in your borrowed breeches."

...

Lenora could not hide her excitement. The raven was a letter from her father at Kings Landing. It was time fore her mother to go into her confinement. The baby would be born soon. And they were to ride at once for the capital.

The king wanted his daughter at the Red Keep for the birth of her baby brother or sister.

Her uncle Jaime told her that if the baby was a son that they might even be able to live at the Red Keep again.

Lenora hoped the child was a boy.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robert_

Robert could not stop the smile that spread across his lips as the Casterly Rock party dismounted in the courtyard in front of the palace at Kings Landing. His daughter, the bright and stubborn child that she was, had refused to ride in the wheelhouse that had been provided for her for the journey. According to the scouts who had arrived at the castle an hour before the party she had announced that if her Uncles Jaime and Tyrion could ride the entire way to Kings Landing than she would too.

And here she was, in the courtyard waiting for Jaime to bring over her stool so that she could climb down off her pony, Pepper. Why Jaime or anyone else had let her name the snow white pony, Pepper Robert would never know. But there was something special about the pair. Instead of bringing over a stool Jaime had walked over to her pony and scooped the tiny princess up in his arms. He spun her around in a few tight circles, smiling widely at the giggles that earned him before he set her down on the ground. "My Lady," Robert heard Jaime say as he bowed low to the tiny princess.

"Rise, Ser Jaime," he heard his small daughter order. Once Jaime had risen Lenora curtsied to him, her black gown with gold accents, Baratheon colors, though dirty from the road, made her look more grown up than she truly was. Jaime caught sight of Robert over the girl's shoulder and knelt down so that he could whisper something in Lenora's ear, pointing to the King. Lenora looked over her shoulder and caught sight of her father as well. Her eyes got even wider and she turned back to Jaime, jumping up and down slightly and clapping her hands together excitedly while whispering into his ear. Jaime looked at her for a moment before he sighed and stood up, moving toward his horse and reaching into his saddle bag, pulling out a small box and handing it to the young girl.

Once Lenora had her hands on the box she gathered her skirts in her hands and began to run up the stairs, toward where the King stood waiting for her on the balcony. Jaime laughed at her and took the stairs two at a time, easily catching up with the young girl. It was clear that Lenora was going to launch herself into her father's arms, but Jaime stopped her with a simple, "Len," quietly reminding her of her place.

She glanced back at her uncle for a moment before she turned back to her father. She paused and then sank down into an even deeper curtsy than the one she had given Jaime in the court yard. "Your Highness," she started once he had raised her from her curtsy. "How good it is to see you again. I have prayed every day to the seven for your health and that of my mother's," Robert's heart tightened at the thought that his sweet daughter was praying for Cersei's health when if that bitch had gotten her way the child would have never lived more than a few days. He caught Jaime's eyes over the top of his daughter's head and he realized that the thought pained his brother in law as well. That surprised him. But he couldn't say anything yet because Lenora was not done with the speech that she had so clearly practiced repeatedly on the ride to Kings Landing. "I have prayed many times to the Mother that my mother will deliver us a boy, and heir, and that I might come live with you again, if it pleases your majesty. And," she paused to take a deep breath here before continuing, "I have a gift for you, Your Grace. If it pleases you," she held out the small box, offering it up to the King.

Robert chuckled and shook his head at his small daughter before he took the box from her hand and holding it in one hand, scooped her up with the other. "It pleases me greatly, my daughter, both your gift and to have you here, back in Kings Landing where you belong." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to walk into the castle, still holding the small girl in his arms. "Now what did you bring me?"

"Handkerchiefs," she told him, turning in his arms so that she could face him and resting her left arm against his shoulder. "Three of them. I embroidered them myself." Robert started to thank her, but she was already waving off his gratitude, "They're not very good," she told him. "I'm better at sword fighting than I am at embroidery."

"Sword fighting, hmm?" Robert asked, turning his had to look over his shoulder at Jaime. The knight shrugged, but did not look ashamed of himself. Robert supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised that Jaime would teach his daughter how to fight, he was the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. And with the way of the world right now it might not hurt for Lenora to be able to defend herself.

"Oh yes," Lenora told him, clapping her hands together excitedly. "Uncle Jaime has been teaching me. He even gave me my own sword. I've named it Ashe, because it's a grey silver like our eyes. I know all the guards. I can't beat Uncle Jaime yet, but I have beaten Uncle Tyrion in several sword fights and I don't even think he was going easy on me." Robert had to laugh at her child-like lack of modesty. She was proud of her sword fighting and she clearly wanted him to be proud of her too.

"You'll have to show me," he told her with a smile. "Once you're settled."

Lenora smiled and nodded, happily to him. "And maybe once my baby brother or sister is old enough I can teach them too?"

"Perhaps, my Princess," Robert told her, leaning down so that he could press a kiss to the tip of her nose. "But for now let's worry about seeing your mother and getting you settled. For tomorrow night, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Lenora asked, her voice getting a higher pitch in her excitement. "For me?"

"Yes, for you, my fawn," Robert told her with a grin. "But first, to see your mother!"

"Oh!" Lenora gasped, clapping her hands together. "I have handkerchiefs for Mother too!" She spun around in his arms so that she was facing the hallway behind them, her grey eyes searching for her uncle. "Uncle Jaime!" she hollered once she caught sight of him. "My handkerchiefs for Mother! Do you have them?"

Robert could not but laugh at his daughter's boisterous yelling. She was his true daughter, that much as for sure. What was also certain was that she was going to be a handful if she were to stay in Kings Landing.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

She was fuming. Of course Robert would do this while she was in confinement, while she could do nothing to stop him. He knew how she felt about the Starks, and he was going to do it anyway. He was going to give her daughter to them.

Here she was, fighting for her life, going through the birthing pain again, hoping this time to give the King a son and he was down in the Great Hall selling his daughter to those Northerners. Without her permission. She may have gone through a moment of insanity right after her daughter was born, a moment where she had tried to kill the babe. But now, now that she was sure she had a son in her womb she would learn to love the child. And whether she loved the child or not the girl was still her blood, her daughter. She could not be sent to the cold, bitter North, so far away from her family.

But Robert had not listened to any of her arguments. He had yelled at her that he was the King and he would do as he damn well saw fit with his daughter. He told her that it was daughter's did, marry into other noble families. She understood that, but must he marry her to _that_ family, that far away from Kings Landing.

But here she was in confinement while her husband and Ned Stark were down in the Great Hall making the announcement without her.

She waited. He would come to her after the dinner, he had to.

And he did, two hours after the feast had ended, he came to her stinking of wine and ale. "You sent for me, my love?" he asked her, his voice sounding bitter and disdainful. She rolled her eyes, her husband always got like this with her, especially when he drank. Which seemed to be every night, at least since the day Lenora was taken to Casterly Rock.

"How did the feast go?" she asked, her voice as icy as the Northern wind in the god forsaken land he wanted to send their daughter to.

Robert smiled, "Very well. The match is a good one, and bodes well for our families. I don't know how the children felt about it, but they are both so young I suppose it does not make sense to them." He shrugged, "They'll have a few years yet before they need to understand what being betrothed means."

"Why are you doing this?" Cersei asked, her tone bitter.

"Because it a good match," he told her. "House Stark is one of the oldest in the Seven Kingdoms, and certainly the most loyal. Ned has a son who is close to Lenora's age, just a year older. I think they will suit each other."

"They're but five years old," Cersei pointed out, "We don't know how they'll grow up. We don't know if they'll be a good match. We do not even know how our own daughter will grow up, let alone how the Stark boy will. We cannot make decisions about her future so early!"

"Ah yes," Robert breathed, his voice quiet, almost deadly. Cersei had stepped into a trap, she was just unsure of what it was or how to get out of it. "We should not make choices about our daughter's life when she's so young. Five years is very young, much to young to be making decisions about her future. I suppose it's not much better than, say, attempting to poison her when she is all, but three days old."

She should have known that he would throw this back at her. He always did this, every time they spoke about Lenora. It was as if he was trying to hurt her. "I was eighteen years old!" she defended. "I was much to young and I was much too far away from home! I had just given birth to our child alone, because you were too busy getting drunk in every whorehouse in the city to get over _her._ And I had failed you, my one job was to give you a male heir and instead I had given you a daughter. I was half out of my mind, I didn't know what was happening. If you had been there it wouldn't have happened."

Robert nodded, his face solemn, "Poor Cersei," he said, his tone mocking. "Woe is she. She tried to murder my daughter, but none of it is her fault. And now she comes to me and pretends to have the child's best interest at heart just because she doesn't like the family I've chosen for her."

"I am the child's mother!" Cersei hissed, her face turning red with anger. "Of course I have her best interest at heart. I love her. I should have had a say in this betrothal. But you never asked for my opinion. You never asked for my counsel!"

"I am the King!" Robert roared, "I do not have to ask our opinion on anything, you wretched woman."

"You're setting her up for the same sad future that you gave me," Cersei warned him. "Alone. Far away from her family. Trapped. She'll turn out like I did."

Robert shook his head, "You may be right," he told his wife. "Five years old might be too young for me to know how she is going to grow up. But I do know one thing - you cannot look our daughter in those beautiful eyes of hers and honestly tell me that she will ever turn out like you. She has too much joy, too much sweetness, too much fire for that."

"I had all of those once too," Cersei told him, "before I was forced to marry you."

"Well then, hopefully she likes the Stark boy," Robert to her before spinning on his heel and heading out of the room. "But to tell you true, whether she goes happily or kicking and screaming they will be married once she is of age."

"This is not you and Lyanna!" Cersei screamed after her husband. "You cannot force them to fall in love just because you will it to. Just because you hope that, since you couldn't do it, your child will be able to marry and live happily in the North."

But she was screaming to an empty room. Robert had long since slammed the door and left her alone, as she always was.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He wasn't so sure. His mother and father seemed to think it was a good idea. And the King had seemed happy enough about it. But, the princess was a girl. And Robb was much too busy with his sword play and his studies and his baby sisters to be interested in a girl.

His father had told Robb to speak to her at the feast, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He didn't know what girls liked, Sansa could barely talk and all Arya did was drool. Girls liked to do things like sew, and dance, and play instruments.

Robb would rather run through the woods surrounding Winterfell with Jon and Theon and get dirty. And sit by his father's feet at the end of the day while his father polished Ice and told him about his day.

Robb wasn't sure if he was going to be able to do all those things once he was married. But he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to. He thought all fun stopped once you married a girl.

The princess was prettier than his sisters, he could see that.

But he still wasn't so sure.

* * *

Author's Note:

Publishing this while the Game of Thrones theme song is playing in my living room like some sort of timer.  
Must post before the episode starts.  
Thank you for reading. Please considering reviewing or I might need to stop throwing my heart and soul into this story.  
Much love,  
Chloe Jane


	4. Chapter Four: I See You

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The Reading and Enjoying is for you ... the Reviews are for me!)  
I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

* * *

 _Cersei_

She had finally done it. It had taken her ten years, but she had finally given Robert two male heirs. She could still remember the day she had given birth to Lenora. Her brother had promised that she would live through the birth and go on to give Robert as many spares as she pleased. She had given him his heir, Joffrey, and his spare Tommen, and then two daughters Lenora and Myrcella. And despite the fact that six year old Lenora had once mentioned that Joffrey looked nothing like her or Robert the stupid man had never realized that only the first royal child was his.

The other three belonged to her and Jaime alone.

She was proud of them, even if Jaime could not look at them without a look of shame on his face. Over the past year she had tried to convince him to come to her bedchambers after Robert had left her, to be with her again as they used to be, but it felt as if he were pulling away from her. She wasn't sure what she had done to deserve it, they were supposed to be together, a team. But now, he was never alone with her. He never answered her requests. She felt as if he was ashamed of her, of what they had done.

But as she looked down at the young baby in her arms, her beautiful baby Tommen, about to celebrate his first name day, she couldn't see how he could be ashamed of the fact that they had created something so perfect together.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when the door to her and the children's chambers crashed open, her eldest daughter, eleven year old Lenora came stumbling into the main sitting room, without noticing her mother.

Cersei silently observed her daughter, looking for any sign of herself and her Lannister blood in the girl. She was still small, her younger brother, Joffrey at age six was already up to her shoulders, it wouldn't be long before he was taller than her. She had never lost those grey eyes that the Baratheons were so proud of. Right now they sparkled silver with happiness, but Cersei knew that within seconds those silver eyes could cloud over like a stormy day if something upset the girl. Her waist length brown hair was pulled back into a long braid down her back, but wisps of hair had come loose and curled around her face. At least Cersei had gotten he into the habit of at the very least braiding her hair when she came to live with them in Kings Landing after Joffrey's birth. When she had lived at the Rock with Jaime he had let the young girl run around, her hair flying wildly behind her like a little heathen child.

No, there was nothing of Cersei in her looks, Gods but she was beautiful. And maybe that was what she had gotten from Cersei. Robert's looks were handsome on a man, but maybe it was Cersei who had softened those looks into the beauty that was their daughter. And when she wasn't tripping over her feet in a rush she was graceful. Jaime had done right by her while they lived together at the Rock. She was well schooled in everything one would expect of a princess. She would make that Stark boy a fine wife, if she could only learn to hide that independent streak of hers.

For example, Cersei knew for a fact that her daughter was supposed to be at a dancing lesson right now with her younger sister, Myrcella. They would be learning a waltz, or a jig, or something. That's what she should have been doing rather than attempting to sneak her sword out of their chambers as she was doing at the moment. "Lenora," Cersei called out, finally catching her daughter's attention. "You are supposed to be at a dancing lesson right now, are you not?"

Lenora turned to face her mother and a deep red flush spread across her cheeks as she tried to hide her sword in the folds of the dark gown she wore. "Yes Mother," she answered, her grey eyes unable to meet her mother's, a sure sign that she was about to lie. "Only I forgot my slippers in my bedroom, so the dancing master sent me back up here to get them. I mustn't keep him waiting though."

She turned to leave the room, but stopped again when Cersei spoke. "You mean you forgot the slippers you were wearing when you entered the room?" She shook her head and clicked her tongue with disapproval. "I thought I taught you to lie better than that, Lenora." Lenora opened her mouth, no doubt to deny the lie, but Cersei was not finished yet. "And since when did the dancing master require you to bring your sword with you to your lessons?"

Lenora sighed, she knew when she was beat. "Uncle Jaime pulled me from the dancing lesson," she told her mother, staring down at her feet, a habit she had never lost from her childhood, whenever the princess realized that she had been caught and was going to get in trouble she would start glaring at her left foot, as if it were the reason her plan hadn't worked out the way she had wanted it to. "I understand that dancing is important, but this is the first nice day we have had this past fortnight, he thought it was a good time to practice with our swords."

She stopped there, but Cersei could practically hear her daughters unspoken words _and I find sword play so much more interesting than dancing_. She shook her head, staring at her daughter, "What am I to do with you?" she asked, almost playfully.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "Give me any punishment you see fit, Mother, but please let me practice first. It's been so long since I've gotten to practice with Uncle Jaime. I fear that I will lose my skills if I do not keep using them."

Cersei smiled at her eldest daughter and held her hand up, quickly silencing the young girl. "I will not punish you, Child," she told her daughter. After what she had done to Lenora when the girl was but a babe she was the one out of all of her children that Cersei had the hardest time saying no to. Lenora could have asked for almost anything and Cersei was sure that she would be unable to deny the young girl. "You have my permission and blessing to practice sword play with you uncle. But, could you please send him up to me before the two of you get started. I would have a word with him"

"I'll try," Lenora told her mother before she rushed forward to press a kiss against her mother's cheek and baby Tommen's head. "But you know how Uncle Jaime gets once he's made up his mind. There's no changing it. And today he has made up his mind to teach me to fight."

"I know what he's like," Cersei agreed thinking about how many months it had been since her brother had shared her bed with her, the last time had been when she had conceived Tommen. And that was close to two years ago. She missed him. And she had to try very hard not to resent her eldest daughter the time he spent with her. "But do tell him I wish to see him."

"I will," Lenora told her mother before running from the room and toward the tilt yard.

Cersei looked down at the babe in her arms, less content than she had been before Lenora had entered the room. "What are we to do with the two of them?" she asked her youngest son, her baby. If Jaime were to have his way Lenora would never be a fit wife for any man, she would be turned into the knight she had always wanted to be. She was eleven years old and already better than many of the Red Guard that Tywin had placed at the palace to protect the royal children. On more than one occasion Cersei had seen her daughter spar with the guard and beat them. And Jaime had said that they weren't even taking it easy on her.

...

He did come to her, but like Robert he waited until a time that was convenient to him. He did not come before he and Lenora practiced her sword fighting, he did not come once Lenora went back to her studies, he did not come until after supper had been served to the Queen and he children and the youngest of the royal children had been put to bed.

She knew why he picked that time. Lenora was still awake. She was in her room, reading a book one of the maesters had given her to practice her High Valerian. The royal chambers were large, but they were not so large that she wouldn't be able to hear them if they started to fight.

Jaime had chosen that time to come visit her because he did not want to have the same fight they always had now. She was seething when he came through the door. He might not want to have the fight, but she did. Even if it meant that it had to be in whispers instead of shouts. "I sent for you hours ago," she hissed at him the moment he had stepped through the door to her private sitting room.

"You did," Jaime said with a nod as he turned around and quietly shut the door behind him. "But I am not your husband, you do not have me at your beck and call," he paused. "Come to think of it I do not think you have even him there either. Does he even come see you anymore?"

Cersei felt her eyes tightening in anger. "Are you trying to hurt me out of spite?" she asked him.

"Spite, dear sister, why would I ever have a reason to spite you?" Jaime asked as he moved further into the room, taking a seat opposite her even though she had not invited him to sit down yet. Cersei tried not to let it hurt her. There was a time when he would have sat down right beside her. There was a time when he would have ripped her dress of and taken her against the very chair he was sitting in. But that time was long gone now, it would seem.

"What reason would you have?" Cersei asked, echoing her brother's question. "I've been asking myself that since the last time you and I were alone. You used to come to me all the time. I used to not have to send my daughter to beg for you to come see me. We were perfect once, you and I."

"I suppose we were," Jaime agreed, inspecting his fingernails as if he was already bored with this conversation. And perhaps he was, it was one they had had several times within the past year. "But then you married the King and, as they say, all good things must come to an end."

"But not us," Cersei whispered, getting up out of her seat and walking over to kneel in front of her brother's chair. "Never us. We are meant to be, Jaime. Two halves of a whole. The only perfect thing in this entire world." She reached out to grab his hand, she meant to have him touch her, to remember what it was like when they were together. To remember what she felt like. But he moved his hand away before she could touch him. Her gaze dropped to her lap, "Our children are perfect too," she told him. "If you would only look at them."

"I do look at them," Jaime told her, "Three perfect children. With three matching golden heads. And six beautiful green eyes. Three perfect examples of the Lannister blood. When you line them up next to Lenora it is a small wonder that there aren't more whispers about who their father is and who Robert's true-born heir is."

"Robert is stupid," Cersei told him with a wave of her hand, "he'll never guess."

"But Jon Arryn is not," Jaime told her. "And there are whispers that he has been asking some very pointed questions."

Cersei waved her hand again, "Men can be bought," she told her brother before she realized that he had changed the subject. "Don't distract me," she ordered him. "I did not ask you here to talk of Jon Arryn. I asked you here to talk of us."

"You did not ask me here at all, dear sister," Jaime told her as he stood up from his chair. "You ordered me here. And I don't think that there is an us. Not truly since the night with Lenny. And definitely not since you've finally given Robert both an heir and a spare. I don't think you need my services anymore."

Try as she might Cersei could not hide the hurt she felt at that statement. Jaime stopped when he reached the door and he turned around to face her. "I will always love you, Cersei," he told her. "Gods damn me to the Seven Hells, I will always love you. I don't know how to stop. But we cannot be as we were. We can never be that again."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He found her in the Great Hall, sitting on the Iron Throne in the most unlady like manner possible. Her back was resting against one of the arms, her feet dangled over the other. She held a book in her hands, whatever she was reading must have been boring her, he could tell by the way she kicked her feet against the side of the throne, a habit she had had since she was a child. She did not look up when he entered, she did not seem to hear him. When he reached out and touched her shoulder she jumped. "Oh, Uncle Jaime," she exclaimed. "You scared me. I thought you were Joff."

"And what would you have done if I was?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows.

"I would have told the little prick to leave me alone before I bloodied his nose for a second time today," Lenore responded, her tone light as she turned back to the book she had been reading.

Jaime chuckled as he lowered himself down to the steps in front of the throne, sitting with his back against it. "Your younger brother is the Crown Prince of Westeros," he reminded his niece, though he knew she needed no reminder from him; Joffrey, though but six years old, was well aware of his place in the world and enjoyed lording it over his older sister.

"A fact of which he never fails to remind me," Lenora told her uncle, looking away from her book for just a moment to smirk down at the older man. "Which is why I bloodied his nose already today."

"He'll tell your mother," Jaime warned.

"No he won't," Lenora answered back in a sing-song voice. "Not unless he wants me to tell Mother that he was trying to stab one of the stable boys with his sword, simply because he could."

"Now I may be an old man," Jaime told his niece with a smirk, "but if I do recall, there was a young girl at Casterly Rock who once tried to cut a squire's son down with my sword."

"That's different," Lenora answered, her smirk widening into a smile. "He mocked me, I had to defend my honor. Joffrey was simply stabbing the boy because he's the crown prince and he thinks that means he can do whatever he wants." She paused for a moment before she turned to look at her uncle. "Besides, I gave the squire's son armor, and I was far more likely to hurt myself with your sword than him."

"Semantics, I assure you," Jaime told the girl with a wave of his hand. He turned his head further to get a better look at the book his niece was reading. "That looks boring," he told her.

She nodded, "It is boring," she agreed, "but the Maester has set me to memorize all the great houses in the Seven Kingdoms, their sigils, their colors, their words, their seats. I am to pay particular attention to House Stark."

"Ah," Jaime nodded, "your betrothed." Lenora rolled her eyes at her uncle, she was quite good at it for a girl her age. Jaime reached over and took the book from her, "Well go on, what do you have so far?"

"In alphabetical order? Geographical order? Size? Or importance?" Lenora asked, her tone bored.

"Let's go with importance," Jaime suggested.

"House Baratheon: A stag, black and gold, Ours is the Fury, they rule the Seven Kingdoms," she gestured at the throne she was sitting in, "obviously. House Lannister: A lion, Red and gold, Hear me Roar," she paused, "or alternatively: A Lannister always pays his debts, Casterly Rock and Wardens of the West. House Stark: a direwolf, grey and white, Winter is Coming, Winterfell and Wardens of the North. House Arryn: a moon and falcon, white and light blue, As High as Honor, Vale and Warden of the East."

She stopped. "Done already?" Jaime asked her. "You only know four of the great houses? That simply will not do."

"I know all of them," his niece snapped at him, "I'm just bored." But Jaime knew that wasn't it, his niece was far too disciplined to stop something just because she was bored. He looked at her face, her eyes were dark like the stormy sea, her eyebrows furrowed. She was thinking about something, whatever it was made her unhappy. He waited. She sighed and looked down at the throne she was sitting on, her hands brushed over some of the swords that made up the seat. "They say that the Iron Throne is made up of one thousand swords, surrendered to Aegon the Conqueror during the war that united the Seven Kingdoms," she told her uncle quietly. "But when I was younger I counted them, over and over again. There's less than two hundred."

"Yes," Jaime told her with nod. "But one thousand sounds so much better."

Lenora bit her lip, "It's terribly uncomfortable," she told him. Jaime nodded silently, remembering the time that he had sat on the throne, after he had killed Aerys, it had been uncomfortable then too. Lenora was quiet again, her grey eyes sweeping over the great hall, "It was here wasn't it?" she asked him. Jaime looked up at her, not quite sure what she was asking him, but hoping it wasn't what he thought it was. "Where you earned your nickname, _Kingslayer_ , it was here?"

Jaime nodded, "It was here," he agreed.

"Why did you do it?" Lenora asked, turning to meet her uncle's gaze. "I've heard the stories. Aerys was mad, insane, and he needed to die for the sake of the Seven Kingdoms. I understand that. But you were a member of the Kingsguard, you were sworn to protect him. Ned Stark was only a few hours away, he could have done it. Why did it have to be you?"

Jaime should have known that that question was coming. He should have known, Lenora was old enough to have heard the whispers. She was old enough to think for herself and to wonder. He looked up at her, preparing to see judgement and disgust on her face as he did whenever someone asked him about that afternoon. Instead what he saw was love, and curiosity. His niece was not judging him, and even if she were, she was predisposed to love him. She was simply curious. For the first time in the many years since that afternoon Jaime felt that he could actually answer the question.

"He ordered me to kill my father," he told her, his voice quiet to keep it from echoing through the Great Hall, just in case someone was spying from the gallery above. "Your grandfather had not declared for a side yet, and Aerys did not trust him. He ordered me to kill him. And when I could not do that. He gave a different order, to someone else."

"A worse order than to murder your own father?" Lenora asked, her voice just as low and hushed as Jaime's. "But what could be worse than that?"

"During his reign the Mad King had ordered the pyromancers to produce wildfire and to store it underneath the city. Rather than lose the war, Aerys ordered on of the pyromancers to set the wildfire ablaze. He would rather watch all of Kings Landing burn - every man, woman, and child die, before he would lose the war. I found out about his plan and I killed the pyromancer before he could follow through with the King's order. But there were more, some all too happy to do the Mad King's bidding. I could either kill them all, or I could kill the king."

Lenora was quiet for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth before she turned to her uncle. "And so, you killed the king that you had sworn to protect." It wasn't a question. It wasn't a judgement. It was a statement.

"Just so," Jaime answered with a nod.

Lenora quietly, almost silently climbed off of the throne and moved to sit next to her uncle on the black stone steps beneath it. She took both of his hands in her small child sized ones and gave them a gentle squeeze. When she spoke though it was not with a child's voice, nor were they a child's words. "All these years you've fought against that name," she said, Jaime was glad that she did not use it again. "Everyone judges you for what you did, they say that you lost your honor that day." She shook her head and squeezed his hands a bit tighter, "But you, Uncle Jaime, are the most honorable man I know. This entire city and the Seven Kingdoms owes you for the lives they have lived since that day. And it's a debt they will never be able to pay. Just know, that I know who you are. Just know that I see you."

She fell silent then. And as Jaime looked down at his young niece he realized what a disservice it was to the Seven Kingdoms that she would never be able to inherit the throne. She would have made a wonderful Queen. He opened his mouth to tell her that, Lenora beat him to it. "House Tulley," she told him with a grin. "A leaping trout, silver and red and blue; Family, Duty, Honor, Riverrun."

And just like that, the spell was broken.

...

It was Tommen's first name day. And Cersei had gone all out for the celebration. There had been a joust in the afternoon, Jaime still could not bite back the smile when he remembered Cersei's face just before the joust. The royal family was to watch the jousting from the King's box. All except for Jaime who would be in the competition and, it would seem, Lenora who had come out of her chambers dressed in a pair of breeches and a shirt that she had borrowed from a stable boy.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Cersei had demanded angrily. She had carefully planned all of her children's outfits, the four royal children would be wearing matching red and gold clothes, Lannister colors. That was most definitely not what Lenora was wearing.

Her daughter had shrugged and moved closer to Jaime, "Squiring for Uncle Jaime, of course," she told her mother.

"If Lenora gets to squire than I want to joust!" Joffrey demanded in his young child's voice. "I'm the crown prince after all."

Cersei had been adamant about how improper it was for Lenora to squire for her uncle.

But Robert found it funny. He laughed heartily and kissed his daughter on her cheek before he wished both her and Jaime luck.

The knights and squires had loved it. Jaime supposed that for at least some of them it was the closest they had ever been to one of the royal children. Perhaps it would not be such a bad idea for Joffrey to join in during the tournaments once he was old enough. There was something good about have a prince, or in Lenora's case a princess, who was accessible to the people.

But now, after the jousting had finished she was dressed in the Lannister red and gold that her mother had picked for her, her usually unruly brown hair was piled on top of her head in the southern style and she was acting every bit the royal Princess that her mother wanted her to.

She was currently out on the floor dancing with Tyrion.

She was a small girl, but it was already comical how much she had to stoop to be at the same level as her uncle. Jaime chuckled as he moved in on the awkwardly sized pair on the floor, "Mind if I cut it?" he asked, bowing low to the princess.

"Please do," Tyrion told his older brother with a smile and a nod as he stepped away from his niece. "I told her I was no good as a dancing parter, but our girl is a rather stubborn one, she wanted to dance. I was not to say no to her."

"She gets that from her mother," Jaime agreed as he held his arms open for the young girl. She smiled at him before she stepped into his arms, easily finding the proper stance. Jaime laughed at her and pulled her in closer, until the young girl was standing on his feet. "You may have been willing to stoop for your uncle, but I am not willing to stoop."

"I am a princess," Lenora told him, lifting her chin defiantly, "You should be willing to do anything for me."

Jaime smiled down at the girl in his arms as they started to move to the music. "You know I would do anything for you, my fawn."

Lenora rolled her eyes, "When will I stop being a fawn, Uncle Jaime?" she asked. "I am eleven years old. Aren't I a doe yet?"

Jaime shook his head. "You will always be a fawn to me."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

After she danced with her uncle Jaime, she danced with some of the ladies in the court, and then one final dance with her father. This was her favorite part about celebrations in the Red Keep. The dancing. She especially loved it when her father came down from the Iron Throne to dance with her. She had never seen him dance with her mother, but she was sure they must have danced at one time. They were both lovely dancers.

Robert had laughed as he twirled his daughter around the dance floor to the delight of her and the ladies and lords who were watching them. "You are quite a lovely dancer, Lenora," he told her, his tone approving. "We'll have to ask your dance master to teach you some dances in the Northern style before you head up there to meet the Starks."

"Northern style?" Lenora had asked him, confused. No one had ever mentioned that the Northerners had a different style of dancing. The smile had dropped off her face, not out of confusion, but because her father had quite easily ruined her mood. It was easy on a daily basis to forget that she was already promised to someone. But when her father brought up her living in the North with such certainty as this it was difficult to ignore.

"Oh yes," her father told her with a nod. "It is quite different from what you are used to." He paused for a moment, the dance requiring them to separate and dance with a different partner for a moment. He continued once they were back together, "But you pick things up quickly, Len," he told her with a nod. "I imagine that you'll pick up living in the North just as easily."

"It will certainly be different from living here in Kings Landing with you and Mother," Lenora told me, more to simply have something to say than anything. She wanted so badly to please her father, but she could not pretend to happy or excited about this betrothal. She had met the Stark boy once, when she was five years old. She didn't know him, how was she supposed to be excited about marrying a stranger.

"I know you're worried about him," Robert told her, as if reading her mind. "But Robb Stark is a good boy, Ned sends me updates all the time. You will be happy with him, I am sure of it."

Lenora nodded, eager to please her father. "I just don't know him, Father," she told him, unable to hide her fear.

"Then you shall write to him," Robert told her, his tone leaving little room for argument. "Tomorrow, I'll have your maester end your studies early so that you can write him a letter. They way, you will know him." And then he smiled down at her, as if he had just solved all of her problems. Lenora forced a smile on her lips as she nodded up at her father, silently agreeing with him.

...

"He says I am to write him," Lenora told her two uncles over the clash of steel. Her uncle Tyrion had come down to the tilt yard to watch her and her uncle during her sword fighting lesson. "He says I'm supposed to write him. As if that will solve everything."

"No doubt he thinks it will," Jaime told her, as diplomatically as he could. "And tell me true, Len, what damage would writing the boy a letter do?"

"No damage," Lenora admitted, throwing her sword up in front of her face to block a strike from her uncle. He was always careful with her, he would never leave a scar or a scratch on her, but he did have a habit of hitting her with the flat side of his blade if she missed a guard. "It would only serve to make me look a fool. How do I set about writing a complete stranger?"

"I write to strangers all the time," Tyrion told her. "I have been called many things, but never a fool."

Lenora rolled her eyes, "Yes, Uncle Tyrion," she told him as she leapt forward, attempting to strike Jaime. "But you write official things. I have nothing official to write to Robb Stark. What if he thinks me boring? Or what if he thinks me stupid? Or spoiled? It's already too much to marry a stranger, I don't need that stranger thinking I'm a fool."

"No one could ever think our niece a fool." Jaime told her as he blocked her strike. She knew that her uncle was still being easy on her, but it felt good to know that she always met him guard for guard and strike for strike. "Why are you fighting this so?"

"What do I write to him?" Lenora asked him, stepping away so that she could circle around her uncle, looking for a different plan of attack. "What do I write about?" she asked her uncles, glancing away from Jaime to look at her uncle Tyrion. "The weather here in King's Landing?"

Her quick glance away from Jaime was all her uncle needed to strike. He moved closer to her and struck, hitting the top of her head with the flat side of her blade.

"And you're dead," he told her, stepping away from her. "What have I always told you, Len?"

"Never take your eyes off your enemy," Lenora recited, rolling her eyes at her uncle. "But really, Uncle Jaime, you will never be my enemy." She paused for a moment, thinking, "Will you?"

"Of course not, my fawn," Jaime told her, pulling her in so that he could press a kiss to the top of her head. "We're family after all. And as for what you will write to the boy. Write about anything. Write about your studies, your sword fighting, your family. Ask him about his. Ask him about the North. It will be your home soon, after all. Ask him anything, boys like to talk about themselves."

"And men?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "What do men like to talk about?"

"Women," Tyrion answered.

Lenora smiled at that before she glanced between her two uncles. "Can't I wait until tomorrow to write the letter?" she asked.

"No," Tyrion told her, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because your tomorrow will turn into the next day, or the next day, or the next day." Jaime told her. He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to face the castle. "Now go," he tapped her on her behind with the sword and sent her on the way.

It still felt strange, she realized, writing the letter. But with her Jaime's advice and Tyrion's joke she felt a little bit better about it. Besides, she was a princess of Westeros even if the Stark boy thought that she was an idiot, he was not allowed to say it.

 _Robb,  
_ _I don't know how to start this. I do not know you, we have not written, I cannot start this as a conversation. I can only start by saying hello.  
_ _Hello, Robb Stark. My name is Lenora Baratheon, my family calls me Lenny, or Len. I am eleven years old, and once we are both of age, I am to be your wife. I'm sorry about that.  
_ _I met you once, do you remember? It was shortly before my brother Joff was born. You and your father had traveled to Kings Landing for the celebrations. Our fathers announced the betrothal and you never said a word to me, the whole time you were in the city. Do you remember?  
_ _Please do not be silent again.  
_ _Please do not leave me alone in this.  
_ _I am not a craven, but I will admit that I am afraid.  
_ _I am afraid of the North. I have never been north of Casterly Rock.  
_ _I am afraid of marrying a man that I do not know. So do not be a stranger to me.  
_ _Write back. Quickly. Tell me all there is to know about you. Tell me all there is to know about the North. So that, when I finally head to Winterfell - I will know it, and I will know you.  
_

 _Yours,  
_ _Lenora Baratheon_

* * *

Author's Note:

So, my dears, multiple things.  
First, I must apologize. This chapter has been done for like two weeks, but I was holding it hostage for at least five reviews. I didn't get those five reviews, but I really wanted to post the chapter and I decided that holding it hostage was unfair. So I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it again.  
You guys can always review more though ... that might help!  
Secondly, someone pointed out to me that the Baratheons are known for black hair and blue eyes not brown hair and grey eyes. There's this really fun thing called artistic liberty where someone is allowed to change something from cannon for their own purposes. This is one of them. When I picture Lenora in my head she has dark brown hair and grey eyes so that is what the Baratheons will have in this story. Boom.  
Thirdly, reviews! Thank you to the four of you that did review on the previous chapters! You are saints!  
 **Lilone1776:** You were my first review! Thank you so much. I'm glad that you like Lenora because I love her. She's fiery and smart and sarcastic and playful. Basically she's everything I think Cersei would be if she hadn't been so disappointed in life. And she needed to be for what I have planned for her!  
 **EdenEzraHiddleston** : I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. Here's your update!  
 **macrazy99** : I'm glad you like the story so far. Full confession, I am in love with the idea of a paternal Jaime. We saw a bit of it with Myrcella last season I think which made it cannon. I took it and ran with it and here we are.  
I'm also having a lot of fun playing with Cersei. I think it is really easy to paint her as a bitch and move on. But she's not. Even in the books you catch glimpses of what a good person she could have been. So I'm having fun with it.  
 **Anne** : I'm glad you liked the beginning! Here's the next chapter.  
That's all I've got for you guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review!  
Thank you, loves!  
Hugs and kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	5. Chapter Five: Do You Trust Me?

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The Reading and Enjoying is for you ... the Reviews are for me!)  
I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

* * *

 _Robb_

"I don't see why your mother insists that we all pretty ourselves up for the King's visit," Theon muttered as he, Robb, and Jon lined up in front of Winterfell's barber so that he could shave their faces.

"Maybe it's for the queen," Robb told him, looking over his shoulder to grin at his friend and half brother. "I hear she's a beauty."

"Or for the princess." Jon told him.

"You won't meet the princess," Theon told Jon, nudging him. "If you think for one moment that Lady Stark will let her husband's bastard be paraded in front of the King's daughter you must be stupid, Snow. Ladies are not to be subjected to such things."

"But she's to be subjected to you, eh?" Jon asked, trying to hide the fact that Theon's comment had hurt him. "You're much worse than me."

"But I'm true-born," Theon pointed out. "And besides, I can't be worse than her brother. I hear that Joffrey is a royal prick."

"Ay," Robb nodded as the barber pulled him down in the chair in front of him and started to lather his face with soaps and oils so that he could shave the stubble that was growing on his cheeks and chin. "I've heard it too, straight from the Princess."

"In her love letters to you?" Theon teased.

"I wouldn't call them love letters," Robb told his friend. "She spends half her time telling me how much of an idiot she thinks I am. And the other half defending herself against me when I call her a fool."

Theon chuckled and shook his head, "And that is why Robb has never been with a woman before," he told Jon. "Being a prick works for me because I am not the son of a mighty lord. I'm but a ward. People expect better of you than they do of me, Robb. Tell me, are you still going to call her a fool when she's standing in front of you, in person?"

"I will if she's being one," Robb promised.

"I hope she slaps you across that smug, Northern face of yours," Theon told his friend, laughter coloring his tone as he imagined the scene in his head.

"I'd love to see her try," Robb muttered as he stood up from the barber's chair, wiping off his face and gesturing toward Jon, it was his turn underneath the blade.

"I've heard she's beautiful," Jon told the two boys as he sat down in the chair. "And everyone says that she's smart. Uncle Benjen says that she is something to behold, and he would know. He's been down to the capital and seen her."

Robb rolled his eyes, "She's as beautiful as her mother, but with Robert's dark Baratheon looks. And as clever as her uncle Tyrion; the two read and discuss books, she's fluent in several different languages and familiar with the history of the Seven Kingdoms. She is almost as good a swordsman and rider as her uncle Jaime, he has been training her since she was a young girl," he said, repeating his uncle's report of the princess from the last time he had been in the capital city. "Uncle Benjen is an honorable man," he told his half brother, "but it is practically treason to speak against the royal children. And he was just repeating the whispers from the people of the city, I'll believe it all when I see it."

"And yet you've got her description memorized," Theon pointed out with a smirk. "Careful Robb, I would think you in love if I didn't know any better."

"Not in love," Robb told both boys, "simply intrigued. I wonder if she'll live up to the rumors. I wonder if they all will."

"Arya's most interested in the Imp," Jon told them with a shrug. "You'll want to watch her when they arrive. You know the girl has no filter. And while, from the rumors at least, the King and the Queen have no particular fondness for the little monster I've heard the Kingslayer and the children all have a soft spot for him."

Robb nodded, Jon was right after all. If Arya were to say something it wouldn't be the first time that her mouth had gotten her in trouble. But this would be the first time that her tongue running wild would have such serious consequences.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Her mother had put up a fight about it. She had tried to put her foot down. She had pointed out the impropriety of it. She had yelled at the King that it was not how proper princesses behaved. But Robert had merely laughed and asked his wife when their eldest daughter had ever behaved like a proper princess. He had a point. And because of it, Lenora had gotten her way.

Sort of.

She was not to ride freely. They were part of a large party, almost three hundred, but the King's Road was not always the safest place, especially for a princess without a guard. So here she was, sandwiched between Jaime and the Hound. Jaime had volunteered for the ride, the Hound had been graciously given to her by her brother Joffrey. In front of their mother he had put on a show about how he was worried about his sister's safety, but Lenora knew the real reason he had given her the Hound - he knew the man frightened her.

She was not to ride too fast. They were close to Winterfell now. They had been riding from Kings Landing for a month, but they were practically at their destination now, they would make it to Winterfell by midday. Her mother knew that Lenora could easily outride the large party, but she did not want her daughter to reach Winterfell before the rest of them. That would have been even more improper than what she was already doing.

And finally, she was to retire her horse and ride the last mile of the journey in the wheel house with her mother, Myrcella, and Tommen. This was so her mother's ladies could attempt to fix whatever damage riding had done to her hair and her dress before they reached the castle at Winterfell.

Lenora agreed to her mother's first two conditions. She would ride with her escorts; she could almost pretend that it was her choice, if she ignored the Hound and only spoke to her uncle then it was almost as if they were simply going on a ride together like they did almost daily. She would not ride too fast; with this many people on the road it would have been impossible to do anyway. Now, all bets were off once they reached the village surrounding Winterfell. This was to be her home, she wanted to make sure that she was one of the first to see it.

Which is why she could not agree to her mother's third condition. She would not ride in the wheelhouse for the last mile. She would not allow her mother's ladies in waiting to attempt to do her hair or clean up her dress. It was the same reasoning as for why she wanted to see the castle before anyone else did. This was to be her home and Robb Stark was to be her husband. She wanted him to know, from the first, exactly what he was getting out of the bargain. Besides, what was her mother going to do to stop her? Climb on a horse of her own and chase her down? The thought made her laugh.

"What's so funny, Little Princess?" the Hound asked her. He had called her that since she was a young girl. It had not changed as she aged, though she supposed that to the Hound, everyone besides his brother was little.

"I just imagined Mother riding on a horse," Lenora answered, a soft smile on her lips.

Jaime smirked and shook his head as he glanced at the young woman riding beside him, "I take it that you will not be riding in the wheelhouse to enter Winterfell?" he asked. The question was pointless, he knew his niece well enough to know her answer. He had practically raised her, after all.

"And miss all the fun of watching her try to hide her anger and displeasure from the Starks?" Lenora asked, her soft smile widening into a wicked grin. "Now why would I do that, Uncle?" She heard shouts up ahead and looked up, catching sight of buildings, lots of them surrounding a large castle in the distance. "Is that it?" she asked, glancing between the two men on either side of her. "Is that Winterfell?"

"It is," Jaime told her, his grip tightening on the reins in his hands. He knew his niece well enough to know what was going to come next.

The wicked grin was back on her face and she winked one of her happy, silver eyes at him. "I'll race you!" And before he could even answer her challenge she had leaned forward on her black charger, urging the horse into a gallop.

Jaime glanced at the hound and shrugged, "I hope Robb Stark has a fast horse," was all he told the guard before he clicked to his horse and nudged its sides with his feet, bringing it into a gallop so that he could catch up with the red and gold whirlwind that was his niece.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

The scout had sounded the alarm. The royal party would be arriving within minutes. The courtyard of Winterfell was suddenly a flutter of activity. Everyone was trying to find their place while simultaneously being out of the way for when the royal party entered.

His family quickly assembled in two rows. Lord and Lady Stark and their five true-born children, well four, Arya was nowhere to be found, in the first row. Jon and Theon in the second. This was going to be the first time Robb laid his eyes on Lenora Baratheon in twelve years, he would have had his half brother and his friend beside him when it happened, but he knew better than to ask. His mother would have never allowed it.

"Where is Arya?" his mother hissed, glancing around for her youngest daughter. They would be here any moment and it wouldn't do to be missing a member of their family. It would be seen as an insult.

Before anyone could answer the small girl came running toward them, wearing a helmet on her head, no doubt to disguise her identity. "I saw them!" she exclaimed as she came skidding to a stop and Ned took the helmet off of her head, handing it back to Jon to get rid of. "I saw them! All of them! The King! The Imp! The Kingslayer! The Princess! I saw all of them!"

"Hush," Sansa hissed at her sister as the first of the party, the trumpeters and guards entered the courtyard. She quickly pulled Arya into her spot between her and Bran. "How could you have seen the Princess, surely she would have been inside a carriage. That's how ladies travel."

"It's not how I would travel!" Arya argued. "And I don't think it's how Princess Lenora travels either."

"You don't know anything!" Sansa argued back.

"Hush, both of you!" their mother ordered and the girls fell silent.

The royal visitors started to pour into the courtyard and Robb was able to identify many of them from his father's stories. Some of the first through the gates were Ser Jaime, with his bright, golden hair. The man with the burned face would be Sandor Clegane, the Crown Prince's personal guard. There was a woman between them, but Robb paid little attention to her, half convinced that she must be a whore that the stunted man behind her, the Imp Tyrion, must have picked up on the road to the North. Then there was the Crowned Prince, his hair as bright as his uncle's. But the large man who came in after them, he didn't match any of his father's stories. If it weren't for the crown on his head Robb would have never guessed that he was the great King of the Seven Kingdoms.

After him came the wheelhouse, where the Queen and her daughters and youngest son would be. They did not exit right away, the door remained tightly closed as two squires dismounted from their horses and carried a large stool over to the King's horse so that he could dismount himself.

The Winterfell party all knelt as the King slowly climbed off his horse and made his way over to Ned. He rose Ned up first, "You've gotten fat," he told him.

Robb glanced up, to see how the royal party took Robert's greeting. His eyes caught the gaze of the brunette who was still on her horse between Jaime Lannister and the Hound. There was a slight blush rising to her cheeks at the King's statement. It looked pretty.

Ned didn't say anything, he simply nodded at the large King in front of him with raised eyebrows. For one tense moment Robb worried that the King would punish his father for the insult. But instead Robert Baratheon threw his head back and laughed, throwing his arms around Ned and pulling him in for a tight hug before he raised up the rest of the Stark Family. He greeted their mother with a hug and kiss on the cheek before he went down the line of children, introducing himself to each of them. He squeezed Robb's arm in a familiar manner, probably to signify Robb's importance to the future of his family.

Once he had said his hellos he turned to the wheelhouse and nodded. The door was opened and his stool was carried over to be placed in front of the door so that the ladies and Tommen could climb out. Joffrey dismounted from his horse and stood, waiting patiently as his uncle Jaime dismounted and walked around to the side of the black horse beside him, helping the woman in the red dress dismount. Then, much to Robb's surprise, Joffrey took the young woman's hand and led her over to the Stark family where they took their places in the family line up. Robert, Cersei, Joffrey, the woman, the blonde princess, and the baby prince on the end.

"My family," Robert said, unnecessarily, but his voice was filled with pride. The Starks bowed in response. Robert did not wait long before he went down the line. "My Queen, Cersei," unlike Robert's warm greeting to them all Cersei held out a hand disdainfully to Ned and Catelyn and barely spared a glance at the children.

Robert moved on, walking behind the tall boy and clapping him on his shoulder, "My son, Joffrey." The prince looked bored, his eyes sweeping over the Stark family before catching on Sansa. Robb realized that his sister had caught the young prince's eye and he moved slightly, trying to block his younger sister from Joffrey's view. She grabbed his hand and pushed him back into his place, hissing at him not to be an idiot.

"This is my daughter," the king announced, his hand landing on the young woman's shoulder as he turned to smile and wink at Robb, "Lenora." The small brunette, her younger brother while five years younger already towered over her, sank into a low, humble curtsy to the Stark family.

Robb supposed that the king continued introducing his family, but he didn't pay any more attention. He could not take his eyes off the girl in front of him. He wasn't sure how he could have assumed that she was a whore, even for all her windswept hair she was so obviously a princess.

And she was beautiful. Her dark brown hair was tangled, he supposed it had been braided or piled on top of her head in some sort of up do, but most of it was falling in wild wisps and curls around her face. Her eyes were grey, classic Baratheon and were sparkling with excitement and a private joke only she seemed to know. That pretty blush was back on her cheeks. She was small, both in height and simply size. Her waist was so small, he could have wrapped himself around her twice and she couldn't have weighed more than eight stones, but he suspected she was closer to seven than eight. She held herself gracefully, regally. And even though she was the dirtiest woman in the courtyard, Arya withstanding, there was no denying that she was also the most beautiful. Surpassing even her mother.

He watched as Jaime Lannister moved in on her and whispered something in her ear. Lenora's grey eyes lifted to meet Robb's gaze for a moment and she bit her lip, the blush on her cheeks deepening before she dropped her gaze back to her feet.

Jon nudged him. "Uncle Benjen didn't know what he was talking about, huh?" he whispered, his tone teasing.

Robb shook his head silently, Benjen hadn't known what he was talking about.

He hadn't done her justice.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

The Stark boy had been a pleasant surprise. She had heard the entire month long ride to Winterfell that he was handsome. She had assumed that her ladies were just saying that to boost her spirits. But they hadn't been lying. He was handsome.

He was tall, but almost everyone was tall to her, and he was built like every young man should be. He was solid muscle, he looked hard, but during the afternoon she had caught sight of him playing with his youngest sister and brother Arya and Rickon, he was playful and gentle, soft. He had inherited his mother's red hair, but it was darkened by the Stark blood, both a dark brown or an auburn depending on how the light hit it. And he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

Blue eyes that had not been able to stop looking at her as he father made the introductions between the two families, a fact that her uncle Jaime and some of her ladies had pointed out to her.

But despite the fact that he could not seem to take his eyes off of her he did not speak to her. The welcoming party broke apart when her father asked to be taken down to the crypt to pay his respects to his first love, Ned's sister Lyanna. She knew she would get in trouble for it, her mother would already be angry at her, but when Cersei tried to put up a fight against Robert visiting the crypts so soon Lenora slipped away.

She wanted to see Winterfell, and not on some official tour. She knew that the Starks were to feast them at sundown, there would be food to welcome them and dancing to celebrate the official announcement of her betrothal to Robb. But that was still far off, she had an entire afternoon before she needed to be ready. And she hoped that maybe Robb would follow her, that they would get to officially meet far away from the prying eyes of the rest of the guests at Winterfell.

They had been writing letters to each other since that first one she had written when she was eleven. And she truly felt as if she knew the boy, she shook her head after seeing him she could not truly call him a boy. He was a man. A man she knew, but one who would not feel real to her until they had been officially introduced. To her disappointment he did not come to her as she walked, but she did run into one of his brothers.

He was her age, she supposed, the bastard. She came upon him in the stables where he was feeding and watering the royal party's horses. She stood, just inside the doorway watching him for a moment before she moved in closer. He was just starting to take the saddle off of her horse and he was so intent on his work that he didn't notice her as she moved to the other side of the horse and started to help. Maybe he assumed that she was a stable hand. She knew when he finally recognized her though, his large, calloused hand brushed against her smaller, smoother one and he gasped. "My Lady," he told her, stumbling away from both her and the horse so that he could bow low to her. "I'm sorry, I did not see you there. Can I help you with something?" Lenora smiled at him as she reached up to heave the saddle off of her horses back, "And now I've interrupted your work when all I meant to do was help you," she told the black haired boy. "I'm sorry." The boy raised his eyebrows at her, as if he thought it was stupid that she was apologizing to him, but he did move closer to her to take the saddle out of her hands. She moved closer to her horse and gently stroked the great charger's neck. The horse had been a gift from her father for her seventeenth name day, just a few months ago, she had named him Casterly. "You're Jon Snow," she told the boy, turning away from the horse to look at the boy. He silently nodded. She sighed, apparently he was not much of a talker. "My father didn't introduce you when we first arrived."

"I suppose that introducing bastards is beneath the King," Jon told her, his dark gaze lifting to meet hers for a moment before he looked away.

Something in Lenora's heart softened for the boy. She had thought him shy, but now she realized that he had simply spent his entire life hearing that he was not worth notice. "You shouldn't be," she told him. "Gods know my father has enough of them running around Kings Landing and probably the Seven Kingdoms over."

Jon snorted despite himself and smiled up at her, "Did you enjoy your ride through the Seven Kingdoms, Princess?" he asked, moving around her to gently lead her horse toward an empty stall.

Lenora shrugged, "We stayed on the King's Road the entire time," she told him. "So while it was more of the kingdom than I have seen before I will not be happy until I see it all. From Dorne to the Wall, and from Casterly Rock to the Vale."

"And everything in between?" Jon asked, raising his eyebrows at her with a friendly smile.

"And everything in between," Lenora agreed. She was silent for a moment, watching as the man started back with the other horses. "He talks about you, you know?" she told him quietly. "Your brother. He talked about you in the letters he wrote me. He talked about all of you, but especially you. I feel as if I know you already. He thinks of you as a true brother, you know?"

Jon nodded, Robb had always told him that, but it was nice to have it confirmed by someone else. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted when her uncle Jaime entered the stables. "Lenora," he said softly, catching his niece's attention. "Your mother requests your presence."

Lenora nodded, she had known this was coming, she gathered her skirts in her hands and nodded a silent goodbye to Jon before she followed her uncle out of the stables, "No doubt to yell at me," she said as they walked across the courtyard toward the doors of the castle.

"No," her uncle told her, shaking his head. "She is much too angry at your father to spare any anger for the daughter who ran off and didn't follow orders, like she always does. It's almost to be expected of you now, a bit boring really."

Lenora smiled at that, only her uncle Jaime could be bored by the fact that she was always breaking the rules. "Well, with a role model like you and a protector like my father, who simply calls it spirit, how can I be expected to be any different?" she asked him, her tone teasing.

Jaime smiled at her, "All the same, I would hazard a guess that it will take hours to untangle your hair, so you had best get to your chambers as soon as possible. Your mother will forgive your wild ride and she will forgive your wandering. But she will not forgive you looking anything but perfect at the feast that is given to your particular honor."

...

She did not disappoint. Before the feast her hair was washed and detangled and then brushed until is shone. Her ladies had wanted to pile it on top of her head in a similar fashion to her mother's, but Lenora had argued. She was going to live in the North for a year and take a Northern man as her husband once she was of age. She would wear her hair like the Northern women did. So she wore it down, natural waves and curls tumbling down her back. The ladies had braided the hair around her face and pinned the braids to the back of her head so that it would not be in front of her face. The style suited her, it allowed the light to fall on her high cheekbones and highlight them in a way they weren't normally.

Her dress was of black fabric with red and gold accents, she wore the colors of both of her houses that night. And no doubt at her mother's orders, her corset had been tied tighter than usual that day, though the ladies did not confirm her guess when she asked them. Her waist looked smaller than it usually did, and her breasts were more on display than they usually were. It was harder to breathe.

But she supposed it did its job because Robb's breath caught in his throat when they met in front of the Great Hall. He was to escort her to her seat for the feast, and he couldn't keep his eyes off her.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

Gods bless corsets, Robb thought, sneaking a glance at the girl beside him. They were walking into the Great Hall for the feast. The King and Queen had entered first to much fanfare. Then his mother and father followed by Joffrey. And then Robb and Lenora, followed by her younger siblings and his. They still hadn't spoken a word to each other. She had blushed at him and curtsied in response to his bow. And he knew that she felt his gaze on her, her blush kept deepening.

They were to sit at a table, just below the head table with the Stark children and the royal children. Robb and Lenora were supposed to sit next to each other. He remained standing until she was seated and then he took his seat beside her. They waited until the King and Queen had taken their first bites before everyone in the hall began to fill their plates.

Lenora was silent for a moment before she turned to look at him. "We are not supposed to be strangers," she told him quietly. She waited until Robb had turned to look at her. "Please," she told him, "you promised I would not be alone in this."

Robb nodded at her, "So I did, My Lady," he told her. "And just so, you are not alone. I am right here." He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers. She jumped a bit at the contact, but when she didn't move her hand away from him he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he pulled his hand away so that they could eat. "Jon said that he met you in the stables after your arrival," he told her quietly.

Lenora smiled and nodded, "He was unsaddling Casterly, I meant to help him, but I think I just got in his way and slowed down his progress."

"Something tells me that you were a welcome distraction, My Lady," Robb told her. He tried to hide the jealousy in his voice. Jon had told him that she was not shy when they had been alone in the stables. His half brother had told him that the princess had been open, enchanting even, she had been comfortable enough to make a joke about her own father and his bastards even. Robb glanced down at the girl beside him, what he would have given to see that.

The brunette rolled those grey eyes of hers and shook her head at him. "Enough of this _My Lady_ shit," she told him, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "In the last letter you wrote me you were brave enough to call me a fool when I told you that I wanted to ride in the tournament Father threw for my name day. If the man who wrote that letter was someone other than you, please tell me now so that I can marry him. Otherwise, it's Lenora."

"Lenora," Robb said, trying out her name on his lips.

The princess smiled up at him and nodded, "That's better," she told him.

They began to eat, Robb found himself smiling and laughing more and more as the conversation between him and Lenora flowed easily. She spoke in the same voice as her letters. Equal parts playful, intelligent, and teasing. She needn't have worried about them being strangers, Robb realized, they had known each other since they were eleven years old.

They were about half way through the feast when a glob of food flew across the table and hit Sansa on the cheek. Lenora's hair flew as she turned her head, trying to catch sight of where the food had come from. But Robb already knew, "Arya," he told her, shaking his head while he laughed. "That was Arya."

Lenora shook her head and laughed, "I knew I liked that girl. She was too dirty when we arrived to be boring."

"You've got her there," Robb agreed. He was about to tell Lenora some of his favorite stories about Arya, but she was reloading her spoon and his mother caught his eye, signaling to him to take care of her. "Excuse me," he told Lenora, nodding to the girl.

He got out of his seat and walked around the table, wrapping his arms around his younger sister and picking her up. "Time for bed," he murmured to his sister before he started to carry her out of the hall. He turned back to look at Lenora and smiled when he realized that she was watching him walk away, a soft smile resting on her lips too.

When he came back to the hall he found that Theon had moved into his seat and had taken Lenora's attention. "The Wall?" Theon asked, laughter coloring his tone. "You want to go to the Wall, My Lady? Women aren't allowed on the Wall."

Lenora laughed and shook her head, "I don't want to take the black," she told him. "Gods do you take me for a fool? I simply want to see it. I want to see beyond it."

"And what will you see North of the Wall?" Theon asked. "Wildlings?"

"And giants and direwolves."

"Well you don't have to go North of the Wall for that," Robb told her.

Theon caught sight of Robb and quickly moved away from Lenora so that her betrothed could sit back down beside her.

Lenora turned to look at him, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?" she asked. "About the direwolves?"

He would have told her, but the King had stood up and gestured that Ned should stand up as well. So instead he simply grinned at the girl, "I'll show you tomorrow," he promised.

The King waved away the noise, waiting until the Hall was quiet before he spoke. "Twelve years ago in Kings Landing, Ned Stark and I made an agreement. We agreed to unite our houses." He paused, glancing at Robb's father. "This was a pairing that had been planned before, between his sister Lyanna and myself. But the Gods had different plans for us." Robb looked at Lenora, she was looking at her lap, biting her lip. He realized how much it must hurt the girl to see her father dishonor her mother in such a way. He knew his father would never have done that to his mother. He reached out a hand and took hers in his grasp. The King continued, officially announcing not only the betrothal of Robb and Lenora, but the newest addition - Joffrey and Sansa.

And then the king clapped his hands together and the music started. Robb knew his part, he stood up from his seat and bowed low to Lenora, extending his hand out to her. Lenora placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her from her seat to the empty space in the middle of the room. He let go of her and turned to face her. She was standing an odd difference away from him. It didn't make sense to him. She looked uncomfortable. He smiled at her, hoping to comfort her and then placed his hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer to him.

He did not miss that gasp that escaped her lips at the contact. Nor did he miss the fact that she pulled away from him slightly. He raised his eyebrows at her as he started to sway side to side in time with the music. For all her nerves and the awkward space between them she allowed him to lead, but her hands stayed down at her sides, as if she were unsure of what to do with them. He brought them around in a circle and then repositioned his hand on her back, pulling her in close again and giving her no room to escape. A blush tinted her cheeks.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, his left arm coming underneath her right, lifting both their arms up to waist level and bringing them back down. He placed his right hand behind his back and lifted their arms again, past shoulder level, and back down. One more time to shoulder level and down before he lifted their arms and sent her on a twirl underneath them.

She moved in closer to him and he placed her right forearm against his chest and shoulder, his left arm came to the small of her back again and the pair spun around in a circle. His fingers interlaced briefly with hers before he sent her on a spin all on her own, away from him for just a moment before she came back to him and they repeated the move on the other side. She nodded, just before he sent her spinning away again. "This is just very different from Southern dances," she told him once she had come back.

He held his left arm out to her and she placed both of her hands on his arm allowing him to parade her in one large circle in front of their entire audience. She was beginning to get the hang of the dance she took a spin on her own as he switched his hands and paraded her in the opposite direction.

She spun again and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull her close to him, their chests almost touching, "Tell me about the differences?" he whispered before he gently pushed he away from him. This move was repeated twice more: out and in, out and in before he pulled her in to a proper dancing stance. He held her right hand in his left, his right hand was placed on her upper back, just between the shoulder blades and her left arm rested on top of his, her hand gripping his shoulder. "Tell me about them?" he asked her again, when she remained silent for too long.

She began to relax in his arms, even gracing him with a smile as he continued to circle the two of them around the room. "I would not say that the Southern dances are less complex," she told him, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "They're usually group dances," she told him, her grey eyes landing on the people all simply watching them. "There's less touching, only the hands touch." Her gaze lifted to his for a moment before they landed on Myrcella and Tommen, "I fear we're giving my younger sister and brother a shock."

Robb smiled at her, "Well then," he told her, "let's give them something to see." He twirled her away from him, underneath his arm. He allowed her to get as far away from him as his arm would extend before he twirled her back to cross in front of him, he switched his grip and allowed her to twirl out to the other side and back in. Once more to each side before he pulled her close, her back to his chest, his left arm on her waist, his right hand holding her right arm extended in front of his chest. She glanced up at him for a moment, a smile rest on her lips before she placed her left hand on top of his and relaxed into his arms. "There's a girl," he told her, his tone approving.

He spun her around to face him again and then they were circling around and seemed happiest when he was twirling her so he made sure to add as many of those in as he could. She giggled whenever her pulled her closer to him and each time he was able to pull her in a little tighter. He caught Theon's eye over her shoulder, his friend smirked, he seemed to be able to read Robb's thoughts. He shook his head at his friend and looked down at the girl in his arms.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"What?" she asked him, wondering what that had to do with their dance.

Robb smiled down at her, giving nothing away. "Do you trust me?" he asked her again.

Lenora bit her lower lip for a moment before she nodded, "Yes," she told him.

Robb's smile widened and he readjusted his grip on the princess's waist, waiting for the right time in the music, waiting for the music to swell. And then, just to make her smile he lifted her up into the air and spun her around before he placed her back on the ground and continued their dance.

It was not a giggle that escaped her lips when he placed her back on the ground. She threw her head back and laughed. She had never had this much fun on a dance floor in her life, at least not since she was a young girl, dancing on her uncle's feet. He lifted her again, higher this time, just to get the same reaction again.

And then it was one more spin, straight into his arms before he dipped her, so low that her brown curls, brushed the floor as the song came to the end.

He lifted her up and bowed low to her as the people around them clapped. She gave him a low curtsy and then remained low until he reached down and raised her up, a very formal end to what had been a less than formal dance. Once she was standing she smiled at him for a moment before she raised her eyebrows and moved closer to him, to wrap her arms around him and hugged him.

And then, as if remembering her place she stepped away from him and all but fled out of the hall.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Hello loves!  
First off, I'm sorry for such a long wait for this chapter. I promise I wasn't holding it hostage. I went on vacation and decided to leave the computer and internet behind. It was magic, but I'm done now and happy to be back. So, first morning back in the states and I have an update for you. I hope you enjoyed it.  
If you do enjoy it, please take a moment to review and let me know. I love reading what you guys think!  
Thank you to those of you who reviewed on the last chapter!  
 **Darth Hades:** Thank you for your advice. I'm taking it and not worrying anymore! I'm glad you have enjoyed the story so far!  
 **Ranger96:** Thanks for the review dear! I hope you liked this chapter!  
 **Boramir:** I thought about having him throttle her, but even Robert is smart enough not to kill a Lannister so close to the end of the war. If you think about it Lenora was born while the Seven Kingdoms were still kind of on the rocks. He hates the woman, but he understands that he needs her too.  
Thanks for all the favorites and follows, loves!  
Hugs and Kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	6. Chapter Six: House Stark

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

 _-.-.-.-.-_

 _If I still have any readers out here I'm sorry! I'm back, life got a bit hectic over the last many months, but if you're still here ... so am I!_

* * *

 _Jaime_

Jaime had seen many a dance in his days. But he had never seen one like that. He had wondered what Lenora would think of Robb Stark on their ride to Winterfell. He had been sure that his niece would like the way the boy looked, what he had not expected was for his niece to like the boy so quickly though. He followed his niece out of the hall, stopping to clap Robb Stark on the shoulder as he passed. "You did nothing wrong, Boy," he told the young man.

He left the boy standing in the middle of the floor before walking through the doors. He found her sitting on the stairs, just outside the main entrance to the castle. She didn't turn around, but she knew it was him. They were so close that she was familiar with the sound of his footsteps. "I forgot my place," she told him without looking up.

"What do you mean, Len?" Jaime asked her, moving forward to sit beside his niece on the stairs. "If you think that you embarrassed your family in some way you are wrong." She shook her head, silently arguing with him. "No," Jaime told her, his voice stern, leaving no room for argument. "You were beautiful out there. Stunning even." He reached out and brushed her hair out of her eyes, "You reminded me so much of your mother tonight."

Lenora smirked, finally turning to look at her uncle, "How?" she asked him, her eyes lighting up playfully. "I was happy. When have you last seen my mother happy?"

Jaime threw his head back and laughed, "It has been a long time," he told his niece. "You are right about that." He paused for a moment, "But she was once. When she first married your father. She was happy then."

Lenora raised her eyebrows at him. "But she hates him," the girl told him, Jaime could hear the pain in her voice at that statement. She did not like that her parents hated each other.

"She didn't always," Jaime told her with a sigh. "She loved him once. Every young woman in the Seven Kingdoms wanted him once. She loved him, but he loved another."

"Lyanna Stark," Lenora acknowledged, glancing back toward the door of the castle. "He should not have brought her up tonight. He should not have embarrassed Mother like that."

"No," Jaime acknowledged, shaking his head. "He shouldn't have. He embarrassed your family tonight, but you did not. You could not. You were perfection."

"Mother will disagree," Lenora told him, shaking her head. "With the way I behaved half of Winterfell will believe me in love with him by the morning. The other half will be taking bets on how long it will take me to fall head over heels for him. Mother has spent my entire life telling me about the dangers of falling in love. The danger of letting a man hold power over your heart." She turned to look at her uncle and nodded at him. "You just said that once she was happy with him, once she loved him. And look what happened to her. She was once happy, but now she's a bitter woman who rarely smiles. A woman who trusts no one, save Grandfather and you."

"And her children," Jaime told her.

"You don't trust your children," she told her uncle. "You love them. Look at us: Tommen, Myrcella, myself. None of us will ever have any power, she has no need to trust us. And Joff, well, he's always been under her thumb. You don't need to trust a puppet, you only need to move its strings."

Jaime looked down at his niece for a moment before he leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You are a clever one," he told her. And she was: She had spent too much time with Tyrion, seen too much. He turned away from her for a moment, trying to decide what to tell her, trying to figure out what he could say that would ease some of her unhappiness and discomfort.

But before he could say anything she was speaking again. "He is handsome, isn't he?" she asked her uncle, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows. Her uncle nodded. She bit her lip and nodded with him. "I can see how a girl would fall in love with him," she continued. "but not me. Not me. Mother always told me that love was a dangerous game for a woman to play. She always said that a woman's greatest downfall was the moment she fell in love with a man. Love kills women, she said."

Jaime shook his head, Cersei had been speaking of their mother when she had said that. And love had killed their mother. "It does sometimes," he agreed, quietly. "But not you, Len, it won't get you. I promise."

"Of course not," she told him. "Because I won't fall in love. I don't care how handsome or how perfect Robb Stark is. I shall never fall in love with him."

Jaime smiled at her. "Be careful what you say, love," he told her. "You often get the opposite."

"Well then," Lenora told him, flashing him a wicked grin, "then I shall never be queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jaime threw his head back and laughed at that one. It was a shame that she would never rule the Seven Kingdoms, he realized. If there was ever a woman who would be able to rule Westeros, who would be able to do so without the great lords revolting he was sure it would be his niece. "And what a shame that is," he told her, truthfully.

...

Cersei was in his bedchamber. He was sure that she had hoped that they would lay together, as they used to. But he had made an agreement with himself long ago, he would never be with his sister in that way again. He poured her a glass of wine and walked over to her, he handed her the wine and moved past her, putting as much space between them as he could.

"Your daughter is terrified that you will be disappointed in her if she were to fall in love with Robb Stark," he told her, turning to glance at his sister. "She is so scared of disappointing you that she won't let herself be happy, even though she so wants to make the best of this situation."

"The best of this situation?" Cersei asked, her green eyes tightening into a glare. "The best of this situation? And what is that, Jaime? I'll tell you what I think it is. The best case would be that Jon Arryn never found out about us. That he never found out about Joffrey, or Myrcella, or Tommen. That he did not have to die. The best thing would have been if we had stayed in Kings Landing, that we had not traveled to this god forsaken land, that in less than a fortnight I would not have to leave my daughter here with a family that she does not know. The best thing would be that if I could keep my daughter close to me, where she belongs. Safe."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her, "A touching sentiment, my sweet sister, especially considering that there was a time when your daughter's safety was the least of your concerns."

"Not you too," Cersei told him. "Robert has used that against me too when I told him that we should keep Lenora with us." She looked around the room. "You know that I love my daughter. She's a southern girl, a summer child. She's used to sunshine and warmth. She will be miserable here, in this cold, dark wasteland with a family of strangers."

"She'll do well here," Jaime argued, looking out the window. "Lady Stark and the older children seem to like her very much." He smirked, "I'd say that the oldest, Robb, likes her a bit more than very much."

Cersei shook her head, "She will be miserable here," she told her brother again. "My daughters are meant to marry great southern lords, to be close to me. Once we leave her here I am sure it will be many months before we see each other again."

"Years, I suspect," Jaime told her with a gentle, teasing smile.

"We'll be strangers to each other," Cersei told him, shaking her head. She moved closer to him and reached out for his hand. He moved his hand out of her reach, so she settled for putting her hand on his arm. "You could speak to Robert," she told her brother. "He hates you, but even he has to admit that you know our daughter better than anyone else. If you were to tell him that she would be miserable here. If you were to tell him that she should come home with us. He would listen to you. I know he would."

Jaime shook his head and laughed, he wouldn't admit it to his sister but he had considered it. He would miss his niece terribly, Cersei wasn't the only one who wouldn't see Lenora when they left. But with the death of Jon Arryn and all the unease in King's Landing part of him was convinced that it would be safer for Lenora to stay at Winterfell than to travel back to the capital city. And there was certain level of safety that the girl would have once she was far away from her mother. "Would, that I could," he told her. "But Len wants to stay," he told his sister. "She hasn't told me, but I can tell. You said that I know your girl better than anyone. And you are right. I do know her, and I know how she feels. If you knew your daughter half as well as you'd like to pretend you do then you would know as well."

Cersei looked at him and he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. He wasn't sure if she was crying because she felt betrayed or if it was because she saw the truth in his words. Either way she could see that she had been defeated. But if he knew one thing about his sister he knew that she would not stay down for long. He waited, quietly, and he was rewarded a few moments later when his sister wiped the tears from her cheeks and lifted her chin to look at him. He could tell by the look in her green eyes and the set of her jaw that she had decided to make the best out of a bad situation. "It would be good to have someone here, someone who could watch the Starks and let me know what is going on. Robert has always trusted these northerners too much. But she could be my eyes."

"You would ask her to spy on them?" Jaime asked. "On her family?"

"I am her family!" Cersei hissed at him. "You. Me. Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen. We're her family."

"And Robert?" Jaime asked "He is her family, is he not? Her father. And as her father he sees fit to marry her off to a great family. That's the way of daughters, as you well know, Sister. There is nothing that you can do about it."

"We'll see about that," Cersei told him before calling for one of her maids, a young girl, the command was simple, to ask Lenora to come to her mother's rooms as soon as she woke up the next morning. Cersei was going to spin a web and she was going to start with her eldest daughter.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was nervous as she made her way to her mother's chambers. It was rare that her mother ever summoned her so early in the day. She would not keep her mother waiting though, she knew far better than that. She had awoken early that morning and had been told by a waiting maid that her mother wanted to see her as soon as possible.

She could have had breakfast first, she supposed, her mother would not have held it against her, but Lenora assumed that she was in trouble, that she had done something wrong. And if that was the case it was best to get it out of the way as soon as possible. Having a full stomach would not make things any better for her. So instead of delaying she had dressed and then headed straight for Cersei's rooms. Her mother was awake and the door was opened before she had even finished her first knock.

"Come in, my Sweetling," her mother commanded as she walked into the chamber.

Lenora moved further into the room and curtsied low to her mother before she walked closer, kneeling at her mother's chair so that she could press a kiss onto the back of her mother's hand. "Good morning, Mother," she said softly before she stood up and moved away from her mother's chair, waiting for the queen to tell her why she had been summoned there.

Cersei glanced over her daughter's attire. The young girl didn't even know the part her mother wanted to play and she was already dressed for it. Her dress was southern, and royal. It was black dress with golden thread designs on top. The sleeves were tight down to her elbows before they started to flare out. It would have been a very modest dress save for her bare shoulders and plunging neckline. Her brown hair shone, done up in braids in a the Southern style. Cersei nodded approvingly, "You'll do well here," she told her daughter, "with the boy."

"Mother?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows at her mother. She had thought she was in trouble for something, but now it would seem that her mother hadn't called her to her chambers to punish her at all. "I'm sorry, but I thought that you did not want me here. Now you say that I will do well here?"

Her mother nodded before she climbed out of her chair. She reached a hand out for Lenora's and pulled her daughter toward a small couch near one of the windows. "Look out the window," she whispered to her daughter. "Look out, what do you see?"

Lenora sighed and turned to look out the window, "Winterfell?" she asked, her tone sounding almost bored.

"Are you not impressed?" Cersei asked the young brunette. "And you are to be the Lady of Winterfell."

Lenora smirked at her mother, "I must say that I expected more snow."

Her mother laughed, "Don't worry, my sweet, you will have your snow."

"I know," Lenora told her with a nod, "the most recent raven from the citadel says that the days are growing shorter with each passing one. One way or another the Starks are always right. Winter will come. And when it does it will fall on Winterfell first." She paused for a moment, her grey eyes darting over the land in front of them. "What do you see when you look out, Mother?" she asked.

"I see the North," Cersei told the young girl. "The large, unconquerable North. I see a large number of great houses that are only loyal to your father because they are loyal to House Stark and Ned Stark is loyal to the King. I see a land that has seen too little ruling and too much trust. I see a danger."

"And you want me to help you?" Lenora asked, her quick mind jumping to the conclusion before her mother could think of a way to bring it up. "You want me to spy on the Starks, to keep you informed. To be like one of Varys' little birds loyal to you and you alone."

Her mother nodded and sat back. Despite what Jaime had said she knew her children. If she had been talking to Joffrey she would have kept talking. But with Lenora, her daughter needed to process things on her own. Cersei could lead her in one direction or another, but ultimately Lenora would need to think things through on her own.

"Father trusts the Starks," she told Cersei, turning to look at her mother. "And I am their ward. They will protect me and clothe me. I will learn from their maester, and eat from their table, and sleep in their beds. They will be as close to family as you are now. And you want me to spy on them? Why?"

"Because when it comes to the end of the day they will not be your family," Cersei told her daughter, reaching out a hand to gently brush some of her hair behind one of her ears. "Do you know what you are, my love?"

"A Baratheon," Lenora answered without a moment's pause.

Cersei shook her head, "No, my sweet daughter. You are not a stag. You are a lion." Cersei reached for Lenora's arm and flipped it over so that she could run one finger over the longest vein on the underside of the girl's arm. "Lannister blood runs through these veins," she told the dark haired girl next to her. "You might not look like me, but you are mine. There is a fierceness in you, a quiet strength. The strength of a lion."

Lenora glanced at her mother, "I am yours," she told her mother with a nod. "But I am also his. I may have Lannister blood in my veins, but my lioness of a mother married a stag. I am a Baratheon. And if my father trusts the Starks then I do not see why I cannot trust them too. If he loves Ned Stark, why can't I love his son?"

Cersei shook her head. "The more people you love the weaker you are. You must love no one but your children." Lenora glanced at her mother, suddenly feeling sorry for the woman in front of her. She had known for years that her mother was not happy with her father, but she had never realized that her mother did not love the man. How hard it must be to be trapped in a marriage with a man that you do not love. If Cersei felt her daughter's sympathy she was not in the mood to accept it, she continued. "You will be a ward to the Starks," she told Lenora. "I've tried everything I can think of, but your father will not budge on that. You will be a ward in Winterfell and no doubt they will treat you well. But I want you to remember this. Lady Stark loves her children. The Stark boy might be kind to you or he might hit you, both are equally likely in a marriage. But your best interest will never be his main concern. He will look after the interest of himself and his family only."

Lenora nodded, her mother was talking circles around her. Cersei was trying to confuse her, to convince her that distrust of others was a natural, and right, thing. She bit her lip for a moment before she turned to look at Cersei, "Lions look after lions. Stags take care of stags. Wolves protect wolves. I understand that. But I am a lion and a stag. Soon I will marry Rob Stark and, Gods willing, I will give him children. My children will be wolves. You say to trust no one but my family and to love no one but my children. Well, my children will be Starks, so should I not look out for the Stark's best interests for my children?"

She was giving her mother a chance, an opening. She was trying to give her mother the chance to say that the only reason she had started this conversation was she cared about Lenora and she was worried about her being up in the cold North all by herself. "Why are you so nervous, Mother?" she prompted.

Cersei looked out the window and out over the grey North the surrounded Winterfell. "The North is large," she told her daughter, "almost as large as the other six kingdoms combined. The Starks rule from the Wall to the Reach and everything in between. While it is not as densely populated or wealthy as the South, the Northern Lords are a proud sort, they still wish for the time when the North was ruled by the Starks as the Kings in the North instead of the Wardens of the North. They are a fiercely loyal people -"

"Loyal to Father," Lenora interrupted.

Cersei shook her head, a tight smile resting on her lips, "Loyal to Ned Stark," she corrected. "The reason I asked you to watch your new family is this. Your father has given the North too much freedom. He governs them too little and loves them too much, because of Ned Stark. And because of _her_." Lenora did not need to ask who _her_ was, her mother meant Lyanna Stark. "They are loyal to your father because Ned Stark is loyal to your father. But what would happen if your Robb chose not to be loyal to Joffrey once both your fathers are dead?"

Lenora glanced up at her mother and shook her head. "You're worried that Robb would lead the North to rise up against Joff?" she asked before she shook her head. "Why? What would be the point? Robb would be brother to the King by law, why would he want more? He would be my husband, he would not rise up against my brother." She paused for a moment and shook her head again, "He wouldn't."

"How do you know?" her mother asked, "you met this boy yesterday."

"I met the man yesterday," Lenora corrected, bristling at the way her mother called Robb a boy. "But I've known him since I was eleven. We've sent each other countless ravens. I know him. And I know that he does not want to be a king. He does not want to rule the Seven Kingdoms. He does not want to rise up against my brother. All he wants, all he's ever wanted, is to become Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North after his father. All he wants is to be just as strong, just as loyal, and just, and merciful, and honorable as his father." She shook her head, "Mark me, Mother," she told the older woman as she stood up from the couch, "Robb Stark will not be marching to battle against our family. Not now, not ever."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He had asked her to meet him after breakfast. He had told her that he wanted to show her around the castle. That was the truth, but he really wanted to introduce her to Grey Wind. He couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up out of his throat when the princess walked out of the guest house. The fabric was thin, a southern dress. Her shoulders were bare. The dress was beautiful and she looked wonderful in it. But she would be freezing within the hour, maybe less.

"What?" Lenora asked, tugging self-consciously at the dress. "What is so funny, Stark?"

He shook his head, "Nothing, Baratheon," he told her. She may have been a princess, but if she was going to call him by his surname, he would use hers. "But you are going to freeze to death in that."

Lenora wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her shoulders, "I hadn't realized," she told him. "I was so warm in the courtyard yesterday afternoon. I had assumed that it was because everyone was so wrong about the North. That it wasn't as cold as they said it was." She nodded toward Robb's heavy fur cloak, "Now I'm beginning to think that the warmth was from the ride, not the weather." She turned her head back toward the double doors of the guest house where the royal family was staying, Robb could see the light pink of her blush rising to her cheeks, "If you would wait I can go change into something a little warmer."

Robb shook his head and moved closer to her, he took off his own fur cloak and draped it over the young woman's shoulders. He felt a slight blush rising to his own cheeks as his hand brushed softly against the curve of her breast as he pulled away from her. He cleared his throat, "There," he told her. "Now you will be plenty warm."

"But you will be cold," Lenora told him, already starting to shrug out of the cloak so that she could return it to him.

Robb placed his hands on her shoulders, silently forcing her to be still. "I will be warm enough," he told her. "After all, I am a child of Winterfell. If I cannot handle a bit of summer chill how in the Seven Hells will I be able to expect my southern wife to do it?" He winked down at her and smiled wider as her blush darkened. He held out his arm to her, "What would you like to see, Lenora?" he asked her.

"Everything," Lenora told him, smiling up at him, her grey eyes light and happy. "Winterfell is to be my home so I want to see it all. I want you to show me every corner, tell me ever story. I want to know this castle as well as you do. I want to know every secret."

Robb laughed, she was a curious one. "That may take more than one morning, but I will see what I can do. Let's start with the parts I think you will like best, shall we?"

Lenora nodded at him, "Lead on, My Lord," she told him, her tone sarcastic and playful as she gestured toward the open courtyard in front of them. "I am entirely at your disposal."

Robb laughed and shook his head, "No, My Lady" he told her, his tone mock serious. "I am but a humble son of a Northern Lord, you are a royal princess. It is I who am at your disposal. Your happiness is all I wish."

Lenora chuckled at him as he began to lead her out of the courtyard, heading toward the right. "You might change your mind once you get to know me," she told him, grinning up at him. "I am notoriously hard to please."

"Then I fear, I am to spend my entire life trying," he told her before he led her through the door of the tower and into the courtyard that separated the Great Keep and the Great Hall. He was unsure of how religious Lenora was, but he had decided to start the tour with the small sept so that she would know where it was if she was inclined to use it.

It was a small little room and Robb was convinced that it still smelled new. It had not been built that long ago. There was one stained glass window depicting the seven pointed star opposite the door to let in some natural light, other than that the only light came from the fire that was always kept burning at the center of the sept. Around the outside were seven statues, one for each of the seven new gods. "My father had it built for my mother when they were married," Robb told her, his voice quiet. He may not have placed as much stock in the new gods as his mother did, but his voice always softened in the sept, regardless, out of respect. He chuckled, "My father took a Southern wife and so will I, it seems as if the Stark men enjoy kidnapping Southern girls and forcing them to live out the rest of their days in the cold, unforgiving North."

Lenora smiled at him, no doubt to make him feel better about his poor attempt at humor as she finished her circle around the sept, having stopped in front of each of the statues to take in their likeness. "It's beautiful," she told him softly, "but so small." She bit her lip and shook her head, quickly realizing how rude her statement had been. She tried to apologize, but Robb waved her off.

"You'll be used to the Great Sept in King's Landing, of course," he told her with a smile. "After that, anything and everything must seem small."

"But how does your whole family pray in here at once?" Lenora asked. She shook her head before Robb could answer. "Of course," she murmured. She turned to glance at him, "You may call me a fool if you would like. This isn't where your whole family prays, just your mother. The Starks of Winterfell still keep the Old Gods don't you. You will have a Godswood."

"That'll be on the tour too," Robb told her, a smirk resting on his lips when he thought of what was waiting for them in the Godswood. He hoped that she wouldn't be too afraid when she met the direwolves.

Lenora smiled at him, pleased that he hadn't taken the opportunity to make fun of her for her moment of stupidity. "Let's go then," she told him, gesturing toward the door. "You still have a lot to show me if you plan on showing me all of Winterfell this morning."

Robb laughed, "You were the one who planned on seeing all of Winterfell," he told the brunette beside him. "I was only planning on the spots that I knew you would love."

Lenora looked around at the small courtyard that separated the Great Hall and the sept from the Great Keep, "And I am convinced that I will love it all," she told him.

Robb snorted and shook his head, "So much for being hard to please," he mocked her.

After that he showed her where the smithy worked, they stood side by side, close enough to touch while they watched him work for a few minutes before they stopped by the stables. She had already seen the stables the day before, but she had wanted to stop by and check on her horse. Robb hadn't gotten a good look at the black charger the day before, but he did today. The horse was beautiful. She moved closer to it and stroked the hair on its cheek, "Hello Cas," she whispered softly, leaning in to press the kiss against its hair. "How are you doing, boy?"

"What's his name?" Robb asked, reaching out to place his hand on the horse's back.

"Casterly," the girl told him turning to look at him. "My father gave him to me for my seventeenth nameday," she shrugged. "One of the maids told me that I shouldn't have named him Casterly, since I'm Baratheon, not a Lannister, but I grew up in Casterly Rock, it's as much home to me as King's Landing. And Casterly kind of fits him," she smiled at the horse, her grey eyes lighting up with happiness, "Doesn't it, love?"

"He looks fast," Robert told her.

"He is," she agreed. "He didn't really get a chance to stretch his legs yesterday," she told him. "I had to stay close to the party. Could we go riding?"

Robb chuckled and nodded, "Of course we can. How about tomorrow?"

"Perfect," she agreed before pressing on more kiss on the horse's cheek and allowing Robb to lead her away from the stables.

He showed her the library tower next. She spent an hour in there, told him that she had fallen in love with Winterfell just from seeing the library. She didn't want to leave, but Robb had plans for her.

He brought her to the glass gardens next. The gardens sat above three hot spring pools so that it was always warm and humid. Lenora gasped as he pulled her into the gardens, she had not expected this. "I wondered how you grew food in the winter," she whispered as she walked further into the glass building. "With long winters even your grain stores would disappear, but you can grow things in here."

Robb nodded, "We grow fruits and vegetables in it," Robb told her as he took her hand and steered her toward a bench that sat in the middle of the glass building. She shrugged out of his fur cloak and settled into the bench a little more. Robb smiled down at her for a moment before he stood from the bench and moved deeper into green house, coming back a moment later with a dark red rose. With very little ceremony he handed her the flower and sat back down on the bench. "Father also has them grow flowers here," he told her, somewhat unnecessarily.

Lenora smiled down at the flower in her hand, "I had always heard that you northern men were all about doing the practical, necessary thing. That your type was good at separating the needs from the wants."

"Aye," Robb told her with a nod. "We are good at that."

She smiled at him, "Flowers seem more of a want than a need."

Robb shook his head, "I don't know how closely you watch your parents. But I watch mine, and trust me. Flowers for your wife are often a need."

Lenora threw her head back and laughed at him, "You do have me there," she told him.

Robb smiled at her, he liked the sound of her laugh. He stood up from the bench, "Put your cloak back on," he told her, holding out his hand to the young princess. "I have one more thing to show you."

Lenora quickly did as he asked and within a minute they had left the glass garden and entered the Godswood. Lenora politely made some comment about the trees. Robb could tell that they were a disappointment compared to the glass gardens, but luckily for him he hadn't brought her here to show her the trees. They rounded a corner and he waited, smiling at the girl's gasp of delight when her eyes landed on his last surprise. He waited, holding his breath to see the girl's response.

He wasn't sure what he was more nervous about, Lenora's response or the direwolf's. Grey Wind had already tripled in size since the day the Starks had brought their pups home. He was terrifying to behold.

Lenora had told Theon that she wanted to see a direwolf, but wanting to see one and actually seeing one were two different things. Lenora moved cautiously closer to the wolf, "Is that?" she asked, her tone soft and quiet so not to scare the animal away from her.

Robb nodded, "A direwolf," he told her with a smile. "He's mine. His name is Grey Wind."

Lenora moved closer to the direwolf, "Grey Wind," she called out softly, smiling when the wolf moved closer to her and allowed her to gently pet the top of his head. She turned to look at Robb, her grey eyes shimmering with delight and excitement, "When you told me that I didn't have to go North of the Wall to see a direwolf I didn't think that you meant there was one living at the castle."

"Oh there's more than one," Robb told her, moving closer to her and the wolf so that he could pet the animal as well. "There's six."

"Six?" Lenora breathed, her eyes lightening even more. "There are six of them here?"

"Grey Wind," Robb told her, nodding to his own direwolf. "Jon's is named Ghost, Sansa has Lady, Arya has Nymeria, Bran named his Summer, and Rickon calls his Shaggydog"

Lenora laughed at the name of the last one. "This is amazing," she whispered to the wolf before turning to look at Robb. "Thank you."

He chuckled and pulled her up from the ground. She made a noise of protest, but he quieted her down with the promise that they could always come back to see the wolf whenever she wanted. "I promised your mother that I would have you back before lunch so that you could spend the afternoon with your sister and mine," he told her as he pulled her out of the Godswood.

Lenora rolled her eyes, "And what will you be doing while I'm sewing and dancing and whatever else in the Seven Hells your Septa has planned for us?"

"I'll be showing your brother what it means to actually know how to sword fight," Robb told her with a wink.

Lenora shook her head and giggled, "That's assuming that I haven't already showed him," she told him, her voice bubbling with a self-confidence that Robb found contagious.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Once again, I'm sorry loves for abandoning you! I did not mean to, but now I'm back and ready to keep going. So if you've stayed with me and Lenora for this long, thank you! We are back!  
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! If so, please review to let me know!  
Special thanks to those of you that reviewed the last chapters:  
 **Arianna Le Fay** : I'm glad you have enjoyed the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too! Gotta admit, it's not the easiest thing to create a character who is the perfect mix of Lannister and Baratheon so I'm glad that you think I'm doing well!  
As for the Red Wedding, probably not going to follow cannon for that one, at least not according to my current outline, but I'm known to change my outlines all the time, so there's no telling. Yet. (Dun, dun, dun!)  
 **Lauren220820** : Thank you for your review! Here is the (long-awaited) next chapter! I hope you're still here and I hope you enjoyed it!  
 **WhatsGoingOn** : She's running because she has spent seventeen years with Cersei telling her that love is dangerous. Can't shake that lesson over night.  
 **RoyalsWeeknd** : Two reviews! I love it! Thank you for reading, enjoying, and reviewing! I hope that you liked this chapter as well. I'm glad you like Lenora's interactions with Jaime, they're my favorite to write. The one in the throne room will probably go down as one of my favorite scenes in this whole story so I'm especially glad that you enjoyed that one.  
Unfortunately, this won't be a Jon Snow story, though I'm sure Jon will come back in future chapters (at least according to my outline). But maybe in the future a Jon Snow/OC story might come down the pipeline.  
Don't worry, this will not be one of those stories. I've read a couple of them and I absolutely hate them. Lenora is a princess, the only true-born child of Robert. She comes from two of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms, she is not going to forget that. No matter how much she may, or may not, love Jon Stark.  
And don't worry about the long review(s)! I loved them! Keep them coming please!  
 **Darth Hades** : Thank you for the review! I hope that you like this chapter as well!  
 **shika93** : You're awesome!  
 **ZabuzasGirl** : I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far. This wasn't an immediate update, but I hope it was a good one!  
That's all for now, thank you guys!  
Hugs and kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	7. Chapter Seven: A Game of Cat and Wolf

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

 _-.-.-.-.-_

 _And just to prove that I really am officially back here is a second chapter in two days! If you like it, take a second, write a review. It doesn't take long, and I love them!_

* * *

 _Lenora_

Her fingers were bleeding again, she had stabbed her finger with her sewing needle once more. If she wasn't careful her dress would be covered in her blood. She glanced around the room furtively, looking for a way to escape. The septa was sitting next to Myrcella, cooing over the neatness of the young princess's stitches. Lenora smirked, Myrcella's work might not be covered in blood, but she knew for a fact that her younger sister's stitches were far from neat. The younger girl disliked sewing almost as much as her older sister and Lenora doubted that traveling to the North would have had such an impact on the young girl's work. At one point, about an hour before, out of sheer boredom Lenora had gotten up from her seat and walked around the room once looking at the other girls' work. Myrcella's had been her usual carefree mess; Sansa's had been beautiful, perfect even; Arya's was somehow worse than both Myrcella's and Lenora's combined.

Lenora glanced back up at Arya again, smiling as the look on the girl's face darkened as she hissed something angrily at her older sister. It must have been Lenora that caught the septa's attention because a moment after Lenora had looked up at the younger Stark girls the septa spoke. "What are you talking about children?"

Sansa whispered something to her sister before turning toward the septa and speaking loud enough for all the young women in the room to hear, "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we are to have the princesses with us today," she simpered, smiling to both Myrcella and Lenora.

The septa nodded, "Indeed," she said, smiling especially toward Lenora. "A great honor for us all." She turned to smile down at Myrcella as well, but Lenora knew most of the compliment was for her. After all, within the month Myrcella would be heading South again, but Lenora was to remain at Winterfell for the year. And once she was of age she was to marry Robb and begin to learn how to run Winterfell, for when Ned Stark died she and Robb would be Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

"Arya why are you not at work?" the septa asked. She rose to her feet and moved closer to the girl, "Let me see your stitches."

"Here," Arya growled, practically shoving her fabric into Septa Mordane's hands. Lenora bit her lip to keep from laughing at the girl's spirit.

"Arya, Arya, Arya," the older woman said, shaking her head in disdain. "This will not do." Lenora watched as tears started to fill the young girl's eyes. Arya looked around the room for a moment before she stood up from her chair and started to run from the room. "Arya, come back here! Don't you take another step! Your lady mother will hear of this. In front of our royal princesses too! You'll shame us all!"

That's where the septa was wrong, Lenora thought. Arya's attitude was not shameful, she loved it. She wished that she could storm out of the room as well. She laughed quietly as Arya spun on her heel and walked quickly back toward the center of the room. The laughter died on Lenora's lips once she realized that the tears in Arya's eyes were now sliding down the young girl's cheeks. The Stark girl managed a curt bow to both Lenora and then Myrcella, "By your leave, my ladies," she muttered. And then without waiting for their permission she turned around and quickly left the room.

Septa Mordane started to apologize, but Lenora held her hand up to silence the older woman. "It's fine," she told the septa before she stood up, gathering her skirts around her, "in fact, I was thinking of leaving as well." She sank into a shallow curtsy to the other girls in the room before she quickly left the room and followed the young Stark girl quickly down the stairs.

She found her at the bottom of the stairs untying her wolf, Nymeria while crying. "Arya," she called out softly, catching the girl's attention before she could run away. "Are you alright?"

Arya quickly reached up her hand wiped away at the tears, "Yes, my Lady," she told Lenora with a nod. "I'm sorry for my outburst."

Lenora waved off her apology, "It's fine," she told the young girl before she pulled out her own work, "Yours couldn't be much worse than mine, it's covered in blood." Arya moved closer to her and inspected the spots of blood on the fabric. "I suspect the only reason your septa did not mention it because I am a princess." Arya nodded silently, but when she looked up at Lenora she was no longer crying. "Where are you going?" she asked, nodding down the hallway.

"The boys are at practice in the yard," Arya answered. "There's a window on the covered bridge that looks over the yard. I meant to go watch them practice." She paused and looked up sheepishly at Lenora, "Would you like to come, my Lady?"

Lenora shook her head and smiled, "Why watch when you can practice?" She glanced at Arya before her grey eyes swept over the hallway, "You say they're at the yard? Come with me? Let's show them what girls can do."

Arya shook her head, "I'm not allowed to," she told Lenora. "My mother would be so angry at me. She'll already be angry at me for abandoning my stitches."

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "My mother will be angry too," she told the young girl with a wink before she headed down the hallway toward the practice yard. "Come find me Arya, when you want to learn to fight rather than watch it."

She arrived in time to catch the end of the fight between Bran and Tommen, both young boys covered in so much padding that they looked round. She did her best to stay out of sight of her brother Joffrey as she moved to stand beside Robb. "Where's Jon?" she asked by way of greeting as she looked around the group of the men in the yard, Robb's half brother was nowhere to be found.

Robb jumped a bit at the sound of her voice, but when he glanced down at her he smiled and shook his head, playfully muttering, I should have known under his breath before he answered her question. "Like it or not he's a bastard," he whispered to her. "If your bother is going to be injured it must be from a trueborn sword."

Lenora nodded, "Bastards can't bruise princes, then?" she asked, a bitterness seeping into her tone.

"I suppose not," he told her. He raised his eyebrows at her, "Did your sewing become too tiresome, my Lady?" he asked, his tone playful, a joke in his eyes.

Lenora nodded, her face playfully solemn, "Yes," she agreed. "Much too tiring to continue, I thought to come down to the yard and try something a little less strenuous, sword play."

"Of course," Robb nodded, a hint of pride in his blue eyes. "And tell me, Lady, who shall you fight?"

"Anyone who is fool enough to underestimate me," Lenora told him, the playfulness gone from her voice. She was serious now.

"Believe me, Nora," Robb told her, trying out a nickname, "no one would ever dream of doing that."

Lenora opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the men around them started to laugh. She turned her head to see Tommen rolling in the dust, coming to stop on his back. Young Bran Stark stood over him, his padded sword lifted over his head, ready to strike again.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrick, the Master at Arms, called out as he helped her brother to his feet. "Well fought." He ordered two of the men in the circle to help the two young boys out of their padding before he turned to Robb, "Robb, Prince Joffrey, will you go another round?"

Joffrey moved forward quickly, but Robb shook his head, "I will go another round," he announced to the group before he turned to face Lenora, "but I will have a different partner." He bowed low to Lenora, "My Lady?" he asked her, holding his hand out to her. "Will you do me the pleasure?"

Lenora smiled, fully aware of the insult this must be to Joffrey, and moved forward. She curtsied, "Of course, Robb." Ser Rodrick looked as though he wanted to argue, but who was he to say no to a royal princess and the future Lady of Winterfell. She waved off one of the Lannister men's offers to get her some armor, she was much faster without it. She glanced at the wooden sword Robb was trying to hand to her, "Wooden play swords are for children," she told him, "are you a child Robb?"

"Are you suggesting live steel?" Robb asked, his pride in the woman growing with every moment. She nodded and smiled when the man in front of her called to Ser Rodrick to bring them real swords. It was one of the Lannister guards that brought her the sword she used while practicing with her uncle Jaime. She smiled at him and nodded before turning back to face Robb. He grinned at her, almost wolf-like, "I hope you know what you're doing, my Lady," he told her.

She smiled, "I hope you know what you're doing, Robb," she told him, "this fight would be painfully one-sided if you didn't," and then with one quick lunge she started the fight, her sword clanging against the man's right shoulder, his sword arm. "Pity that you're wearing armor," she told him. "That would have been the end of the fight."

And that was all she had needed to do. Her uncle had taught her how to fight. He had also taught her how to read her opponents. But it was Lenora who had realized that in the normal sense of a sword fight, all lunging and jabbing her small frame was at a disadvantage, especially when wearing a dress. If she wanted to win a fight she would need her opponent coming after her, she needed to be evasive, rather than on the attack. A cat, not a wolf.

Her tease was enough to get Robb to come after her. He lunged and she darted to the right, hitting him in the ribs as she moved past him.

He spun around and lunged toward where she had been standing. But she was no longer there, she had moved this time to the left so that she could strike him on the ribs on the other side. Their movements continued, Robb lunging and Lenora darting away at the last moment before striking.

The steel of her sword clanged against his armor over and over again, but their swords had yet to clash with each other. "You'll pulling your strikes, boy!" the Hound called out from the sidelines. "Trust me, you have no worry of hurting the little princess."

"Aye," one of the Lannister men agreed. "But she will hurt you if you don't start to fight true."

To drive home their point Lenora came from behind him, her sword held over her shoulder before she swung it down, the steel whistling through the air. She stopped her swing, the blade resting just next to Robb's throat, "Dead," she whispered before darting away from him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

Robb growled as he watched Lenora dance away from him. Because that was what the woman was doing. She was sword fighting, but more than that she was dancing. He had underestimated her, just as he had promised her that no one would do.

He moved closer to her, feinting to the left before lunging to the right and catching the princess's blade for the first time since they had begun their dance. He should have known, she had told him that her uncle trained her in sword play.

He had assumed that Cersei Lannister would not have let her daughter actually learn to fight. He had assumed that Jaime had taught her a few things, just enough to be confident. But now he saw. Jaime had taught his niece to be deadly with a sword.

He lunged again and instead of dancing away from him Lenora's sword swung up in front of her face, the steel clanged as she blocked his strike. "There you are," she whispered to him as she stepped away. "I was beginning to wonder if you were a pup or a wolf." The last statement was louder, meant to make the men surrounding them laugh.

She moved away from him, "Well come on, Wolf-pup, let's play."

They continued this dance for a few more minutes, this lunge and evade dance the two had. But finally Robb had her, he lunged left and she darted right, straight into the side of the armory. He quickly boxed her in, his sword accidentally catching on the princess's sleeve and tearing it at the seam. Her shoulders had already been bare, now the sleeve slipped further down her arm. She was breathing heavily as she glanced up at him, a small smile resting on her lips.

"Dead," she whispered again as she pulled her right arm out to the side and bent her elbow, the point of her sword resting just against the side of his head, against his temple.

Robb laughed and shook his head as he dropped his sword down to his side, Lenora followed his lead, dropping her sword all the way to the ground. Neither of them moved away from each other though. "Uncle Jaime always told me there would come a day where I would learn what it means to sacrifice the King," she told him.

"What?" Robb asked, his eyes scanning over the girl's beautiful face.

She shrugged, "In chess," she told him, "your job is to protect your king, but the queen is the most important and powerful piece on the board. If you're smart you use the king to distract, set him up to be captured in two moves. Your opponent takes move one and then your queen steps in and wins the game."

Robb laughed and shook his head, "Playing chess with you must be something fearsome."

Lenora nodded, "Almost as fearsome as my sword playing," she told him.

He still didn't move away. He kept the young woman boxed in between him and the wall, taking the opportunity to study her eyes. When he had first met her he had labeled them _grey_. If he was feeling poetic he would have called them _silver_. But as he looked into her eyes now he realized that neither word did them justice. They were so solid, so bright, the exact color of a polished sword, they reminded him of his father's great sword Ice. When he looked closer, as he was now, he could see the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges. Her eyes were not grey. Or monochrome. Or boring. That had simply been his own terrible judgement.

Lenora raised her eyebrows, "What?" she whispered, uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

"You're beautiful," he whispered to her before he moved away from her, turning to face the group of men surrounding them. He reached for her hand and raised their arms up in the air above their heads, using his free hand to gesture toward the princess, signaling that she was the winner. The Lannister men cheered as he let go of her hand and bowed low to her.

Lenora laughed, quickly regaining her confidence and curtsied to him before she glanced down at her sleeve. "Do you think your sister Sansa could repair this before my mother finds out about this?" she asked quietly.

Robb glanced over her shoulder to where Cersei stood, glaring down at the men and girl in the yard, "I think your mother already knows," he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders and spinning her around so that she could face her mother. "Be brave," he whispered before gently nudging her in her mother's direction.

...

The next time he saw her was that evening when he followed her down to the crypts beneath Winterfell. She hadn't noticed him as she pushed open the heavy ironwood door and walked down the narrow winding staircase. He found her one level down into the crypts staring at the statues of the old Kings in the North. She must have heard him because she turned her head to look at him, "You skipped this part of the tour," she told him softly.

Robb shrugged and moved closer to her, "I thought that the crypts might be a bit much for you on your first full day in Winterfell," he told her as he came to stand next to her. "It would seem that I was wrong."

Lenora smiled at him, "You'll find that that will happen a lot with me," she told him. She turned away from him, looking at nothing in particular for a moment before she turned back to him. "I didn't embarrass you did I?" she asked him. "This afternoon with the sword play? Uncle Jaime told me that I should have let you win so that you could save face in front of the men."

Robb chuckled, "Having you let me win would have been much more embarrassing than being beaten by you, Nora," he told her. He shook his head, "I was not embarrassed," he told her. "If anything I was proud of you. The North is hard, even for the people who are born here. You are a southern woman, it is expected and accepted that you will be weak, soft. The North is no place for those things though and I was proud to see that my betrothed does not plan on being either weak or soft."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, she was happy that he was not upset at her. Her mother had spent most of the afternoon making backhanded comments under her breath about how Robb would not like being bested by his future wife. Apparently her mother did not know young men as well as she liked to think. Or maybe she had simply never met a young man like Robb Stark. She nodded to the statues in front of her. "Who are these?" she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

"The old Kings in the North," Robb told her, "or the Kings of Winter." He reached for one of the torches that stood in their holders on the wall so that he could give her a little better light to see by. "They're all buried down here."

"All?" Lenora asked.

Robb nodded again, "The Starks have ruled and lived in Winterfell for thousands of years," he told her. "All of their families are buried here in the crypts, they go down several levels and are bigger than the castle. The old Kings in the North and the Lords of Winterfell are each given a statue after their death."

"Only the Kings and the Lords?" Lenora asked before she grabbed Robb's hand and pulled him a little further down the line of statues until they were standing in front of a statue of a woman. "But she is not a king or lord."

"That's my aunt Lyanna," Robb told her. He nodded to the statue to the left of Lyanna, a male with an iron long sword laying across his lap. "That's my grandfather, Lord Rickard Stark, and to the left of him is my father's older brother Brandon."

Lenora's gaze fell on each of the statues in turn before she turned back to look at the statue of Lyanna Stark. "She was beautiful," she whispered quietly, moving closer to the statue of the young woman. "Even from this statue you can tell that."

Robb nodded, "After the war, once your father was on the Iron Throne, my father came back to Winterfell and had these statues made for all of them. It was against the rules, but even Maester Luwin could not change his mind." He was silent for a moment, his own gaze falling on Lyanna's statue, "She was the most beautiful woman, everyone says so. But what they forget to mention is how strong she was. She was beautiful and strong." He nodded toward Lenora, "Much like you," he told her.

"She was beautiful enough to catch both my father's and Rhaegar Targaryen eyes," Lenora told him, shaking her head slightly. "Can't honestly say that I would be considered beautiful enough to start a war over."

"You don't see what I see," Robb told her.

The girl laughed and shook her head at him, she assumed that he was just flattering her, that he did not actually believe himself. That much was clear. "Imagine," she told him, "if my father had married Lyanna then we would be cousins."

"If the king had married my aunt then I don't think you would exist, my Lady," Robb told her. "Your looks are Baratheon through and through, but there's too much lion in you for you to be anything but part Lannister."

The girl nodded at him, "Just so," she told him, though he could tell that she was happy that he noticed the Lannister in her. She nodded to the statue of his grandfather, "Why is there a sword across his lap?" she asked before her gaze fell on several other statues, all of which had iron longswords laying across their laps. "Why do they all have iron longswords?" she asked. "The direwolves I get, but the swords?"

"They keep vengeful spirits within the crypt," Robb told her softly, remembering the ghost stories that Old Nan used to tell him about the spirits that resided in the crypt.

"The North has a lot of those," Lenora replied, not a question, but a statement. Her eyes on the statue of Robb's grandfather, Rickard.

"Probably more than most," Robb agreed.

Lenora sighed and grabbed the torch from Robb, he hadn't realized that they had still been holding hands until she gave his a gentle tug and led the way further into the crypt, unafraid. "How many old kings must be buried in here," she whispered.

"Twenty-three kings," Robb told her matter-of-factly. "And then there are the lords, of course."

"Oh, of course," Lenora agreed. "And tell me, Wolf-pup, how many of these twenty-three kings do you know?"

Robb pretended to think about it for a moment before he told her, "All of them."

"All of them?" Lenora echoed. She smiled at him, "Prove it."

"Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark; Brandon the Breaker, defeated the Night's King; Theon the Hungry wolf, we were at war for most of his reign. Then there's Brandon the Shipwright, he built a great Northern fleet because he loved to sail; Brandon the Burner, his son burnt the great Northern fleet after his father went missing on the sea. Then there was -"

"Enough!" Lenora laughed as she clapped her hand over his mouth, "I get it, you know them all!"

Robb smiled behind her hand and waited until she had lowered his hand and then, in front of the Old Kings of Winter he leaned in and pressed a kiss against Lenora's soft lips. It wasn't prolonged or particularly noteworthy, Theon would have laughed at it and might not have even called it a kiss, but Robb knew that it counted. He pulled away before the girl could feel uncomfortable and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before he began to guide her out of the crypt. "Dorren Stark," he continued with a large grin spreading across his lips.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

It was the royal party's last day at Winterfell and Robert had decided that he wanted boar at the feast that night so there was was to be a hunt in the morning. Robert, Joffrey, Tyrion, Ned Stark, his son Robb, and the ward Theon would all be going on the hunt. Lenora had wanted to go too, to spend a few more hours with her father, but Cersei had put her foot down and refused to let the girl go.

So Lenora was to stay at the castle with the other women and the children. And Jaime. He was going to miss his niece, he could admit to that, and he wanted to spend a little more time with her. He found her that morning in the Godswood after the hunting party had left. She was sitting on the ground next to the old heart tree at the center of the wood.

Jaime stood in front of the tree for a moment, staring at the face that had been carved into the bark, the sap running from the cuts was a deep red, making the face look like it was crying tears of blood. He shuddered slightly before he sat down on the ground next to his niece. "Say what you like about the Seven," he told his niece, "but I would take the likeness of the maiden over these bloody faces any day."

Lenora bit her lip, trying not to smile, "I believe that is blasphemy to both the Old Gods and the New, Uncle Jaime," she told him. She looked up from her hands that had been folded neatly in her lap and glanced around the Godswood, "I will say this," she told him, finally bringing her grey eyes to meet her uncle's gaze. "There's a magic in this wood that I have never felt in the Great Sept. I don't know about Gods, but there is something here that the Seven do not have."

"Aye," Jaime agreed, "a terrifying, bloody face."

Lenora smiled at him and reached out to grab his hand, "I'm going to miss you, Uncle Jaime," she told him softly, giving his hand a tight squeeze. She was quiet for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "I can't remember a time when you and I weren't together," she told him, her voice a whisper.

Her voice was quieted partly by the magic in the wood and partly because she was sad. This was a trait she had had since she was a small child. If she was about to cry she would whisper, as if the quiet voice would keep her from crying. Jaime glanced at her cheeks and could already see the tracks of a few tears that had escaped and slid down her cheeks. He reached out and held her face in his hand, brushing away one of those tears, "Don't cry, my fawn," he told her. "This is not the forever kind of goodbye."

Lenora scoffed, "It's not?" she asked him. "We have the entire country of Westeros between us. At least a fortnight of travel. I doubt you will be showing up any time soon for a surprise visit."

"No," Jaime answered with a chuckle, "but you are a king's daughter, sister to the future king. I am part of the Kingsguard. You will be expected at most royal events. Your Northern husband is going to take so many trips to King's Landing that he might decide he likes it better than this white wasteland."

Lenora shook her head, "Not Robb," she told him. "Robb loves it here at Winterfell. He will never leave."

Jaime held back on commenting that the young Stark might leave Winterfell if given a good reason, the implication being that Lenora was a good enough reason. Instead he smiled at his niece and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling the small young woman closer to him. "Then I shall have to find excuses to come to Winterfell more often," he told her. "Need some honey? Go to Winterfell. Need a new pair of boots? Go to Winterfell. Want a proper sword fighting opponent?" he poked his niece in the side, finally getting a real smile from the young princess. "Go to Winterfell."

"It would be a long way for a new pair of boots," Lenora told him softly.

"And you would be worth every mile, my love," Jaime told her, meaning it.

Lenora was quiet for a moment, her gaze on the blood red leaves that rustled in the wind above their heads. "I went down to the crypts the other day," she told her uncle quietly, a confession.

"And what did you find there?" Jaime asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.

"A statue of Lyanna Stark," Lenora answered, confirming Jaime's suspicion. "She was beautiful."

"That she was," Jaime agreed, wondering where this was going. "Why did you want to see her though?" he asked.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "I have spent my whole life hearing stories about Lyanna Stark. How beautiful she was, how kind and strong. How much my father loved her. And then Rhaegar kidnapped her and killed her and Father was left heartbroken without the woman he loved more than anything. When I was a child I thought that Mother and Father married because they loved each other, but that isn't what happened. Their marriage was arranged, one of convenience. Father was named King of the Seven Kingdoms and if he couldn't marry the love of his life he might as well marry the daughter of the richest house in Westeros." Jaime wanted to argue, to tell her that she had it wrong, but he couldn't, at least not honestly. Lenora continued before he could formulae an argument anyway, "I wanted to see what she looked like, the woman who caused my parents to have such an unhappy marriage. Father was unhappy because Mother is not Lyanna. And Mother was unhappy because even though she gave Father two male heirs and two daughters she was always competing with a woman who has been dead for longer than she was alive."

"Did you want to yell at her?" Jaime asked, raising his eyebrows. "Did you want to blame her for your parents' unhappiness?"

"No," Lenora told him, shaking her head. "I just wanted to see her. And then I prayed. To all of them, the Old Gods and the New that Robb and I would not turn out like my mother and father. That no matter what he and I would not end up hating each other. I am not saying that I am in love with him, or he with me. But I would like to think that there is enough respect between the two of us that we would never purposefully hurt each other as Mother and Father do."

"Your mother and father do not purposefully hurt each other," Jaime argued.

Lenora raised her eyebrows at him, "Don't they?" she asked before she turned away from him so that she could look around the Godswood again, "Isn't that why I am to be left here tomorrow when the rest of my family travels back to King's Landing? In part to hurt Mother?"

Jaime chuckled and shook his head, "You see too much, Child," he told her. "You're too observant. Couldn't you be more like Joffrey, he sees nothing."

Lenora frowned at his joke, "No," she told him. "If I were Joffrey I would make sure that I saw more, that I knew everything. He has every advantage in the Seven Kingdoms and he does not take them. No, if I were Joffrey I would see more than I do now, not less."

"And that is why the Seven Kingdoms would be better off if you were to sit on the Iron Throne, my doe," Jaime told her, finally saying out loud what he had thought for years. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and as he pulled away he caught sight of his niece's wide grin. "There's the smile I will miss so much."

"You called me _doe_ ," she told him. "Not fawn."

Jaime shrugged, "You are certainly a lady grown now," he told her. "It would be untrue to call you fawn."

...

"I do not like it," Cersei told him, hours later. He had agreed to meet his sister in the broken tower on the outside edge of Winterfell. She had requested his presence and as much as he would have liked to meet his sister in public where she would be unable to try any advances on him, he knew that what she wished to discuss would not do for public conversation.

"Do not like what, Sweet Sister?" he asked, his tone lazy as he leaned against the back wall of the tower.

"I do not like leaving her here, alone and unprotected. I do not like this new appointment. You should be the Hand."

"Gods forbid," Jaime chuckled. "It's not an honor I would want. There's too much work involved. Their days are too long, their lives are too short."

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" Cersei continued. "Robert loves the man like a brother."

"If he loves Ned Stark as he loves his own brothers we will be fine," Jaime assured her. "Robert can hardly stand his brothers, not that I blame him."

"Don't play the fool," Cersei hissed at him. "Eddard Stark is quite different from Stannis or Renly. Robert will listen to him." She paused for a moment. "We will have to watch him carefully." Jaime rolled his eyes, there was nothing he could say that would calm his sister down, he would just have to wait out her paranoia. "Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything south of the Neck, never I tell you. Why would he do it now? He means to move against us. That is the reason he agreed to the betrothal. That is the reason he agreed to take Lenora as a ward. He will leave his seat of power and move south to King's Landing, but he will have my daughter here as hostage."

"Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life," Jaime suggested, using his small blade to clean the dirt out from underneath his fingernails.

"What if he gets suspicious as Jon Arryn did?" Cersei asked, turning to look at him, her eyes wide. "What if he tells Robert?"

"He would have no proof," Jaime pointed out.

"Do you think Robert would require proof?" Cersei all but yelled at him. "He loves me not."

"And whose fault is that?" Jaime asked, leveling the blonde in front of him with a pointed glare. "You have only given him one true-born child, a girl. A girl who you tried to murder when she was still but a babe. It's a wonder he did not set you aside right then."

"Yes," Cersei muttered with a nod, too worried about their current situation to even defend her past actions. "I have only given him one true-born child and she will be held hostage up here in the North by our enemies. Why are you not worried?"

"I am worried," he admitted quietly. "But not about my own neck, and certainly not about your pretty neck, Sister. I am worried about Len. If the truth were to come out she would be a target. At best she would be used as a pawn, something to be used to advance the wishes and plots of other houses. At worse she would be killed so that she could not attempt a claim on the throne for herself or any sons she might have. That is what I worry about. That is what keeps me up at night. I worry about her."

"But what about us?" Cersei asked him, moving closer to him, suddenly vulnerable. "What about me? I have made a cuckold of my husband, the King. I have lain with my brother. I have committed treason by insisting that my two bastard sons be put in the line of succession. If Eddard Stark were to discover the truth I would be exiled at best, executed at worst."

Before Jaime could argue with her, before he could tell her that nothing of the sort would happen, they heard a gasp from behind them. Cersei spun on her heel and over her blonde head Jaime caught sight of a dark haired boy. One of the Stark children.

"He _heard_ us," Cersei said, shrilly.

"So he did," Jaime muttered, his tone dark as he moved closer to the window. Much as he hated it he knew what had to be done. The boy was scrambling, trying not to slip, his eyes darted from Cersei to Jaime, clearly afraid. Jaime reached out for him. "Take my hand," he told the young boy. "Before you fall." The boy grabbed his arm and Jaime yanked him up onto the ledge, only letting go once he was sure that the boy would not slip again.

"What are you doing?" Cersei demanded, moving closer to him.

Jaime ignored her and studied the boy, he had met him at the feast on their first night in Winterfell. His name had been Bran, and all he wanted was to be a knight. "How old are you?" he asked the young boy.

"Seven," Bran told him, he was shaking with relief.

"What are you doing?" Cersei hissed again.

Jaime looked over at her, the soft gaze he had used when he looked down at the boy hardened into a glare. His voice darkened too. "The things I do for love," he told his sister, although the love was for his niece, not Cersei. And then he gave the young boy a shove.

Bran screamed as he went backward out the window. Jaime flinched when he heard the thud of the child's small body hit the courtyard below the tower. He did not feel relief, only regret. He leveled his beautiful sister with one last glare before he quickly ran down the stairs and left the tower.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Well this chapter was fun to write. Gotta tell you that.  
It had all of my favorite things: flirting between Robb and Lenora, Lenora showing Robb up, kissing in dark places, Jaime and Lenora interaction, and throwing children out of towers. (Just kidding on the last one, I promise!)  
That was actually a bit of a challenge, that scene. Obviously Bran needed to be pushed from the tower, and obviously Cersei and Jaime needed to be responsible for it. But they couldn't be having sex when Bran found them, because they're not doing that anymore. So I needed them to have a conversation.  
A conversation that could be plausible, one that could have actually happened between the two characters. One that showed their motivations. And one that would have been obvious treason, even to a young boy like Bran.  
And hopefully, I managed that without it being too OOC.  
Did I succeed? Let me know in a review!  
Thank you to the two that reviewed on the last chapter:  
 **DannyBlack70** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad that Lenora is pretty spot on. I'm trying really hard not to fall into the OC trap. I want Lenora to be strong without being boring or predictable. But at the same time I don't want her to be strong just to be strong, she's got to have a softness to her, a vulnerability to make her believable and relatable. Fingers crossed that I haven't fallen off that tightrope yet.  
As for that line about Robb going to war, I was grinning like a madman when I wrote it. Because it's no secret, anyone who has read GoT knows he will. It's not a surprise or a plot twist. That line was in there just to show how much faith Lenora has in him and to underline how much it's going to break her heart when he does.  
 **Evaline101** : I'm glad you love the story, it would be pretty sad if I was the only one who loved it. Don't worry, at the moment I have no plans for Jaime falling back into Cersei's bed ... though that would throw a wrench into the mix if I did ... hmm. (just kidding ... or am I?)  
Got a question about the story? Something you particularly liked? Something you're worried about? Something that made you laugh out loud? Review! Let me know! Reading your reviews strokes my writer's ego and that will make me update faster.  
Until next time!  
Hugs and kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	8. Chapter Eight: A Bird Without Feathers

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

* * *

 _Lenora_

There would be no feast that night. Or any night soon, even though the royal party would be staying at Winterfell for a few days longer then they planned. Lenora had been praying in the sept for Bran when she heard the trumpets, the hunting party was almost returned to the castle. She quickly stood up and gathering her skirts she ran out of the sept and toward the Hunter's Gate so that she could meet the party. They weren't there yet, she opened the gate and ran into the Wolf's wood intent on meeting them. She ran for almost a mile before she caught sight of them.

Ned Stark and her father were at the front of the party. Just behind them rode her uncle Tyrion, Robb, Theon, and Joffrey. When Robb caught sight of her he laughed and nudged the sides of his horse, encouraging the animal into a gallop so that he could meet her. He stopped the horse just short of her and grinned down at her, not noticing her distress yet. "Once you and I are Lord and Lady of Winterfell I won't allow you to go on hunts either," he told her. "But I will require you to run out here and meet me at the end of every hunt so that I can pretend that you missed me."

Lenora could not even manage a tight smile at his joke. That was when he realized that something was wrong. "Nora, what happened?" he asked, moving to hop down from the saddle of his horse.

Lenora stopped his action with a shake of her head. Ned and her father had caught up now. "My Lord," she gasped, looking at Ned. "It's Bran. He's not well. No one saw, so no one can be sure. But he must have fallen from the tower. Maester Luwin is with him now, but it does not look good." She paused for a moment, her grey gaze flitting between Ned and Robb, "I'm so sorry," she told them both, her voice catching slightly.

Ned turned to look at her father and Robert nodded, "Go Ned," he told his friend. And then even though he had given his friend permission to leave his presence Robert forced his own horse into a gallop and the two men rushed toward the castle.

Lenora watched after them for a moment before she turned to look at Robb again. He had his hand extended to her. She had no idea what he meant to do, but she trusted him. She placed her hand in his and with one giant yank he had pulled her off the ground and onto the horse. She was seated sideways in front of him, halfway in his lap, halfway in the saddle. "Is this alright?" he asked her, his breath tickling the outside of her ear.

She nodded, and before she could say anything Robb had started to gallop toward the castle after their fathers. She could tell that he was worried about his younger brother, she was touched that he had taken the time to help her onto his horse though, despite his worry. She would have understood if he had left her to one of the other men on the hunt, her brother had been there after all. Joffrey would have been well-suited enough to see her back to the castle. But he had done it himself. It was kind of him. Kinder than she had expected from a hard, northern man.

Once they made it to the yard in front of the stables Robb climbed off the horse and held out his hand to her, carefully helping her down as well. Once she had her two feet planted on the ground she expected him to leave her there and run for his brother. He did run toward the Great Keep, but he kept a hold of her hand, pulling her along with him. It was only once they were standing outside of Bran's chamber that he dropped her hand and turned to look at her. "You don't have to," he told her.

Lenora raised her eyebrows at him, wondering what he meant by that. She didn't have to what? She was about to ask when she saw his eyes quickly dart toward the chamber door. He meant that she did not have to go in with him if she did not want to. She nodded, "I will though," she told him, moving a step closer to him so that she could reach out her hand for his and give it a gentle squeeze. Robb smiled down at her for a brief moment before he turned toward the door, steeling himself for what waited on the other side.

Lady Stark and Bran were the only ones in the bedchamber. Ned and her father had already been through. They had left with Maester Luwin to discuss the plans for Bran's care. Lenora let go of Robb's hand and let him move further into the room first. He pressed a kiss against his mother's cheek and asked her how she was doing before he moved around the bed so that he could kneel beside Bran and hold his brother's small hand between both of his.

Lenora waited for a moment, unsure if it would be right for her to interrupt this moment. But before she could decide against it Robb looked up at her and his blue eyes caught on her face. She nodded and moved further into the room. She curtsied low to Lady Catelyn. "Please accept my sympathies, Lady Stark," she told the older woman, her voice a whisper. "I have spent this afternoon praying to the Seven that Bran will recover from this."

Catelyn nodded her silent thanks. Lenora looked at her and then glanced at Robb, unsure if she should stay. It was clear that Lady Catelyn wanted to be left alone. "May I sit with you for a bit, Lady Stark?" she asked her once Robb had nodded his encouragement to her.

This actually got the woman's attention. She turned to look at her, "You do not have to, Lady Lenora," she told her. "This is your family's last night in Winterfell, I would understand why you would want to spend time with them."

Lenora shook her head as she moved further into the room. "I am to be a ward of Winterfell for the next year. And after that, the Gods willing, I will marry your son and be your daughter by law. Bran is my family. He is as much my brother as Joffrey or Tommen. And you are as much my mother as my own." She paused for a moment, glancing at Robb for more encouragement, "I am spending time with my family, My Lady."

Lady Catelyn looked up at her, her face did not soften, the worry lines around her mouth and between her eyes did not disappear. But she nodded and briefly lifted her hand up to Lenora. The young princess reached out a grasped the older woman's hand. She gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go and moving around the bed so that she could sit beside Robb. He pulled a chair to his side so that Lenora could sit next to him and close to the bed without having to kneel beside the bed.

"I don't understand," he murmured quietly once Lenora was seated beside him. "Bran has been climbing the tower walls for years. My mother always worried that he would fall, but the boy was always so sure footed. What tower did he fall from? Do you know?"

"I believe it's called the Broken Tower?" Lenora asked him, turning to look at him with her eyebrows raised. "The one near the North Gate."

Robb nodded, "That one's Bran's favorite," he told her, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "He'd never have fallen from that once."

Lenora quickly glanced at Lady Catelyn to make sure that the older woman could not hear them and that they weren't upsetting her. "If he didn't fall, what? Was he pushed?"

Robb shrugged, "I'm not the one to ask," he whispered. He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze. He smiled when for the first time Lenora did not flinch at the sudden contact. "Thank you," he whispered. "It means so much, your being here."

Lenora squeezed the young man's hand in return, "Where else would I be?" she asked him.

...

"I suppose we have you to thank for Joffrey's visit this morning, Uncle," Lenora teased, smiling down at her uncle before she sat down at the table beside her uncle. He was sitting alone, but from the empty plates on the table it was clear that her family had already broken their fast. She smiled at the servant who brought her a cup of wine and hurried away to get a plate of food for her then she sniffed the air and the smile fell from her lips. "Why do you smell like dog, Uncle Tyrion?" she asked him.

Her uncle chuckled. "So Joffrey did go to see Lord and Lady Stark?" he asked his niece. "Good."

Lenora nodded, "Yes," she confirmed, "he came a few minutes ago with matching red marks on both of his cheeks. It might be a good thing that you're going to the Wall, he was angrier than I have ever seen him." She paused while the servant placed a plate of food in front of her, she wasn't hungry, but she knew that she must eat. She hadn't eaten all day yesterday. "I'll ask you again, why do you smell like dog?"

"I fell asleep in the kennel," Tyrion admitted with a smirk and his eyebrows raised.

"I suppose that's better than falling asleep at the whorehouse," Lenora replied, taking a bite of the bacon on her plate. She liked it, the teasing. It had been that way as long as she could remember with her uncles, more so with Tyrion though. Jaime's teasing had always been tempered by the fact for a large part of her life he had been the only parental figure she had known. "What are you going to do during your trip to the Wall? I've heard that there are three types of Black Brothers: the builders, the stewards, and the rangers. There aren't any whores on the Wall, I would imagine."

"There aren't _many_ whores on the Wall," her uncle corrected her, "but I would wager that there might be a few. Unfortunately, the few there are will not be my type, that I can assure you." Lenora smiled weakly at her uncle's response. The smile disappeared from Tyrion's lips at the sight of it, "Cheer up, Sweetling," he told the young girl, reaching out to gently chuck his niece under the chin, "this won't be goodbye for us, you know that."

"Do I?" Lenora asked her uncle, looking around the hall they were sitting in. "I am seventeen years old, Uncle," she told the man next to her. "Lord Stark and my father were raised together, almost as brothers. Lord Eddard is my father's best friend. And in the seventeen years I have been alive we have never come to Winterfell. So how am I to believe you and Uncle Jaime when you tell me that this isn't goodbye, that we will see each other again?"

Tyrion sighed, this goodbye would have been easier if the princess was stupid, like her brother. The girl shrugged, and just like that her melancholy disappeared, "I suppose you'll both come back up North for the wedding," she told her uncle with a smirk.

"That's the spirit," Tyrion told the young girl. "Just keep that up, will you? You'll need it as the days get colder."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

She found Lady Catelyn in the young boy's room. She had already relayed her condolences to Ned and Catelyn the night before, but she had to see the boy for herself, she had to see the damage on her own. Her brother had told her that he believed that the boy would live, but she needed to make sure that if he did live he wouldn't be able to tell anyone what he had overheard in the tower the day before.

Lady Catelyn was sitting alone in a chair beside the bed, she had barely left her son's side since yesterday afternoon. The boy himself was pale, the skin on his face almost the same color as the sheets he was covered with. But he was breathing, and it was not labored. He had not woken up yet, but Tyrion was right, it appeared that the boy would live.

Lady Catelyn did not notice her when she first entered the room, she was too engrossed in the prayer wheel that she was weaving. She did not look up until Cersei was standing next to her. When she noticed Cersei she stood up quickly, a shocked look on her face as her eyes quickly dropped to the bedclothes and robe she was wearing, compared to Cersei's royal gown the lady of Winterfell looked a mess.

Cersei smiled gently at the woman, "Please," she gestured to Catelyn's seat. "Sit."

"I would have dressed, your Grace," Lady Catelyn apologized as she sat back down in her seat beside her son's bed.

Cersei shook her head, "This is your home, I am your guest." She glanced at the boy in the bed and smiled down at him. "Handsome one, isn't he?" she asked. And he was a handsome child. She hadn't noticed it the afternoon before when he had caught her and Jaime in the tower. She had been too worried about what the boy might have overheard to notice him. But she could see it now. He was a strong boy, of course, he was fighting for his life now. Of course he would continue to fight for his life until he woke up.

Lady Catelyn was quiet, but she nodded her agreement. Cersei was quiet for a moment. "I almost lost my first child," she told Catelyn, unsure of why she was telling her this. She was partly the reason that Catelyn Stark might have lost her son. This was partly Cersei's fault. But the words were falling from her lips faster than she could catch them. And it felt good to say them out loud, to get her version of the story out to someone who did not known the truth. "Lenora," she confirmed to the shocked woman in front of her. "Barely a day old and already a dark haired beauty. She was a fighter too. A Targaryen spy at the castle tried to poison her. She was not even a day old and she had to work so hard to beat the fever and the poison that tried to take her."

"I - I never knew, your Grace," Lady Catelyn told her.

Cersei smiled sadly, "Not many do," she told the woman. "Not even Lenora knows. But that is why she went to live with my brother at Casterly Rock. She was safer there than at Kings Landing so soon after the war. Robert was crazed, he beat his hands bloody on the walls, cursed the gods - the old and the new, for what had happened to his daughter. She was so small, and she looked just like him." She paused and shook her head, "A little bird without feathers. So innocent, so helpless, really. She was five or six before Jaime brought her back to us, all the time we had lost." She paused, she was losing herself in the story, she was sure that Lady Catelyn was wondering why she was telling her all of this. "If little Len was able to fight than so will your strong, handsome Bran. I'll pray to the Mother every morning and night that your boy comes back to you as soon as possible."

"Thank you, your Grace," Lady Catelyn told her with a solemn nod.

"I hope it will not take five years this time," Cersei told her before she left the room in search of her own daughter so that she could say her goodbyes.

She found the princess in the courtyard, helping the bastard boy saddle the horses, she hung back, hating to admit that she was curious of what a royal princess and a Northern bastard could have to talk about. "So you're really off to join the Night's Watch?" Lenora asked as she struggled to heave a saddle onto a large horse. The bastard chuckled as he rushed forward to help with the saddle. The two moved with a familiarity, Cersei wondered when he daughter had found the time to befriend the bastard. "Why?" Lenora asked once the saddle was in place.

"Why must you go?"

The bastard, Jon, shrugged, "There will be no place for me here once Lord Stark leaves for King's Landing. Lady Stark barely suffered me to say goodbye to Bran, she will be less generous about me living under Winterfell's roof once her Lord husband is gone."

"But Robb, he would never -"

Jon nodded, "You are right about that. Robb would never force me out of Winterfell, but what is there for me here?" he asked, "Truly? There is nothing."

"You could marry," Lenora suggested. "You could have a family, a life."

Jon snorted at that. "And tell me, Princess, what Lord or self-respecting man would let his daughter marry a bastard? Even Ned Stark's bastard? What woman would want her children to have the surname Snow?" He shook his head, "No, it is much better for me to make a life on the Wall, to find my honor there."

Lenora was quiet for a moment, "But you will come back to Winterfell to visit, won't you?"

Jon chuckled, "Would you want me to, My Lady?" he asked, teasing.

"A brother of the Night's Watch is always welcome at Winterfell," Lenora told him, her tone playful for a moment before it turned serious, "and the brother of my future husband would be even more welcome."

Jon smiled at her and reached out as if he was going to hug her before he remembered his place. "Maybe they will make a true Stark of you after all," he told her. He turned away from Lenora for a moment, his dark eyes landing on the Queen before he turned back to Lenora. "Take care of him, will you?" he asked the princess, meaning Robb Stark. "You'll be kind to him?"

"Of course I will," Lenora promised. "You'll take care of my Uncle Tyrion when he's on the Wall with you, won't you?" Jon didn't say anything, but he nodded. Unlike Jon, Lenora did not care about their stations. She stood on her tiptoes so that she could wrap her arms around the young man's shoulders. "And promise me that you will take care of yourself as well," she commanded.

She caught sight of her mother over Jon's shoulder and pulled away from him once she had gotten his word that he could take care of himself. She silently pulled away from Jon and nodded at him before she walked toward her mother, her eyes dropping down to the ground as if she was ashamed of what her mother had seen. But Cersei knew her daughter better than that, she was worried about what her mother might say about it in Jon's presence, but no, she was not ashamed of caring for the bastard. "Mother," Lenora greeted as she came to stand in front of her mother. "I was on my way to say goodbye to you."

Cersei smiled at her eldest daughter and nodded, "I'm sure you were," she old her daughter, her tone hinting at the fact that she knew her daughter would much rather be helping the bastard with the horses than saying goodbye to her mother. "Have you said goodbye to your uncles?" she asked as the two women walked away from the stables toward the glass gardens.

"I have," Lenora told her with a nod. "They both promised to come back to Winterfell to see me as soon as they could, but even if they ride as fast as possible it will still take a fortnight to reach me from King's Landing." She shook her head and forced a smile onto her lips as she glanced at her mother, "I fear I will be entirely lost to my family once you have left this morning," she continued, keeping her tone light, making a joke out of the situation she was in.

Her mother reached out her hand and grabbed her daughter's, giving it a gentle squeeze before she looped her arm through her daughter's pulling the younger woman closer to her as they walked. "You will write to us though," she commanded, hinting to the morning not long ago when she had asked her daughter to spy on the Starks for her. With what had happened to the boy, Bran, it was more important than ever that Cersei know if the Starks were suspicious of her. "You'll tell us of your studies and your doings, and everything you learn about the North, won't you?"

Lenora nodded, not rising to her mother's bait.

"And of course, Bran," Cersei continued. "You must let me know the moment he wakes up." She shook her head, her lips forming a hard line. "The poor boy."

"Robb thinks it's the oddest thing," Lenora admitted to her mother. "Bran has apparently been climbing the towers of Winterfell for years now. He's always been sure-footed. Never once has he slipped, let alone fell. Robb is sure that something else has happened."

"Something else?" Cersei asked, her voice tense.

Lenora did not notice, she nodded, "He thinks the boy was pushed," she whispered. She glanced at her mother and shrugged her shoulders, "But yes," she agreed, coming back to the conversation at hand, "I will write to you as soon as he wakes up. Gods know that I pray it will be soon."

Cersei couldn't say anything in return. Her words stuck in her throat at the thought that Robb was suspicious, that he thought that his brother had been pushed. She forced a smile onto her lips when she caught sight of her daughter's confused look, no doubt her daughter was wondering what she was thinking. She leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the top of the girl's dark head, "Go now," she told her, "say your goodbyes to your father and your brothers and sister. I suspect that we will be leaving before midday."

Lenora kissed her mother on the cheek and moved away from her. She turned around before she had gotten too far and smiled at her mother. "I know that you do not want to leave me here, Mother," she told her, leaving no time for Cersei to argue with her before she continued. "And I know that Father has pushed for this betrothal in part to hurt you. You must not let him know that it does. Be strong, Mother, as I know you can be." She paused, bit her lip for a moment, "After all, I learned my strength from you."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

The goodbyes were hard. He loved his sisters, and had not planned on having to say goodbye to them. Especially in the gloom of Winterfell after Bran had fallen. His father had told him how proud he was of him and had shook his head when Robb had offered to come with him to King's Landing.

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," his father had reminded him. Robb wasn't so far gone as to suggest that young Rickon could be the Stark for the time being. "Remember all that I have taught you," Ned continued. "The people of the North will look to you for guidance now. Do right by them. Remember our words."

"Winter is coming," Robb told him, repeating the words that he had known since he was a small boy.

"And so it is," Ned agreed with a nod. "We must be ready when it does." He looked as though he was going to move on to say goodbye to Rickon, but he paused. "And be kind to the girl," he told his son, nodding toward Lenora who was a short distance away, kneeling on the ground so that she could be closer to her youngest brother's height for their goodbye. "She is a long way from home and her family. Summers in this land can be hard and unforgiving for those who are born here, I can only imagine what it will be for her once winter comes."

Robb nodded, "I will," he promised and then added, "I would have even if you hadn't warned me. I," he paused, looking for the right words. "I have come to care for her more than I thought that I would. I wouldn't want to cause her any unnecessary pain, truly."

Ned nodded, "That is very good," he told his son, "though I fear it might not always be as easy as you make it sound."

"It is easy for you and Mother," Robb pointed out.

"It was not always," Ned told him, his gaze landing on Jon for a moment. "It was not always."

Lenora's goodbyes were painful for him to watch. He was saying goodbye to his father and his sisters temporarily. They would be back in Winterfell in time. Lenora would never live with her family again. The younger children cried when she said her goodbyes, her father and mother seemed to choke up, there were tears in the princess' eyes when she hugged each of her uncles for the last time.

The only one who did not seem saddened by the farewell was Joffrey.

Lenora wiped the tears from her eyes when she stepped away from her family so that they could mount their horses and climb into the wheelhouse. She did not want anyone to see her crying. Robb moved to stand next to her, close enough to be touching. He did not say anything until the party had left the courtyard and the Winterfell household had turned to enter the castle again. Then he nudged the girl's shoulder and nodded toward the stables, "I did promise to take you riding, didn't I?" he asked, hoping that the princess would take the bait and allow him to distract her from her sorrow for the afternoon.

She smiled, tears still shining in her grey eyes, and nodded, "It's been a week since you made that promise. I was beginning to think that you weren't a man of your word," she teased before she grabbed his hand and led him toward the stable.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Shorter chapter today, but I'm gearing up toward some very exciting things in the future.  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. And if you did please take a moment to review! I love to read your reviews, so share them with me: the good, the bad, the ugly (just be nice about the bad and the ugly please!).  
HUGE thank you to those who reviewed on the last chapter:  
 **DannyBlack70** : I love reading your reviews! I get ridiculously excited every time you write one. I played around with Jaime not pushing Bran from the tower but ultimately I decided that he had to. Lenora and Cersei are in some ways very similar, but with respect to Jaime they are two sides of the same coin. Where Lenora brings out Jaime's best side, Cersei brings out his worst. And that's going to come into play later.  
As for Lenora's weaknesses, we'll be seeing them very soon.  
I hope you liked this chapter as well! Thank you for reading!  
 **Evaline101** : Another multiple reviewer! I love it! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I sincerely hope that you liked this one too.  
Confession time: the reason this story is written is because I wanted a story where Jaime was close to someone who wasn't Cersei. Seriously, it's the combination of some of my favorite GoT tropes: A Baratheon/Lannister heir, Jaime and Brienne's friendship, and a relationship between Robb Stark and a Baratheon princess. Put all of those together and Lenora was born.  
 **Raging Raven** : Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! I hope that you like this chapter as well!  
 **ZabuzazGirl** : Glad you enjoyed it, here's the next chapter!  
That's all I've got for now! You've gotten this far, the review box is just down below. Take a moment, write a few words. (They might be the ones to push me to update faster, you never know!)  
Until next time!  
Hugs and Kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	9. Chapter Nine: A Kiss Like that

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more. _

_-.-.-.-.-_

 _A note on my updating schedule: So what_ _I am writing and what I am posting are different. For example, I am posting chapter nine today, but I just finished writing chapter sixteen._

 _I have a rule, I cannot post a chapter until I have finished whatever chapter is five chapters ahead of it. (Example, I could not have posted chapter nine until at least chapter fourteen was finished.)  
It's a self-imposed rule that I do not like to break. But sometimes I do.  
The reason that reviews are so important is because:_

 _It lets me know what I'm doing right (or wrong)._ _It tells me that I'm not wasting my time posting these chapters for no one._ _They sometimes persuade me to post a chapter early, even if it would break my rule._

 _So you want faster updates?_ **REVIEW** _._

 _That is all, now, on to the story:_

* * *

 _Lenora_

"And that one?" she asked, pointing to the one in question. "What does that one look like?"

"It's a giant, of course," Robb told her. He chuckled when she turned her head to look at him, her eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Don't you see it?" he asked her.

She shook her head, "Show me," she commanded. They were laying in the middle of field that separated Winterfell from the town, looking for shapes in the clouds. Anything to distract them from their worry over Bran and her sadness at saying goodbye to her family when they left her to travel back to Kings Landing. She had expected the young man to point out the features of the cloud that made it look like a giant. What she hadn't expected was for him to grab her hand in his so that he could point the cloud out to her with her own finger.

He smiled at the gasp that escaped her lips when he touched her hand. "Are you ever going to get used to me touching you?" he asked her as he interlaced their fingers together. Slowly, carefully.

"Probably not," Lenora told him honestly, but she turned her had to smile at him. "Though that is no reason for you to stop trying."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Robb told her honestly. He was quiet for a moment, unsure if he should open up this topic or not, but finally deciding that it was worth it. "Tell me about your childhood?" he asked her. She bit her lip, but didn't immediately open up to him. He tried again. "You know so much now about what it was like to grow up in Winterfell. You know me. I want to know just as much about you. Please tell me?"

She was silent for a full minute and Robb was about to tell her to forget about it, sure that she wasn't going to answer him when she opened her mouth and began to speak. "As you know, for the first five years of my life I was raised by my uncle Jaime at Casterly Rock. It wasn't until after Joffrey was born that I was able to live with my parents at Kings Landing."

"Why was that?" Robb asked, it was something he had always been curious about. His parents had never given him good enough answers to that question.

"My mother never told me," Lenora told him truthfully. "To this day she thinks that I don't know why. But I do. Tyrion told me when I was ten. He had never believed in keeping things from me. When I was a baby, and I do mean _baby_ , I wasn't more than a few days old Targaryen spies tried to poison me. My father and grandfather decided that I would be safest away from Kings Landing until such a time as the kingdom was more secure, that time being once my mother had produced a legitimate male heir for my father."

Robb nodded, taking it all in. He squeezed her hand for a moment before asking, "And were you happy at the Rock?"

Lenora's answering smile was the widest and brightest smile he had ever seen on her face. "Those were my happiest years," she told him, mischief glinting in her eyes. "Uncle Jaime was a fantastic guardian, no harm could have ever come to me while I was in his care, but he had neither experience or business raising a child. I was a little monster who had been given free reign of an entire castle and had my keeper wrapped around my little finger. I stayed up too late, was allowed to eat whatever I wanted, ripped every one of my dresses, terrorized the stable boys. But in Uncle Jaime's eyes I could do no wrong. It really is a wonder that I did not grow up spoiled."

" _More_ spoiled, you mean," Robb teased her.

"Just because I am used to getting my way does not make me spoiled," Lenora argued with him, a smile teasing at her lips. "It's not my fault that my way is usually right."

Robb chuckled and shook his head. This girl had definitely spent her life being told that she deserved everything that she wanted. She probably did deserve it too. "What else?" he asked her, wanting to hear more about her childhood.

"Let's see," Lenora smiled, thinking for a moment. "In my letters did I ever tell you about the day my Uncle Jaime taught me to fly?"

"He taught you how to fly?" Robb asked, his eyebrows raised. He shook his head, "No, you never told me about that."

Lenora smiled, her eyes sparkling. "I wasn't lying when I told you that I was a little monster at the Rock. Always running around and destroying things. One day Jaime caught me at the top of a staircase, preparing to throw myself over the railing. I had taken a blanket from my bed and tied it around my wrists and ankles, convinced that it would slow my fall enough that I would simply float down to the floor below."

Robb chuckled, "You had made a parachute."

"Yes," Lenora agreed. "I was so proud of myself. So sure that I was the smartest little girl in the world. So naturally it was a bit of a shock when Uncle Jaime started to yell at me. I started to cry." She shook her head, "Now, I wasn't a cry baby and Uncle Jaime had punished me before. But it is a bit hard to handle when you think that your uncle is going to praise you and instead he screams at you. I didn't realize at the time that he was yelling at me because he had been worried about me, scared for my life. I assumed that it was because he thought that I was a fool."

"So when did he teach you to fly?" Robb asked.

"Through tears and sobs I explained to him that I had only wanted to surprise him by showing him what a smart little girl I was. I just wanted to surprise him by showing him that I had learned to fly." Lenora paused, smiling at the memory. "He laughed at me," she told Robb, rolling her eyes. "He laughed at me and then sent me upstairs to my bedroom to change into the pants and shirt I wore when we practiced my sword play. He took me out to the cliffs that overlook the ocean and made me promise that I would never do this without his help. And then," she paused and shrugged, "he taught me to fly."

"The two of you jumped," Robb translated.

Lenora sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, if you want to take all the magic out of the experience then yes, we jumped. He took my hand and jumped off the cliff, keeping me with him the whole time. But it was so much more than that. The way my hair flew out around me, and the way my squeals were carried away on the wind before I could even hear them. The fall seemed to take forever and was over too quickly all at the same time. The surprising warmth of the water when we landed and Uncle Jaime wrapped his arms around me to make sure that I didn't drown. It wasn't falling. It wasn't a jump. It was flying."

Robb smiled, "I suppose that's the way climbing felt to Bran," he told her.

Lenora nodded, "I _know_ that's how climbing felt to him. There's a freedom in it that you don't find anywhere else. The other day your mother told me that she and your father had forbade Bran on several occasions to climb the towers. But they couldn't have stopped him, once you get a taste of that kind of freedom you won't give it up easily. No one could have stopped this from happening."

Robb nodded slowly, taking in her words. Then he cleared his throat, "Tell me more about your childhood," he commanded. "I'm still at a disadvantage here."

Lenora smiled softly, recognizing his request for what it was, a change of subject. But she was merciful and did not call him out on it. "Let's see here," she said instead, thinking for a moment of what she should tell him next. A smile spread across her lips at all the memories, any of them would have made great stories for Robb. But before she could tell him a single one the young man had leaned closer to her and dropped his lips onto hers, catching her in a surprise kiss.

She froze for a moment, unsure of how she should respond. His lips stilled and he started to pull away, but she reached up, placing her right hand on his cheek to hold him into place before she began to kiss him back. She felt Robb smile against her lips before he began to kiss her again.

His lips moved faster against hers, more frenzied. She tried to keep up, but when his tongue brushed against her lips, silently begging her to open her mouth and to let him in she forgot where they were. She reached her left hand up to his shoulder, to pull him closer or to push him away - she was not sure of which. Since the kiss began she had been leaning on her left elbow, but now that she had lifted it to place her hand on his shoulder she had nothing to support her and a moment later she had fallen onto the ground on her back, Robb following her down, landing on top of her.

He laughed as he looked down at her, his blue eyes sparkling. "I'm sorry, My Lady," he told her as he moved his hands to either side of her, boxing her in for a moment and making her wish that he would lean down and kiss her again, but instead he pushed himself away from her and found a seat on the ground before he reached down and pulled her up with him.

She was breathing heavily, taking fast, shallow breaths as her corset would not allow her anything deeper. She bit back the smile though when she caught Robb staring at her chest, watching it rise and fall with each breath. "I thought that you wanted to learn more about my childhood," she pointed out, her tone teasing as she worked to steady her breath. She tried to hide just how much of an affect the young man had on her.

"Aye," Robb agreed with a nod. "I did, but that smile of yours, it was distracting."

"And your kiss wasn't?" Lenora asked as she stood up off the ground, brushing off the dirt and grass that stuck to her dress before she looked down at Robb, raising her eyebrows as she silently waited for an answer.

He grinned up at her, cocky. "Not distracting enough, apparently," he told her before he stood up as well. He reached out for her hand and gently tugged her along, leading the way back toward the castle. He chuckled and shook his head, "You'll need to be careful," he told her, the laughter still in his voice.

"Careful?" Lenora asked, allowing the young man to pull her, she enjoyed his energy. "Careful of what?"

"The way you kiss," Robb told her, turning to grin down at her. Lenora's eyes widened, she was suddenly worried that she had done it wrong. She had never kissed anyone, at least not like that, but it was becoming pretty clear that Robb had kissed his fair share of women before she had come to Winterfell. What if she didn't do it right? What if they kissed better than she did? She bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth. Robb didn't let her be self-conscious for long. He reached out and gently pulled her bottom lip from between her teeth. "A kiss like that could ruin a man," he told her.

Lenora gasped, she hadn't been expecting that. "Oh?" she asked, her tone embarrassingly breathless. "Is that so?"

Robb stopped pulling her toward the castle and turned toward her, moving closer to her so that their chests were practically touching. "Yes," he told her softly. "And I'm begging you not to use it to ruin me."

Lenora shook her head, "Never," she whispered her promise to him.

...

 _A kiss like that could ruin a man_. Lenora shook her head, trying to get Robb's voice out of her head and focus on the sewing she was doing by the fire in Bran's room. But it was impossible. It had been a week since the day in the field and every time she looked at Robb all she could think about was the way his lips had felt on hers. All she could hear was him asking her not to ruin him.

 _A kiss like that could ruin a man_. "Seven Hells," she muttered, she had pricked her finger again while she was thinking about Robb. She glanced up toward Bran's bed, worried that he had heard her. But she shook her head, he still hadn't woken up, of course he hadn't heard her.

The two of them were alone. Caitlyn rarely left her son's side, but Lenora had been able to at least convince the older woman to let her sit with Bran for at least a half hour each day so that the lady could bathe, eat, change her clothes.

It wasn't much, but it was all that Lenora could do for her.

She put her sewing down to look at her finger, there was a small spot of blood, forming a bubble at the end of her fingertip. She had half a thought of wiping it on her sewing, but she could just imagine what her Septa from Kings Landing would have said if she had seen it. So instead she put her finger in her mouth, licking at the blood for a moment before she took her finger out of her mouth. She was about to go back to her sewing when she heard a noise and looked up to see Rickon standing in the doorway, staring at his older brother. In the weeks since Bran's fall, Rickon had come to see him once.

"Rickon?" she asked, gesturing to the small boy, inviting him further into the room. Rickon came, but he did not walk any closer to Bran's bed, instead he hugged the walls, moving closer to Lenora until he was standing right beside her, staring wide eyed at his brother. "Are you all right?" Lenora asked.

"Is he going to die?" Rickon asked, nodding toward the bed. "Bran? Is Bran going to die?"

"Of course not, Sweet," Lenora told him. She put her sewing down and wrapped her arm around the young boy's shoulders, pulling him closer to her. "Your brother is going to be just fine."

"Then why hasn't he woken up yet?" Rickon argued.

Lenora reached up and brushed some of his blonde hair out of his eyes, "Because he's healing. You'll see, he'll wake up soon." It was risky to promise the boy that his brother was going to wake up, especially since there was no indication that he was getting any better. But Rickon was hurting. And though Caitlyn was doing everything she could for Bran it was hard to miss that she was ignoring her other sons, both of whom needed her just as much as their injured brother. If Lady Stark would not comfort Rickon then Lenora would do it for her. "You could pray to the Seven that they heal him faster," she suggested. "Or to the Old Gods."

Rickon shook his head, "Father always says that the Old Gods are hard. Their ears won't bend and their hearts won't soften."

"What about the Seven?" Lenora prompted.

Rickon bit his lip, "I don't know," he shook his head. "There are so many of them, I don't know which one to pray to."

Lenora smiled at him for a moment before she placed a hand under each of his armpits and pulled him into her lap. This was a problem that she could solve. "Well, would you like me to teach you?" she asked.

Rickon shrugged, "You can try. Though Maester Luwin has tried."

"I'm sure he has," Lenora agreed with a nod. "But I doubt he knows the song."

"The song?" Rickon asked.

Lenora nodded, "Listen closely," she whispered before she started humming the tune to herself, softly.

"The Father's face is stern and strong,  
He sits and judges right from wrong.  
He weighs our lives, the short and long,  
and loves the little children.

The Mother gives the gift of life,  
and watches over every wife.  
Her gentle smile ends all strife,  
and She loves her little children.

The Warrior stands before the foe,  
protecting us wherever we go.  
With sword and shield and spear and bow,  
He guards the little children.

The Crone is very wise and old,  
and sees our fates as they unfold.  
She lifts her lamp of shining gold,  
to lead the little children.

The Smith, He labors day and night,  
to put the world of men to right.  
With hammer, plow, and fire bright,  
He builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky,  
She lives in every lover's sigh.  
Her smiles teach the birds to fly,  
and gives dreams to little children.

The Seven Gods who made us all,  
are listening if we should call.  
So close your eyes, you shall not fall,  
they see you little children."

She looked down, Rickon's eyes were closed and his breathing had evened out. He had fallen asleep. She smiled, that was the point of the song. It taught about the Seven, but its main purpose was to soothe a worried child, to convince them that everything would be all right. It had worked on Rickon. She smoothed his hair, "So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you little children," she sang softly to Rickon before she attempted to struggle her way out of her seat with Rickon in her arms, intending to carry him to his own bed.

She heard a noise by the door and for the second time that afternoon she caught a Stark boy watching her. "Here," Robb murmured before he moved further into the room and took Rickon from her arms. "Let me help you."

Lenora nodded and once Robb had lifted his younger brother out of her arms she stood up from her chair. "I was going to bring him to his room," she told him.

Robb nodded and quietly called for a servant to come sit with Bran until his mother got back. Once that was arranged he led the way out of Bran's chamber. "Where did you learn that song?" he asked as they walked through the corridor.

Lenora shrugged, "I've always known it," she told him. "Since I was a young child." She sighed and shook her head. "I have this ... I think it's a memory, though knowing my mother it is more likely a mix between a wish and a dream, of my mother singing it to me once. A long time ago. When I was sick."

Robb nodded, "It would be a good memory."

Lenora looked up at him and caught the doubtful look on his face, "But you don't see my mother ever being that motherly, do you?" she asked. Robb didn't say anything, but she could see his jaw clench. She nodded, "You can say it, you know? I'm not under any illusion that my mother was a good one."

"But look at everything she taught you," Robb argued, his blue eyes bright and intense.

Lenora could not stop the laugh that bubbled up inside of her. "Oh yes," she agreed sarcastically with a nod. "She taught me so much, like how to anger your husband and to abandon your children."

Robb stopped walking in the middle of the corridor, he turned to look at her, his eyes bluer, more intense than they had been a moment before. "Is that how you feel?" he asked, shifting Rickon in his arms so that he had one free hand to reach out for Lenora's arm. "Abandoned?"

Lenora shrugged her shoulders and reached up to squeeze Robb's hand. "Not anymore," she told him softly before she gestured down the hall toward Rickon's room.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

She felt abandoned. She had told him that she didn't feel it, she had denied it and attempted to play it off as a joke. But deep down he knew that at least a small part of her felt that her family had abandoned her. As much as she enjoyed his company, as much as she attempted to make the best out of this situation. She felt alone. And Winterfell felt more like a prison to her than her home.

She was going to spend the rest of her life in Winterfell and the last thing he wanted her to do was to resent it and him for it.

Which was why he was thrilled when two days later the young woman came running into his bedroom, giggling. She ran to the window and threw open the shutters, "It's snowing!" she announced to him, leaning out the window to see the large snowflakes more closely.

She turned to look at him, a large, bright smile spreading across her face. "Did you hear me, Robb?" she asked, jumping slightly on her tiptoes. When he didn't react with the same amount of excitement as she was feeling she rushed toward him, she grabbed his hand and pulled him closer to the window. "Look!" she gestured out the window. "It's snowing."

Robb chuckled, "You would think that you had never seen snow before," he told her before he caught sight of her face. Her eyes were a light, shiny silver and the smile that spread across her face was the largest, happiest smile he had ever seen. So instead of teasing her he leaned out the window with her, "It's snowing," he agreed with her.

"Has winter started?" Lenora asked him, her voice filled with quiet awe as she watched the snow fall in front of them.

Robb shook his head, "No," he told her, his voice gentle, "this is simply a fall snow. You won't need to ask me if Winter has started once it really does start. You'll know. You'll feel it deep in your bones and there will be feet of it outside this castle. It will be bone chilling and cold and no matter what you do or where you go you will never be warm."

Lenora turned away from the window to look up at him, "You speak as if you've known winter," she told him, shaking her head. "But you're just as much a summer child as I am."

Robb nodded, "But my father wasn't," he told her. "And I have his stories." He nodded to the window. "Trust me, this snow won't seem so magical once it's here to stay."

There were things that needed to be done. With his mother refusing to leave Bran's side but for a few minutes a day, Robb had taken over the running of Winterfell. He should have been looking over the expenses of the King's visit. But there was something about the sparkle in Lenora's silver eyes when she looked at the snow. He couldn't waste the day with running the castle. He couldn't waste one moment away from her. Not on a day like that.

The two had eaten breakfast and then they dressed Rickon up in his warmest clothes and they brought him outside. Robb watched as Lenora giggled and tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue. Rickon was delighted in the fact that he knew how to do something that Lenora didn't and the young boy spent an hour teaching her how to make a snowman. They threw snowballs at each other, laughing and cheering when they hit their marks. And as it finally started to get dark and the torches in the courtyard were lit Robb had wrapped one of his arms around Lenora's waist, pulling her closer to him as he reached up with his free hand to pull a snowflake out of her dark hair.

Lenora's laughter died, though her smile was still pasted on her lips, she looked up at him as if she was studying him. No, he realized, she wasn't studying him she was daring herself to do something. What - he wasn't sure, though she didn't leave him in the dark for long. After one short moment she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. For the first time she initiated a kiss.

Robb smirked against her lips for just a moment before he began to kiss her back. His left arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him as his right hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her warm skin. Her hands gripped his upper arms tightly, he was sure that if his jacket had not been so thick her fingernails would have dug into his skin. Despite her moment of bravery she was still unsure of herself.

His eyes were still open and he could see her cheeks, already pink from the cold air, darken as she blushed. He closed his eyes just as she started to pull away from embarrassment. He kept his eyes closed and shook his head, refusing to let her get more than an inch away from her. She giggled, but complied, and a moment later her lips touched his again in a second kiss, more hesitant than the first one.

Robb didn't waste any time though, his tongue slipped out of his mouth and ran along her lips, tasting them and begging her to open her mouth, to open up to him. Without a moment's hesitation she did and his tongue slipped between her lips to tangle with her own. One of her hands lifted from his shoulder and slipped into his hair, pulling his face closer to his as her breath quickened. They were so close, he could feel every desperate breath she took, he swore he could hear her heartbeat. He could feel her shiver in his arms.

He wanted to write it off as nerves, but they had been out all day in the snow, her dress was wet despite the cloak she wore. She was cold, freezing even. He chuckled as he slowly pulled away from her, not far, but enough to let her breathe. "You must be freezing," he told her, his hands slipping underneath her cloak and landing on her shoulders.

"No," she told him, her voice breathless, even as she shivered underneath his hands.

"Don't lie to me," he told her with another chuckle as his hands rubbed from her shoulders to her elbows and back up again, repeatedly, trying to warm her up as quickly as he could.

She shrugged her shoulders and bit her lip, "I'm sure I am," she told him after a moment. "But to be honest, I don't feel it."

"That's a sign of frostbite," Robb told her, though he understood what she meant. He had never felt warmer than he did now as the Princess watched him, a sparkle in her silver eyes and a smile on her lips. He was about to suggest that they go inside for dinner when a wolf began to howl. He still had his hands on her shoulders, she was still close enough to him that he could feel her start to tremble at the sound. He made a comforting noise at the back of his throat and squeezed her shoulders, smiling when he felt her relax under his hands, "Bran's" he told her looking out toward the tower where Bran slept, sure that the wolf would be somewhere nearby. "I keep telling Mother to leave the window's open, that it will do him good to hear them sing. But she hates those wolves."

A second wolf joined the song, and then the third. "Shaggydog and Grey Wind," Lenora announced looking toward the tower. She wasn't trembling anymore, but her silver eyes were tight as she looked around the dark courtyard, she couldn't place her finger on it, but she was sure that something was wrong.

Robb nodded, "You can tell them apart if you listen close enough," he told her. He felt her tense underneath his hands as she turned to look at him She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by barking. "Dogs," Robb muttered looking around, picking up on the same feeling that Lenora could feel in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. "All the dogs are barking." He pulled her closer to him in an attempt to comfort her, to let her know that he would keep her safe. She was so close that she was practically part of him. He felt her breath catch in her throat more than he heard it when she caught sight of something over his shoulder.

She pushed him away urgently, "Fire," she whispered.

And he saw it, the orange flames reflected in her silver eyes. It was bright and red in the dark. He turned to look over his shoulder, instinctively pushing Lenora behind him to shield her from the flames, but he needn't have worried. They were far from the fire, it was the library tower that was on fire.

He turned back to her, his hands landing on her shoulders again. "Go find my mother," he told her. The girl's eyebrows knitted together and she opened her mouth to argue. She wanted to help him fight the flames, he could tell. He smiled to soften the blow, "Go," he commanded her, "my little warrior. Tell her what's happening, she won't want to leave Bran, but she must know. Stay with her. I'll come to you once the fire is out. Send any guards you find on the way there out to help."

She nodded and Robb wasted another second to press a kiss against her forehead before he gently pushed her toward the door to the Great keep. "Go," he told her again before he ran off toward the library tower.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Well, you know that the next chapter is going to be super exciting, don't you?  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and I want to take a moment to say thank you for reading!  
An even larger thank you for the people who reviewed the last chapter:  
 **DannyBlack70:** I knew people would get angry about that. But the way I see it is that Cersei was protecting herself. She blamed herself for Bran's fall and in order to align herself with Catelyn, to make the woman think that she understood how she was feeling Cersei twisted the facts a bit to come out in her favor.  
 **Evaline101** : Well they definitely got closer in this chapter, didn't they? It's funny because the chapter I just finished is well ahead of this one and they're not so close at that moment so it was strange to jump back to this one where they're kissing and playing in the snow. It's like a little vacation.  
And that's all I've got for now. Until next time!  
Hugs and Kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	10. Chapter Ten: You Are Not The Enemy

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

-.-.-.-.-

 _So I work every other week, last week was my week off (obviously) and I might not have much time to update this week._  
 _But don't fear!_  
 _I won't abandon you!_  
 _I will be back next Monday!_

* * *

 **Chapter Ten: You Are Not The Enemy**

 _Catelyn_

Catelyn looked up, concerned as she heard someone running up the stairs toward Bran's tower, ordering the guards to leave. She stood and moved toward the door, but only as far as her hold on Bran's hand would allow. She would not leave her son, but she stood prepared to yell at whoever thought it was their right to order her guards away. A moment later Lenora came running into the chamber, "My Lady," Lenora greeted her, dropping down into a curtsy, as she skidded to a halt in front of her. "I'm sorry to disturb you, I sent your guards out to help Robb, there's a fire."

Only this could have caused Catelyn to let go of Bran's hand. "What?" she asked, moving closer to the young woman in front of her. She turned to look back at Bran, "Help me with Bran," she commanded, prepared to drag her son from the tower to save him.

Lenora shook her head and moved around her toward the window. She threw it open so that they could see the grounds below them. "Bran is safe here, my Lady," she told Catelyn, speaking loudly so that the lady would be able to hear her over the sound of barking dogs and howling direwolves. "It's the library tower."

Catelyn sighed with relief, the library tower was far enough away that the fire would not spread to where they were. Her son would be safe. She moved closer to the window, leaving her son for a moment, and coming to stand beside the young woman. They stood, shoulder to shoulder for a moment, watching the flames dance bright and red against the dark sky. She thought briefly, sadly, for a moment of the books that the Starks had gathered over the centuries. As the Lady of Winterfell she should have been more saddened by the loss, but she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but grateful that her son was safe.

She looked down at the dark haired girl beside her before she reached out and closed the window, both to the cold and the sight of the flames. She turned back toward the bed, toward her son, and realized that they were not alone. There was a man in the chamber with them.

"You weren't s'posed to be here," the man muttered, his tone angry and sullen as if they had ruined something for him. His eyes darted between Catelyn and Lenora. "No one was s'posed to be here."

He was a small, dirty man He smelled of horses. Winterfell was by no means a small castle, but Catelyn knew all the men that worked in Winterfell's stables. This man was not one of them. Something in his hand glinted in the firelight, he was holding a dagger. It took no more than a second for Catelyn to realize why he was here, why he was so upset there there were people in the chamber. Her eyes darted to Bran who still lay sleeping in his bed, "No!" she commanded, her voice nothing but a whisper as her eyes darting back to the dagger.

"It's a mercy," the man told her as if she was stupid not to see it for herself. "He's dead already."

"No!" Catelyn told him, her voice stronger now, louder. "No, you can't!" She turned toward the window, ready to move toward it and scream for help, but the man was faster than she was. He was quicker than she would have thought. Before she moved a step he was behind her, one hand over her mouth and the other with the dagger at her throat.

She fought against him, her hands grabbing onto the blade in an attempt to push it away from her. He cursed at her, his mouth close to her ear. Her fingers were bleeding, but she would not let go of the knife. She was the one thing that stood between this would-be murderer and her son. She tensed suddenly, realizing that there was someone else in the room. She glanced toward the window and caught sight of Lenora in the shadows.

The girl had quickly moved into the shadows after the man had entered the room. Catelyn knew that the man had seen her, but in his struggle with Catelyn he seemed to have forgotten her presence. The girl wasn't cowering in the shadows, but she was using them to her advantage, carefully inching her way closer to the window so that she could call for help. Catelyn continued to struggle, hoping that she would be able to distract the man for as long as it took for Lenora to get help.

The man's hand over her mouth tightened, she was fighting too hard against the dagger and if he couldn't slit her throat he seemed content to suffocate her. Catelyn bit his palm, grinding her teeth and ripping his skin open. At that exact moment Lenora threw open the window and leaned out of it, screaming as loudly as she could for help.

Whether or not anyone heard her Catelyn didn't know. The man holding her yelled angrily and threw her to the ground, moving toward Lenora. He grabbed her around the waist and wrenched her away from the window. "No one was s'posed to be here!" he yelled again as he threw the young woman into a wall.

Catelyn watched as the young woman's head hit the stone wall and her body crumpled to the floor, her dark hair spilling around her and hiding her face from view. Catelyn had no idea how injured the girl was, but she would have to wait to check on the girl. She desperately needed to get to her son, to protect him. The man was moving closer to the bed, the dagger clutched in his hand, Catelyn began to drag herself across the floor toward him.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow enter the chamber behind the man. There was a low rumble, it wasn't a snarl, but the whispered threat of an attack. But the man heard it, he started to turn toward the door as the wolf leapt at him. The two of them went down together, almost landing on Catelyn. The man started to shriek, but his cry lasted for no more than a second before Bran's wolf bit his throat, taking out half his neck with one snap of its strong jaws.

The man's blood was as warm and welcome as a spring rain when it showered down on her. Summer, the wolf, watched her for a moment before it jumped up on the bed and laid down beside Bran. The most Catelyn could get out was a whispered thank you before she started laughing hysterically.

That was how the found her when they finally arrived in the tower. Robb, Maester Luwin, Sir Rodrik, and half the guards of Winterfell burst in the room to find Bran safe and protected by his wolf, Catelyn laughing hysterically and covered in blood, and Lenora crumpled and injured on the floor, but not broken.

When the laughter finally died on Catelyn's lips and Maester Luwin had wrapped her in a blanket she watched her son as he knelt beside Lenora and helped her sit up. Her son was surprisingly gentle with the young woman and for the first time Catelyn began to see what kind of Lord he would be when he was officially named the Lord of Winterfell. She could see the two of them, Robb and Lenora, taking care of Winterfell together and she was filled with hope, an unfamiliar feeling after all that had happened to her family over the last fortnight.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He hadn't expected to feel so much worry. And fear. He knew that he cared for the girl, but he had not expected to worry so much for her. He had sent her to his mother and Bran to keep her safe during the fire. He had no doubt that she would have followed him into the burning library tower if he had let her. But instead he had sent her to his mother. He had told her it was because he needed his mother to know what was happening, but more than anything it had been to keep her safe. And instead of being safe he had sent her straight up to his brother's would-be murderer. She wouldn't have been hurt if it weren't for that.

She wouldn't have been hurt if she had just stayed in the shadows and not made a move, not called for help. But she had cried for help, fighting the only way she could think of without her sword, he had joked when he had called her his little warrior. But she was, and now she had the bruises to prove it.

Through her laughter his mother had explained how her scream had distracted the assassin long enough that Summer had been able to make it to the tower and kill him before he could harm Bran.

Lenora didn't bleed, she didn't have the cuts on her hands that his mother did from fighting the man's dagger. But they had both fought, they had both protected Bran.

He had heard her scream as he and the other men of Winterfell had rushed the library tower with buckets of water, trying as hard as they could to drown the fire. He had looked toward Bran's tower and seen her in the window screaming for help before someone pulled her out of sight. He hadn't known what had happened, all he knew was that her scream ended suddenly. Too suddenly.

He had grabbed Sir Rodrik, Maester Luwin, and as many guards as he could and taken the tower steps two or three at a time in an effort to get to her faster. He didn't know what to expect when he entered the chamber, but it definitely wasn't what he found. His mother was laying on the floor, covered in blood. Summer was laying on Bran's bed, protecting him. There was a dead man on the floor. And Lenora, crumpled in the corner against the wall.

He had rushed to her side and dropped down to the ground, brushing her hair away from her face gently. She was unconscious, but that did not stop him from pulling her into his lap so that he could hold her until Maester Luwin could see her.

She wasn't unconscious for long. His mother explained to them what happened and allowed Maester to Luwin to lead her to her bedchamber. After they had left Robb lifted Lenora off the ground and began to carry her toward her own bedchamber. She opened her eyes about half way there. He hadn't been watching her when her eyes opened, but he felt her tense in his arms and he looked down, her eyes were a dark grey and they darted all over the corridor, searching for danger.

"You're safe, Nora," he told her, his voice gentle. He hadn't spoken loudly, but his voice seemed to calm her and her eyes found his. He smiled down at her and shook his head, "I sent you to my mother so that you would be safe," he told her, his tone scolding though his smile told her that he was proud of her. "And instead, my little warrior, you found danger."

Lenora shrugged her shoulders and settled deeper into his arms, "Serves your right for thinking I couldn't protect myself," she told him.

His eyes ghosted over her face, landing on the bruise that was beginning to bloom on her temple. She seemed to be doing well, but he could not deny that seeing her unconscious had frightened him. "Just promise me, Nora," he requested, his voice gentle, "that you won't go looking for trouble just to prove that you can protect yourself."

Nora smiled up at him and nodded gently as Robb pushed the door of her chamber open and carried her inside. He laid her down on the bed and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. He could have called her ladies and had her put to bed properly, but that would have meant leaving her and the last thing he wanted to do was to leave her. "Is it," he paused, "is it all right if I stay here?" he asked her, gesturing toward a chair in the corner of the chamber.

Lenora rolled over onto her side and looked at the chair in question, if she thought that it was improper for him to stay in her chamber overnight she did not say. Instead she simply nodded and closed her eyes. Robb wasn't the only on that didn't want her to be left alone that night.

...

His mother slept for four days. In that time Robb refused to let Lenora out of his sight. He brought her riding with him when he needed to check on the tenants. He pulled her along with him when he went to check on Bran. He dragged her with him when he went to the Godswood to pray. He had a cot set up in the corridor outside her bedchamber so that he would be there if she needed him. The few times that he had to leave her he left her with Theon, trusting that his closest friend would keep her safe for him.

Once his mother woke up she wasted no time calling for a meeting though Maester Luwin would not let her leave her bedchamber. When Robb went to see his mother he brought Lenora then too. His heart had warmed at the smile Catelyn gave the two of them as they entered.

"Who was he?" she asked once Robb, Lenora, Sir Rodrik, Theon, and Hallis Mollen, the new Captain of the Guard had all arrived in her room.

"No one knows his name," Hallis informed them, bowing slightly. "He was no man of Winterfell, I can tell you that, My Lady. But some says that they have seen him here and about the castle these past few weeks."

Robb had already heard this, but he had kept it from Lenora. He watched as his mother's eyes landed on Lenora. "So one of the King's men then?"

Lenora looked up and shook her head, "Not one of my father's," she told Catelyn before glancing at Robb. She bit her lip for a moment, worrying it between her teeth as if debating something.

"What is it, love?" Robb asked her softly, not bothering to look up when he heard Theon snort at the endearment that had slipped his lips.

"I know the man was not my fathers's," she said quietly, shaking her head. "I can't say the same about my mother though." Robb nodded, feeling the girl's quiet bravery. There was no denying that the man was one of her parents', but for her to admit it in front of them so quickly, he was proud of her.

"There's no telling now," Hallis told them, "and with all the strangers filling up Winterfell as of late there is no telling who he belonged to."

"He's been sleeping in your stables," Theon interjected. "You could smell it on him."

Robb nodded, "We found where he was sleeping. He had ninety silver stags in a leather bag buried beneath the straw."

Catelyn snorted, "It's good to know that my son's death did not come cheaply," she said, her tone bitter.

Hallis looked at the woman, confusion written all over his face. "Begging your grace, my Lady, you think he was here to murder your boy?"

Lenora nodded even though Hallis had not addressed her, "He kept telling us that we weren't supposed to be there. That no one was supposed to be in that chamber. No one, save Bran. I bet he set the fire in the library tower. To draw everyone there. He hadn't planned on us being there."

"But why would anyone want to kill Bran?" Robb asked, looking between his mother and Lenora. "He's a child!"

Catelyn looked at him, her eyes and her tone sharp, "Think about it," she ordered her son. "If you are to be Lord of Winterfell you better be quicker on your feet."

Robb looked down, ashamed that his mother had reprimanded him in front of the entire group, but Lenora reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. He smiled at her and thought for a moment before he looked up, "Bran knows something," he told his mother. "I'm not sure what, but he knows something and someone is afraid that he might wake up. They're afraid of what he might say or do." Catelyn nodded, silently proud of her son. Robb turned to look at Hallis, "I want one man in the sickroom, day and night. I want one posted outside the door. His wolf is to stay in his room. And no one is to see him without my warrant or my mother's."

Hallis nodded silently.

Robb stared at him, "Do it now," he commanded.

Hallis nodded, bowed, and then left the room as Rodrik showed Catelyn the dagger, claiming that it was much too nice for the man who had attempted to kill Bran. The blade was Valyrian steel, the hilt dragonbone. Robb was watching Lenora and he saw something light in her eyes. She glanced up at him and reached out, squeezing his arm. "I should leave," she said softly.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head. "Your place is here."

Lenora shook her head, "If indeed this man belonged to my mother then you deserve a chance to discuss this without me listening in. I understand that." The men all rose from their seats and stood as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Robb didn't want to admit it, but he was happy that she had left when his mother shared her belief that the Lannisters had killed John Arryn and that Jaime Lannister had not gone on the hunt with the others the day Bran fell. While he wouldn't put the actions past Jaime and he was sure that a part of Lenora wouldn't either he didn't want her to have to hear it.

"Someone must go to Kings Landing to tell Ned," Catelyn announced once she had told them what she believed.

"I'll go," Robb volunteered. He didn't like the idea of leaving Lenora alone, but it was his job to protect her and Winterfell and his family now. And he meant to take the job seriously.

Catelyn shook her head. "No," she told him. "Your place is here. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell. I'll go myself."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was surprised when she heard that Catelyn had set off for King's Landing. The woman had just woken up and she was already setting off across the country. She wasn't surprised though, everything she had learned about Catelyn Stark told her that the woman would do anything to protect her family. She had always been fierce, but the North had made her tough.

She knew that her mother would want to know about this, to know that someone had tried to murder Bran. To know that the Starks wanted to blame her. But when she started to write the letter something stilled her hand. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't want to send a raven to her mother, not about this. Lady Catelyn wouldn't want anyone to know that she was traveling to Kings Landing and Lenora didn't want her mother to know that they had thwarted an attempt on Bran's life.

If the Starks were right and her mother was to blame for everything that had happened to Bran the last thing they needed was for the woman to know that the attempt had failed.

So instead she had thrown the half written letter into the fire and walked out to the Godswood instead. It was there, beneath the heart tree that Robb found her. She looked up at him and forced a smile onto her lips, "Seen your mother off?" she asked him. He nodded. She didn't ask for the details of Catelyn's travels and he didn't supply any. Instead she nodded, "Good," she told him.

"Thank you," Robb told her as he sat down on the ground beside her. "For giving us some time, back there."

Lenora smiled ruefully, "If what your mother believes is true then I am the enemy. You deserved to discuss your battle plans without me spying on you."

Robb shook his head, "You're not the enemy," he told her, leaning close so that he could press his lips against hers. As if the silent promise of his kiss was enough to make her believe him.

She kissed him back for a moment before she pressed her hand against his chest and pushed him away gently. "Oh," she told him, giggling slightly when he moved his lips down the side of her neck. It seemed as though he was determined to kiss her and if he couldn't have her lips than he would settle with her neck. "Believe me, I am." The giggle died on her lips and she looked away from him for a moment. When she looked back at him, her eyes were a stormy grey, "I am the enemy."

Robb stopped kissing her neck and ducked his head to make eye contact with her. He slipped his fingers under her chin and lifted her head so that she was looking at his face. "You are not my enemy," he told her, his voice so sincere that she had to believe that he meant what he said. Or at least that he believed that he meant what he said. "You might be the daughter of the enemy," he told her, a smirk making its way onto his lips to soften the blow somehow. "But you will never be the enemy."

Lenora smiled at him, "Is that a promise?" she asked him, her voice teasing.

"It's an oath," Robb told her, sealing his promise with another kiss.

...

A week after Catelyn had left for Kings Landing Robb and Lenora were out riding their horses when Theon found them, riding his own horse as fast as he could. "Robb!" the young man called, reigning his horse in. "Lady Lenora. He's awake!"

Robb looked as though he were about to ride off at breakneck speed. But he stopped and turned to look at her. Lenora was about to tell him to go without her, that Theon would see her back to the castle safely. But Robb reached out and held his hand out to her.

Lenora raised her eyebrows at him, but released her reigns so that she could reach out for his hand. Robb smiled at her and gave a tug, pulling her from her own saddle and into his. They had only ridden this way once, but Lenora already felt at home in his arms and his saddle.

He took the time to press a kiss against her temple and then once he was sure that she was secure in her seat he took off toward the castle, letting out a whoop of celebration when it finally hit him that his brother was finally awake.

Lenora couldn't help but laugh at the boy's excitement. She felt free now, free and happy. What she didn't know yet, what she couldn't know, was how short lived the feeling would be.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Well there you go! The next chapter!  
I hope you enjoyed it! As I said above, I will be back next week! In the meantime, since you're down here head over to that nice little box below and write I review, would you? It will make my work week so much better if I get to read them when I get home!  
Thanks to those who reviewed on the last chapter:  
 **minnie2015** : Hello new reviewer! Thank you! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!  
 **DannyBlack70** : Hello friend, I hope that this chapter didn't disappoint you! I was a fan of their bonding too. Like I said yesterday, I'm a bit further ahead in writing than I am in posting so their interactions that I'm currently writing are vastly different from these chapters. So it was nice to go back to this.  
 **ZabuzasGirl** : Here you go, lady!  
Until next week!  
Hugs and kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	11. Chapter Eleven: A Lady in a Whorehouse

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

-.-.-.-.-

 _And I'm back! I've missed posting! Here is the new chapter._ **It's a bit short, but the chapter that's on deck is really good. I'm thinking it will be posted on Wednesday ... BUT if I get a lot of reviews on this chapter I MIGHT (probably will) be persuaded to post it TOMORROW.  
** _Just something to keep in mind..._

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven: A Lady in a Whorehouse**

 _Lenora_

She was sitting in Bran's bedchamber with the injured boy and Old Nan. Nan was trying to lift the boy's spirit with stories, like she used to tell him, while Lenora sat in a chair beside his bed, sewing a dress. For all her mother's careful planning she had packed her daughter with very few dresses that were warm enough for the Northern summer, let alone the coming winter. So she had started making warmer dresses, dresses fit for the North. They weren't as bright as her old dresses, nor were they as ornate. They were dark colored, simple dresses, but they would keep her warm. And she wouldn't feel like such a spectacle when she walked around Winterfell.

She was wearing the first one she had made now. It was a long sleeved, her shoulders were covered, the neckline was higher than her usual, straight across, just below her collarbone instead of plunging like her southern dresses. The dress was made up of two pieces, the dark purple gown worn over her corset. The gown fell to the floor, its sleeves were tight and long, ending just above her wrists. Then there was the black surcoat on top, it had gold touches - gold thread embroidered into beautiful designs around her arm, just above her elbow, and on the edges in the front next to where the surcoat laced across her chest, bits of purple gown peaking through the laces. The surcoat's sleeves were also long, but they flared past the elbow so that when she moved her hands one could catch glimpses of the gown's purple sleeves. The surcoat flared as it got closer to the ground, revealing more and more of the purple gown underneath.

When Robb had seen her in the dress at breakfast he had let out a low whistle. "I must say," he whispered once she sat down beside him. "I miss the old necklines, but this dress suits you."

She had gotten quite good at this, she realized with a smile. She was working on her third dress now. Her septa had taught her how to make dresses in King's Landing, not that she had ever gotten much practice. There were people to make her dresses down there. These dresses were a trial by fire, but it turned out that she had more skill than she would have guessed. Though, she was happy for the dark colors, they were more forgiving of the blood from her countless pricked fingers.

She looked up from her embroidery and smiled when Bran complained about the story that Old Nan was telling him. The young boy glanced at her, no doubt his attention caught by her snort. "Can you tell me a story?" he asked her.

Lenora looked at him, studying him with her lips pursed for a moment before she put the dress she was working on down. She leaned closer to him. "What kind of story would you like to hear?" she asked him, smiling at him encouragingly.

The boy smiled back, happy to have gotten his way. "Any story you want to tell me," he told her, turning slightly to glare at Nan. "I just want something new. I'm sick of all of Nan's old stories."

"Have you ever heard of the Night's Queen?" she asked him, her voice dropping to a whisper. She remembered Bran saying that he liked the scary stories. And her favorite story had always been the Night's Queen.

Bran shook his head. "There was no queen," he told her. "Just the Night's King, Brandon the Breaker killed him."

Lenora smiled at the young boy in front of her. "And how did he become the Night's King?" she asked him, her tone teasing. Bran's eyebrows came together and his eyes narrowed, he couldn't think of an answer for that question. Lenora smiled and nodded to him, "Exactly," she told him. "Now are you going to listen to the story or are you going to keep interrupting me?"

"I'm going to listen," Bran told her, staring at her with wide, excited eyes.

Lenora nodded and the smile slipped from her lips as she leaned even closer to Bran, "Eight thousand years ago, Westeros experienced a winter that lasted an entire generation," she whispered, setting the scene for the story. "The winter was so dark, so cold that it's called the Long Night, because for many, many years no one in the Seven Kingdoms saw the sun. Babies were born in the dark and, if they were lucky, they died old men in the dark. Kings froze to death in their castles, no different than the shepherds in their huts. Crops were buried under feet and feet of snow. Women would smother their babies just so that they wouldn't have to watch them starve.

"It was then, in that dark and cold, that the White Walkers came for the first time. They swept through cities and kingdoms as the waves sweep up on southern beaches, devouring everything in their path. They rode dead horses and hunted with packs of pale spiders as big as your wolf. There was no hope.

"But up North, the Night's Watch was busy building their Wall. And, as always is that case, after winter comes spring and finally summer. As the days got longer and the sun made the world warmer we were able to drive back the White Walkers, back beyond the Wall. And the Night's Watch was tasked with manning the Wall forever more, to keep the evils beyond the Wall at bay.

"Shortly after the Long Night the Night's Watch got a new Lord Commander, no one knows his name now, it was forbidden to use it. Many believe that he was Bolton, or an Umber, maybe a Flint, a Norrey, or a Woodfoot. But I have often heard tell that he was a Stark, the brother of the King in the North, your Brandon the Breaker -"

"No!" Bran interrupted her. "It couldn't have been a Stark. There's no way."

Lenora leaned back in her chair and shrugged her shoulders, "I didn't say he was a Stark, I just said that I've heard the tale told that way."

"Well it's wrong," Bran told her. "Tell it right."

Nan snorted from her side of the bed and Lenora glanced at the old lady and smiled, shaking her head silently, but indulging the boy all the same.

"Very well," she told him, "maybe he wasn't a Stark. But no matter what he was he was the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And one day, he was searching for something in the woods beyond the Wall. If he found what he was looking for no one knows, but he did find something. He found something cold, and pale, and beautiful. A snow white woman with bright blue eyes.

"He should have left her. He should have killed her. He should have killed himself. But she was as beautiful as she was terrifying and he fell in love with her. There, in the wood, he made love to the woman with skin as pale as the moon and eyes as blue as stars. She had a magic about her, one that men will never understand, and when he gave her his seed she took his soul. He no longer belonged to the Night's Watch. He belonged to her.

"He brought her home, he led her through the Wall and told his Black Brothers that he was no longer the Lord Commander. He had made himself a new name, the Night's King. And this white, cold woman would be his blue eyed Night's Queen. He bound the brothers of the Night's Watch to him through sorcery and for thirteen years he and his Queen ruled over the Night's Watch from their seat at the Nightfort. During those thirteen years the Night's King and Queen made sacrifices of the Black Brothers to the Others, the White Walkers. And it seemed as if no one would ever be able to stop them."

"Except for Brandon the Breaker," Bran supplied from the bed.

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "Well if you know the rest of the story so well, why don't you tell it to me?"

Bran shook his head, "You tell it better." He was quiet for a moment, "I never knew there was a Queen."

Lenora smiled, "Brandon the Breaker killed her as well," she told him, noting the look of pride that flashed in the young boy's eyes at the mention of his ancestor. "My uncle Jaime used to tell me this story was the reason that he would never marry, that women were all evil and that a man gives them his heart they will take his soul."

"He's also, no doubt, who told you the the Night's King was a Stark."

Lenora turned toward the door to Bran's chamber and smiled when she caught sight of Robb, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He was watching her, a smile resting on his lips though his eyes were tense with some unknown worry. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked.

"Long enough to know that Bran will have nightmares for weeks," he told her, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. He clapped Bran on the shoulder and ducked down so that he could make eye contact with his younger brother, "Hodor's on his way up, your presence is required in the Great Hall. We have guests." He glanced up at Lenora, his blue eyes intense, "You should probably come too."

Lenora raised her eyebrows, she was surprised. She hadn't needed to be present during other visits during the last week. She wondered what was so different, but she got her answer soon enough. "Who is it?" Bran asked.

Robb's eyes never left her face, "Tyrion Lannister."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

Their guests were not admitted to the hall until he was seated in his father's high chair. Lenora sat in his mother's place to his left and Maester Luwin to his right. Theon and Hallis Mollen stood behind him. He watched Lenora, her hands gripped the arms of her chair and her grey eyes darted around the hall, lighting on the dozen or so guards the lined the walls. She was nervous and tense, he hadn't meant for that. He reached out and placed his hand on top of hers, gently moving each of her fingers so that she was no longer gripping the chair.

She turned to look at him and flashed him a tight smile, but quickly looked away as the doors to the hall opened and their guests were admitted. Tyrion entered first with several of his servants, they were followed by four men dressed in black, brothers of the Night's Watch. Lenora's smile relaxed a bit at the sight of her uncle and Robb felt, more than he saw, her shift in her chair as if to stand to greet her uncle. His hand became a restraint more than a comfort as he tightened his grip and kept her in her chair.

Hodor carried Bran into the hall and Robb nodded, finally ready to greet their guests. "Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to stay," Robb told them, his eyes glossing over Tyrion and his servants to land on the black brothers. He felt Lenora stiffen beside him. She had noticed what he had left unsaid - he men of the Night's Watch were welcome at Winterfell, her uncle was not.

He watched her grey eyes fall to the sword in his lap. It was unsheathed, an intentionally hostile message to the Imp. Not only was Tyrion not to be welcomed at Winterfell, but Robb would use force, if necessary, to remove him.

"Any man of the Night's Watch," Tyrion repeated the words, "but not me, do I take your meaning, boy?"

Robb stood from his seat, letting go of Lenora's hand so that he could point his sword at Tyrion, "I am the lord here while my mother and father are away, Lannister. I am not your boy."

Lenora made a soft noise of restraint from beside him and he watched from the corner of his eye as she stood up from her seat as well. She didn't move any closer to Tyrion, but he could tell that she wanted to. Tyrion's eyes landed on her and the hard look on his face softened. Robb realized that no matter what could be said about the Lannisters they cared for their own. A lion would always protect his pride, even the little ones.

"Lady Len," Tyrion greeted her, sweeping into a low bow that would have looked mocking if he hadn't worn such a sincere look on his face when he rose. Not only did he care for Lenora, but he respected her. "You look well." His eyes swept over her, narrowing with concern when they landed on the fading bruise on her temple, they darted to Robb for a moment as if he believed that Robb had caused the injury to his niece, before lowering further and taking in his niece's new style of dress. "The North agrees with you, it would seem. I shall be happy to pass on a favorable report to your mother and father when I arrive in King's Landing."

Lenora nodded her thanks and smiled at her little uncle, "Thank you, Uncle," she told him. Robb could tell that she wanted to say more, but her eyes darted around the hall and she must have decided that now was neither the time, nor the place, to continue their discussion.

Tyrion nodded at her and Robb was sure that he winked as well before he turned back to face Robb. "As for you," he began, not at all bothered by the sword that was still pointed at him. "If you are a lord, you might learn a lord's courtesy. Your bastard brother has all your father's graces, it would seem."

"Jon!" Bran gasped out from the back of the hall.

Tyrion turned to see the boy, noticing his presence for the first time since entering the hall. "So the boy does live?" he asked, turning back toward Robb and Lenora. "I didn't believe it when I read the raven's message. You Starks are hard to kill."

"And you Lannisters had best remember that," Robb threatened as he gestured to Hodor for the man to bring Bran toward the front of the hall. There was an empty seat for him beside Lenora.

Tyrion watched as Lenora moved out of the way for Hodor and once Bran was seated in the chair she moved closer to the boy, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Robb watched Tyrion.

"We were told you had business with Bran," he told the dwarf. "Well here he is, Lannister. What is your business?"

Tyrion took a step closer to Bran, his eyes studying the boy intensely. Robb readjusted his grip on the sword. A silent warning. The Imp's eyes flickered to the sword for a moment and he stopped moving, he had gotten Robb's message. His gaze returned to Bran, "I am told that you are quite the avid climber, Bran," he started, his voice surprisingly gentle given the sword in his face. "Tell me, how did you fall that day?"

Robb held out a restraining hand, silencing his younger brother and speaking for him. "Bran does not remember anything from the fall, or the climb before it." Tyrion's eyebrows raised slightly, he hadn't expected that. Robb continued, "My brother is not here to be stared at or questioned. Do your business and be on your way."

"Very well," Tyrion said with a nod, barely even looking at Robb. "I have a gift for you," he told Bran. "Do you like to ride, boy?"

"My Lord," Maester Luwin interjected, Robb watched as Lenora shot Luwin a grateful look, at least one of the Stark men was treating her uncle with the respect she thought he deserved. "The boy has no use of his legs, how do you expect him to sit a horse?"

Tyrion chuckled and waved his hand as if the fact that Bran was paralyzed was a nonissue. "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

"I am not a cripple!" Bran cried, tears filling his eyes.

Lenora was by his side in a moment, she knelt beside the chair so that she was closer to Bran's level and she reached out, running her fingers through his hair, whispering something in his ear. Robb couldn't hear what she said, but he watched as his brother relaxed under her words and her hand. He was grateful that she was there, no matter how hard this situation must be for her; pinned between her uncle and her betrothed.

"Then I am not a dwarf," Tyrion announced with a rueful twist of his lips. "My father will rejoice at the news."

"What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting, Lord Uncle?" Lenora asked, still kneeling on the floor, but turning to look at the small man before her.

Tyrion took a roll of parchment from his belt and held it out to Maester Luwin, "A smart horse," he started as Luwin took the parchment from him and carefully unrolled it. "As Bran cannot use his legs to guide the horse you must mold the horse to the rider. Train an unbroken yearling to respond to the reins, to his voice. The unbroken horse is the key, there will be no old training that must be unlearned." He nodded toward the parchment in Luwin's hand, Robb glanced at it, it was a sketch of a saddle, though different from any saddle he had ever seen before. "Give that to your saddler, he will be able to do the job."

"Will I truly be able to ride?" Bran asked, leaning forward in his seat so that he could get a better look at Tyrion.

Tyrion nodded, "You will," he promised. "And I swear to you, boy, on horseback, you will be as tall as any of them."

"This is a trap," Robb accused. "Why should we trust you Lannister? Why would you help Bran?"

"Because your brother Jon asked it of me," Tyrion told him with a surprising amount of honesty. "And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things." His Lannister eyes landed on Lenora when he said the words _broken things_. Robb moved instinctively to stand in front of Lenora, to shield her from view.

The doors to the hall flew open and sunlight streamed into the room as Rickon burst in, giggling as the three direwolves chased him playfully. Robb smiled at the scene for a moment, but the playfulness quickly departed as wolves caught on to Tyrion's scent. All three of them started growling.

"The wolves don't like your smell, Lannister," Theon chuckled.

Lenora stood from where she knelt and moved toward Robb. He hand slid down his arm, to grasp his hand. "Robb," she whispered quietly, "stop them."

But Robb didn't listen to her. He stood and watched as Summer and Grey Wind lunged at Tyrion, tearing at his clothes and knocking him to the floor. Bran reacted quicker, calling off Summer. And when Robb didn't call off Grey Wind Lenora did, calling the wolf with a calm, but strong voice. Robb was surprised when the wolf listened to her, growling one last time at her uncle before walking toward the front of the room and positioning himself between Lenora and Robb.

It was just Shaggydog now. Bran commanded Rickon to call off his dog and after one tense moment when it looked as though the direwolf was not going to listen to boy finally all the wolves were called off.

As soon as Shaggydog had walked away Lenora moved, almost flying across the hall to help her uncle stand. "Are you alright?" she asked her uncle, refusing to let go of his hand once they were standing.

Tyrion smiled at her and reached his short arm up toward her face. Robb watched as the woman ducked her head down so that Tyrion could hold her cheek, cupped in his hand, "Of course I am, Sweetling. My sleeve is torn, but nothing that can't be fixed." He turned toward Robb and bowed stiffly, "And now, I will be leaving, truly."

He turned to take his leave and Lenora shot Robb a reproachful look, she was disappointed in him. He watched her for a moment before he sighed and sheathed his sword. "I may have been too hasty with you, Lannister. You have done my brother a kindness and the hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

Tyrion scoffed, his eyes landing on Lenora for a moment, "Spare me your false courtesies, boy. You have no love for me. I know a place or two in Winter town, where I will be more than comfortable for one night. I leave for Kings Landing in the morning."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

The place he knew in Winter Town was a brothel, but that didn't matter to Tyrion. He had always been more comfortable in brothels than in castles. What did bother him was than an hour after he had arrived at the brothel, his niece appeared in his room.

He didn't mind seeing her, but she shouldn't have been there. Tyrion had never been good at hiding the fact that Lenora was his favorite of Cersei's children. She was smart, and quick, gentle and beautiful, and so pure. Her purity seemed to be more obvious than ever as she was led into his room by one of the many women who called the brothel home. If Lenora thought it was improper or insulting to be surrounded by prostitutes, she did not let on. The difference between the two women was unsettling.

Ros, he remembered the girl's name from his first visit to Winterfell, was wearing a dress that was practically see-through, the laces that held the dress together at the front were loose and her large breast strained against them, hinting at what was to come, the rose buds of her nipples pressed through the spaces between the laces. The sight of her would have been lurid enough if she weren't standing beside Lenora.

Lenora on the other hand, stood tall and proud. Her dress hinted at the curves of her body underneath it, but there were no hints of skin, no improper displays. The dress she was wearing now hid more of her body than he was used to. Away from her mother, Lenora had blossomed into a true lady, one with proper decency. She was regal, not just in dress, but in action. She was kind to Ros, smiling at the redheaded woman and even bowing her head in gratitude for bringing her to her uncle. She was kinder than any Lady was expected to be to a prostitute.

"You have more grace than Cersei," Tyrion told her as he stood from the chair he had been sitting in, reading, and walked toward her. "And bigger balls than Jaime."

Lenora blushed at her uncle's words and she looked down at the floor, embarrassed. Tyrion chuckled, "Now where was that shame when you walked into this brothel. No lady should be here, let alone the daughter of a king." He paused for a moment, studying her, "This is no place for you, Lady Len."

"This is no place for you, Uncle Tyrion," she argued.

Tyrion chuckled, "On the contrary, a brothel is the perfect place for a dwarf. This is the only place where when people look at me the first thing they see isn't my short stature." He winked at his niece, "Or, at least I pay them enough that they pretend not to see it."

"That's not what I see when I look at you," Lenora told him, taking a seat at the small table in the corner of the room.

Tyrion's smirk softened into a smile and he walked closer to her, pausing for a moment to pat her hand before he down across the table from her, "I know it's not, Sweet, that's why you were always my favorite."

"And I thought I was your favorite because I was the only one in the family who could keep up with you, intellectually that is."

"That too," Tyrion agreed with a nod. He leaned across the table to hold her hand. He had missed his niece during his weeks on the wall and he was well aware that his time with her now was short. He truly would leave for King's Landing in the morning. "Tell me Len, does your betrothed know that you are here?"

Lenora's face darkened at the mention of Robb Stark and she shook her head. "That stupid boy," she whispered. "That pigheaded, stubborn Northerner. He thinks he's a wolf, but he's nothing but a pup. One of these days he will have to learn what being Lord of Winterfell really means." She glance at her uncle and sighed, "I'm so sorry for how he treated you, Uncle Tyrion."

Tyrion waved off her apology. "I could not care less how he treated me. What I care about is how he treats you." His eyes scanned her face, his gaze once again landing on the faded bruise on her temple. "Tell me, Child, and tell me true," he commanded, lifting his hand so that he could rub his thumb across the bruise, grimacing when she flinched at the touch. "Did Stark do this to you?"

Lenora quickly shook her head, "No, Uncle," she promised. "It was the man who attacked Bran. Not Robb. He may be a stubborn Northerner, but he would never."

Tyrion nodded, "But you'll tell me if he ever does treat you poorly?" he pressed.

"And you'll do what?" Lenora teased, "kill him?"

"Gods no," Tyrion chuckled, "I'll send Jaime to kill him."

Lenora smiled at him, "I wish you would come back to Winterfell with me, Uncle. You would be welcome there now."

Tyrion waved her off, "I'm much more comfortable here and much more likely to find entertainment."

Lenora nodded and stood from the table, she bent to press a kiss against Tyrion's cheek. "Safe travels, tomorrow, Uncle," she wished him and she started to walk toward the door. She turned, just before the doorway, "Uncle Tyrion?" she asked.

"Yes Child?" Tyrion replied.

"Why were you reading in a whorehouse?"

Tyrion chuckled, "I require the attention of several ladies, a habit Jaime got me accustomed to the last time I was here. I was waiting on my favorites."

"Your favorites?" Lenora asked, eyebrows raised, no doubt surprised that her uncle had favorites in Winterfell. He had not spent long there. She shook her head, "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"No you do not," Tyrion agreed with another chuckle.

She had just opened the door, preparing to leave when Tyrion called her back. "Lady Len," he called out. Lenora turned to look at him, a small smile resting on her lips. "You have never deserved the title _lady_ more than you do now, this day. Your mother would be proud of you."

Lenora glanced around the room in front of her, "It's not hard to be a lady in a whorehouse, Uncle Tyrion. I don't need my mother to be proud of me for this."

Tyrion smiled at her, "On the contrary, it is not hard to be a lady in a castle surrounded by lords and knights. It is truly difficult to be a lady here. And if you won't take your mother's pride, take mine. I am proud of you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** And that's all I've got for today!  
As I said above, I will probably post again on Wednesday, though if I get a lot of reviews on this chapter I might post again tomorrow. Up to you guys really.  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!  
Thank you for reading!  
 **DannyBlack70:** Thank you for your review on the last chapter! I'm glad you enjoyed Robb's worry. He is kind of falling for Lenora. She's falling for him too, though I don't think she wants to admit it. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!  
That's all I've got for now!  
Until next time!  
Hugs and kisses,  
Chloe Jane.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Little Warrior Princess

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _Disclaimer: I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: The Little Warrior Princess**

 _Lenora_

He was feasting and celebrating. He had been doing so for the last week, not that Lenora understood why. She had asked him, once or twice, why he was in such a good mood and he had answered her with a cheeky smile and told her that he just felt happy and that it wasn't a crime. She hadn't pressed it, he was a young man after all, he was doing what young men did. Him being happy wasn't a crime. Though what had happened to her uncle was.

Her fist clenched around the parchment on the desk in front of her and stood up from the chair so quickly that she knocked it over. She turned to look at the chair for a brief second before she spun on her heel and stormed out of her bedchamber, chair be damned. She needed to find Robb.

He was in the hall with Theon and some of the younger men of Winterfell. Theon was toasting him with a goblet of wine when she entered the hall, her breath coming out in ragged gasps and her fists clenched. "Robb Stark," she bit out, her voice loud and clear even though she was shaking with rage.

All the men around Robb's table looked up at her. They stared at her in surprise, they hadn't heard her enter the hall and in all the time that Lenora had spent in Winterfell she had never raised her voice in anger before. This was a new side to Lenora Baratheon and they weren't sure what to do with it.

The smile died on Theon's lips and he quickly dropped his goblet down onto the table in front of him. "She's not happy," he whispered to Robb.

Lenora walked further into the room, "Damn right I am not happy, Greyjoy," Lenora hissed at him. She was quiet, but the ward heard every word. She glared at him for a moment more before she allowed her gaze to shift to Robb. "I would have a word, Lord Stark," she told him. Despite the fact that she called him _Lord_ , her statement was not a question or a request. It was an order, she wanted a word with him and she expected it that instant. "Alone," she added, without looking away from him.

Robb looked down at her with an easy grin, "Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of these men, Nora." The men started to chuckle and joke at his mocking nature.

Lenora bristled, her fists clenched tighter, her fingernails dug into her palm and she was sure that she had drawn blood, but she didn't care. She was so angry right now and his casual use of her nickname made her even more furious. She didn't mind the nickname when he used it in private, but now he used it to mock her in front of his men. She was a princess, and she demanded to be treated as such.

"My name is Lenora Baratheon, my father is King of the Seven Kingdoms. I am a princess of Westeros and if you are to address me, you will do so properly!" she declared, moving a step closer to the front table. She smiled, albeit ruefully, when the men around Robb lost some of their good humor. Theon looked ashamed of himself, several of them men dropped into deep bows before moving away from Robb, as if afraid of being too close to the cause of her wrath.

Robb even had the grace to look abashed, as he stood from his seat and inclined his head, "My Lady," he greeted her, gesturing toward the table. "Please have a seat while I send the men away."

He didn't need to send them away, they were already rushing toward the door when Lenora spoke again. "They will go nowhere," she commanded, stopping them in their tracks. The men glanced between Robb and Lenora, silently trying to figure out who they should listen to. They were Robb's men, while his father was away from Winterfell they were his to command. But she was a princess. She outranked him. Lenora sighed, deciding to put them out of their misery. "Sit down," she commanded.

Benches scraped against the stone floor as each man quickly found a seat as far away from Lenora and Robb as they possibly could.

Lenora smirked at Robb and inclined her head toward the seated men, silently gloating in how easily she controlled his own men. Even Theon had obeyed her. The smirk quickly fell from her lips though and a moment later her face was hard as she marched across the room, unfolding the parchment she still clutched in her hand and slammed it on the table. "What is this?" she asked him, slamming her palm down on the letter. When she lifted her hand there were spots of blood on parchment, she had drawn blood in her anger.

If Robb noticed the blood stains on the parchment when he glanced at it he didn't let on. "It seems to be a letter," he told her, his tone bored. He reached out to pull the letter closer to him, "From your mother?" he asked. "That's charming. Does she miss you?"

He was mocking her again. He was still pulling the letter closer to him as she grabbed a knife from the table and slammed it through the letter into the table top. Now, the only way that Robb could pull the letter closer to him was to rip it. She had driven the knife through the letter dangerously close to one of Robb's fingers, she had done that on purpose, and the man quickly pulled his hand off the letter, as if worried that her next knife would go through his hand.

"Does it look familiar?" she asked him, her voice deadly.

"Why would it look familiar?" Robb asked her. "I wasn't there when you opened it."

"But you opened it before I could," Lenora accused him. She wanted him to deny it, she wanted him to honestly tell her that she was wrong, that he hadn't been keeping ravens from her. But when he looked up at her his blue eyes were ice cold and distant. He wouldn't deny it because he couldn't do it honestly.

At least the man had some sense of honor.

"How could you tell?" he asked her, his voice quiet.

"The letter is dated a week and a half ago," Lenora informed him, her index finger jabbing at the date at the top of the letter. "It takes a raven three days, at most, to deliver a letter from King's Landing to Winterfell. Three days, Robb. I should have received this raven a week ago. But it came this morning."

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "Maybe the raven got lost," he suggested.

"Ravens don't get lost."

"Maybe she didn't send it as soon as she wrote it," Robb supplied.

Lenora chuckled, though there was no good will or humor in her laugh, "Yes, that's it," she agreed sarcastically with a nod. "Your mother takes my uncle prisoner and my mother writes me to tell me and lets the letter sit on her desk for a week before she sends it to me? That's a laugh, Robb."

Robb rolled his eyes at her, "Yes, my mother has your uncle as prisoner. And your mother wants you to beg for his release. I didn't realize that your mother cared that much for the Imp."

"Don't call him that," Lenora snapped. She felt tears spring to her eyes and she cursed to herself. She was a Lannister and a Baratheon, she was supposed to be strong. Stronger than this. She had never seen her mother cry, but now she was letting Robb see her tear up. She couldn't help it, she was just so angry. "Don't you dare call him that!"

"What else do you call a dwarf?" Robb asked, forcing a laugh out even though they both knew there was nothing funny about this situation. He watched her for a moment, "You actually care about the Imp," he observed. "Your mother is upset because it makes the Lannisters look bad, but you - you are actually worried about him."

Lenora looked away from him and angrily wiped at her eyes, "My mother says that your mother announced loudly, and often, that she was bringing Tyrion to Winterfell." She looked around the hall, pretending to look for Catelyn and Tyrion. She turned back to Robb, her eyebrows raised, "Well?" she asked, "Where are they?"

Robb rolled his eyes at her, "Do you think my mother would be stupid enough to announce so loudly where she was taking your uncle?" Robb asked her. He chuckled, "I don't know where my mother dragged him, but I am sure that it is far away from Winterfell."

Lenora watched him for a moment, her eyes scanning his face, looking for some glimpse of the man that she thought she had known. Trying to think of where his mother might have taken her uncle. Not to Winterfell, Robb was right about that. Riverrun was too close to her family to be safe. The Eyrie - "She took his to the Eyrie," she breathed, looking at Robb. "Didn't she?"

Robb shrugged his shoulders, but there was a glint in his eye. Lenora could not tell if the glint was because he was upset that she had figured it out, or proud that she had done it so quickly.

She looked at Robb, watched him for a moment before she felt her shoulders drop. She was still angry, still hurt, but she realized that yelling at him and embarrassing him in front of his men was not the way to get Robb to listen to her. She had spent seventeen years with Cersei and it had taken her until now to learn what Cersei had been trying to teach her for years - how to control a man. Robb wouldn't respond to her anger, it only put him on the defense.

She took a deep breath, forcing her breath to come out shaky. She ducked her head and glanced at the men around her shyly. She bit her lip before she looked back up at Robb under her eyelashes, "I wish I hadn't ordered them to stay," she whispered. She was afraid to speak in more than a whisper, afraid that Robb would hear the anger that still raged inside her if she spoke too loudly.

Robb chuckled and shook his head, he was relaxing, "Then send them away, my Lady." Lenora nodded, but when she turned toward the men she made sure to do so slowly, shyly, as if unsure of herself. Robb chuckled again and pulled his chair out from the table, preparing to sit back down, "Leave," he ordered the men.

Lenora turned back to him and smiled gratefully before she bit her lip and looked down again as if embarrassed. Robb watched as his men left the hall and once they were alone he beckoned Lenora closer to him. She smiled gratefully before she rushed forward as if all she wanted was to apologize to him for her outburst. She dropped down to her knees beside his chair and reached out, grabbing his left hand to hold between both of hers. "I'm sorry, Robb," she whispered, ducking her head so that he wouldn't be able to see that her gaze was still hard.

It worked in her favor, he thought she was simply embarrassed. He squeezed her bottom hand, "You have no reason to apologize, Nora," he told her, his voice soft and gentle. "You care for your uncle, I cannot fault you for that. I can only promise you that my mother would not have taken him hostage unless she had a good reason."

"I just want to make sure that he's safe," she whispered. "That's all I want."

She could almost feel Robb softening toward her, she squeezed her eyes tight, forcing a tear to drop from her eye and land on Robb's sleeve. That one tear was enough, he noticed. He made a gentle shushing noise as he pulled his hand free from her grasp and brought it up to the top of her head to run his fingers through her hair. He was comforting her. She had him, she opened her mouth, about to request that he contact his mother and beg her to release Tyrion or, at the very least, bring him to Winterfell so that Lenora could look after his treatment, but before she could the doors to the hall flew open and Maester Luwin hurried into the hall.

They both turned to look at him, he was rushing and Lenora had never seen the old man rush. The old man hurried toward them, nodding when he realized they were together, "Good," he announced, "this concerns both of you."

"Is it my uncle?" Lenora asked, quickly forgetting the game she had been playing on Robb. She struggled to get to her feet. Robb reached down to help and when she was standing he left his hand on her low back, still trying to comfort her.

"No," Luwin told her, "well yes, but not Lord Tyrion."

"Uncle Jaime?" Lenora asked, her breathing hitched for real, "What happened to him? Please Gods, tell me he isn't dead?"

Robb kept his hand on her low back and made a quiet, gentle shushing noise. Maester Luwin looked at her, his face gentle. She was sure that he was about to tell her that someone had killed her uncle. He looked between her and Robb. "Lord Eddard has been attacked, in King's Landing," he started. "By Ser Jaime."

Robb's hand dropped from Lenora's back so quickly that she almost stumbled at the lack of contact. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. There was no way that her uncle would attack Ned Stark without reason.

She turned to look at Robb, his eyes were narrowed, his jaw tense, his teeth clenched. She reached out to him, "Robb," she whispered. "This fight, it isn't ours, it's our parents." She looked at him, desperate, "This is not our fight."

Robb looked at her, his eyes colder than she had ever seen. "Not our fight?" he asked her, his voice hard. "Is that why you were just kneeling before me, all wide eyes and whispered embarrassment about to beg me to ask my mother to free your uncle?"

Lenora flushed, she hadn't realized she had been so obvious.

Robb looked like he wanted to say more, he raised his hands toward her neck and his fingers twitched as though he wanted to strangle her. He sighed and lowered his hands back to his sides. He took a step around her and began to storm out of the hall.

"Robb," Lenora called after him, "stop!"

She made to follow him, but she hadn't taken more than a step when Robb turned to glare at her, "Leave me alone," he ordered before he pulled the door to the hall open and left, letting the heavy wood door slam behind him.

...

She smiled as she felt Casterly move beneath her. It was good to take the horse out again. She smiled up at the large snowflakes that were falling from the sky. She was bundled in a cloak to fight off the chill in the air, but all she wanted to do was throw the cloak off and ride as fast as she could, as far as she could. She wanted nothing more than to fly.

But Robb might think she was running. He had apologized for his behavior the night before, but she felt as if she was still on shaky ground. And besides, this ride wasn't for her. It was for Bran. It was his first ride outside Winterfell's walls. His first chance to see if he really could ride just as well as he used to, before his fall.

She was riding between the two Stark brothers now. She was aware of Robb's eyes on her, he had been watching her all day. But instead of calling him out on it, she chose to ignore him. She turned to her left and let her smile fall on Bran instead, "How does it feel, Bran?" she asked. "To be riding again?"

Bran smiled up at her, "Good," he told her with a nod. "Really good." They heard someone calling out behind them and they turned to see Theon on a charger, trying to catch up with their group. Bran rolled his eyes, "I want to go faster," he told them, leaning around Lenora so that he could make eye contact with his brother. "Please, Robb?"

"Yes," Lenora teased playfully, "please, Robb?"

Robb sighed, "Fine," he told the two of them, he didn't roll his eyes, but the tone of his voice made it clear that he wanted to. He nodded toward the two of them, "As you will."

Lenora smiled at Bran before she leaned forward, spurring Casterly to get him to go faster. Bran chuckled and twitched his reins, "Faster, Dancer!" he commanded and his horse responded immediately, trotting forward to catch up with Lenora and Casterly.

Robb chuckled as he watched after the two of them. "Not too fast!" he yelled after them. "And not too far!"

"Don't be a spoilsport!" Lenora called out over her shoulder. "I'll keep him safe!"

They rode for about ten minutes, deeper into the woods than Lenora had ever traveled before. Bran had giggled as he rode and the noise had brought a smile to her lips. He didn't laugh for long though, the giggle died on his lips as the two of them crossed a small river. Lenora turned to look at the boy, his face suddenly solemn. "What's wrong, Bran?" she asked him, reining Casterly in so that she could ride beside the young boy.

He nodded toward the river, "Jory took us fishing for trout out here once," he told her, bringing up the old captain of Winterfell's guard. Robb had told him last night that Ned had been attacked and that most of hi guard had been murdered. "Robb, Jon, and I," the boy continued with his story. "I didn't catch anything, but Jon gave me his fish on the way back to the castle."

Lenora smiled, "That sounds like Jon," she told the young boy.

The child sighed, "I'll never see Jory again," he whispered. "Or father. Or Jon, will I?"

Lenora shook her head, "Don't say that Bran," she commanded. "Your uncle came to visit, didn't he?" she asked. "Jon will come too. And your father is injured, but he is still safe. You will see him too, I promise."

Bran started to demand that she swear to him, to make a vow that he would see his father and brother again, but Lenora shushed him. Something suddenly didn't feel right about the woods. They felt too close now. Too quiet. Some leaves rustled in a tree to her right and Lenora spun her horse around to see a group of men coming through the trees. She glanced back at Bran, he shook his head, he didn't recognize any of them. She turned back to the men and was surprised when Bran nudged his horse forward, so that he and Dancer were standing between her and the strangers. Her heart broke a bit at the thought that this small, crippled boy was trying to protect her.

"Good day to you," he greeted them. His voice shook.

"All alone?" a voice asked from behind them, Lenora turned. There were four men in front of them and two coming out of the trees behind them. They looked wild, these men, she didn't trust them. "Just a young boy and woman? Lost in the wolfswood?"

"We're not lost," Bran told them, he started to ride in a small, tight circle around Lenora and Casterly, trying to guard her from all sides. "My brother will be here shortly."

Lenora shifted slightly in her saddle, she hoped that Bran's riding win circles would distract the strangers from her movement. She held Casterly's reins in her left hand as she reached her right hand beneath her skirts, her hand closing over the hilt of her sword.

"Is that silver?" a woman's voice asked, Lenora glanced up, surprised that there would be a woman in the midst of these rough men. She saw a woman break away from the group and move toward Bran, she was looking at the wolf pin that kept his cloak on. "Pretty." She turned to look at Lenora, "And the lady wears a gold locket. And I bet that ring on her left hand won't sell cheap."

Lenora's hand tightened even more on the hilt of her sword. She did not pull it out yet, still hoping that she would not have to, hoping that there would be some way out of this.

One of the men gestured between her and Bran, "We'll take the pin, the locket, the ring, and the horses. Get down and be quick about it."

"I can't," Bran told them, gesturing toward his legs.

The man stepped forward, grabbing Dancer's reins and throwing Bran's cloak away from his legs so that he could see the straps. "He's strapped in," he told his companion, looking over his shoulders at them. He turned back to Bran, "Are you some kind cripple?" he asked.

Bran bristled and started to argue with them, but Lenora hushed him, the last thing they needed was for the strangers to know how important they were. The man was cutting the straps at Bran's legs. Lenora flinched when his blade sliced through Bran's pants and skin, causing him to bleed. She needed to act fast.

Two of the strangers were approaching her, she let go of her sword long enough to pull her ring off her finger, it was a beautiful ring that Robb had given her shortly after her family had left, to signify their betrothal. But she didn't regret it as she threw the ring to the ground, watching as it disappeared into the grass and the two that been advancing on her stopped to search for the ring.

And then, grabbing her sword again, she jumped off Casterly, taking just a moment to hit the horse on its hindquarters and to order him back toward the castle, she hoped that when Robb saw her empty saddle he would come galloping to find them.

Once the horse was running she turned back toward their attackers, her sword arm at the ready. One of the men chuckled, advancing on her, "The lady is a warrior it would seem," he announced to his companions, confident enough that he even looked over his shoulder to laugh with his friends. "Does she mean to fight us?"

Turning away from her had been a mistake. A mistake that the man would never make again. Lenora rushed forward, holding her sword above her head with both hands and bringing it down with as much force as she could, slicing clean through his outstretched left arm, an inch above his elbow. He had been holding a spear, but now both spear and arm fell to the ground beside him as a spurt of red blood sprayed warm across her face. The man started to scream, but Lenora quickly silenced him by sending her sword through his throat, cutting his vocal chords and his ability to breath.

She smiled grimly as the man crumpled to the ground in front of her, no longer blocking the rest of his group from sight. She hadn't been able to put up much of a fight the first time Bran had been attacked. She would not be that weak again. She barely had any time to marvel at the fact that she had just killed her first man.

"Step away from the boy," she ordered, glaring at the wild strangers. "Leave now and I will not give chase. Or stay, and I will kill you."

"You bitch," one of the men growled, advancing on her. He had a spear too, though she lost the ability to attack them unaware. It would not be as easy to kill this one.

He lunged, jabbing toward her with his spear. She met him blow for blow the steel of her sword clanging against the metal of his spear tip. She allowed him to advance toward her, playing the evasion game that her Uncle Jaime had helped her perfect. A cat, always just out of reach. He chased after her, smiling when she stumbled over some tree roots and fell to the ground on her back.

He advanced on her, not relaxing his grip on his spear, but slowing his movements. He thought they were playing cat and mouse. He thought he was the cat. He thought he had caught her. Lenora smiled at him, pulling her right elbow back, as far as the hard ground would allow and then thrusting it up and into his groin. She turned her head to avoid the spray of blood this time. The man fell to the ground, he wasn't dead yet, but he would bleed out soon. Lenora stood from the ground and turned toward the other four strangers.

She allowed her arms to extend out to her sides, "Who's next?" she asked, her tone taunting.

A chorus of growls sounded from behind her, she didn't have to turn to look. Robb, Theon, and the direwolves had arrived. The wolves attacked, flashing past her: dark grey - Grey Wind, auburn - Summer, and pitch black - Shaggydog.

The men looked afraid and she smiled to herself. There were four more men and the woman. None of them would make it out of the wood alive.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

She was covered in blood, his little warrior. He couldn't tell if any of it was hers and he had no time to stop to check. This hadn't been what he meant when he told them to be careful. He was sure that this wasn't what Lenora had meant when she promised him that she would keep Bran safe.

One of the wildlings, a woman ran toward him, her spear held in both her hands, no doubt ready run him through with it. With an easy upward flick of his wrist, Robb lifted his sword and deflected the spear, sending the woman veering toward his right.

To his left Lenora stood up, ready to fight again. Without speaking to him, she moved behind him. She wasn't cowering, she wasn't hiding from the fight. Her back was pressed against his, she meant to cover him. To fight with him. To protect each other. Robb took a step forward, closer to the wildling woman and Lenora countered it with a graceful backward step, moving with him as if they had practiced this.

Before he could reach the woman a man rushed at him, a battle axe raised, his sword caught him in the face with a sickening crunch and a bright spray of blood. Behind him he heard a clanging and he looked over his shoulder to see Lenora and one of the other Wildling men fighting each other, both with swords.

The man closest to Bran made to grab Dancer's reins and for a moment it looked as if he would have a solid grasp on them, but then Grey Wind had leapt on him, tearing at his throat and nearly beheading the man before his body hit the ground.

Summer went after the last man tearing at his stomach viciously. Lenora and her opponent were still clashing away and Robb whistled, getting the attention of Grey Wind, the wolf rounded around them and when the man was distracted he grabbed the man by the calf and dragged him down to the ground. The other two wolves ran at the now screaming man, biting at his neck, his face, any bit of skin they could sink their teeth into.

Robb looked around for the woman, he found her on her hands and knees, holding out Lenora's ring to him and begging for mercy. He grabbed the ring from her hand, wondering briefly how she had gotten her dirty hands on it. He heard horse hooves behind him, Theon had finally arrived with the guards that Robb had sent him for when he saw Casterly galloping toward them without Lenora in his saddle.

"A little late to the party, but you can tie her up and bring her back to the castle," he gestured toward the wildling woman. "She will be our prisoner," he announced as he turned around to check on Lenora.

She laughed and waved him off, "Go see to, Bran," she told him. "I will be fine."

Robb turned and walked toward Bran, "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"He cut my leg," Bran told him, but he shook he head. "But I didn't feel it."

Robb nodded, "We'll have Maester Luwin look at it back at the castle."

Bran nodded, "Can I ride?" he asked.

Robb chuckled and nodded, "Of course," he told his younger brother before he turned to look at Theon. "You'll take him, Theon? Straight to the Maester?"

"Of course, Robb," Theon told him, nudging his horse forward so that he could grab hold of Dancer's reins and lead Bran and his horse back to Winterfell.

Robb sent a hard look at the guards and they got the idea. One of them grabbed the end of the rope that Theon had tied around the wildling woman's wrists and he began to pull her behind the rest of the group.

Robb walked over to Lenora, when he had been checking on Bran she had dropped to the ground. She was sitting, her left arm wrapped around her legs and her right arm bent, her head resting on her upper arm and her hand clutching at her dark curls. Her sword, on the ground at her side, glinted red with blood. Her arms and her face were stained with blood as well. Her shoulders were shaking, she was crying.

He dropped down to his knees in front of her and he reached out to grab her hands. "Nora?" he asked her, his voice gentle. She didn't answer him right away, she ducked her head so that he wouldn't be able to see her tears. "Nora, look at me," he commanded, letting go of one of her arms so that he could slip his fingers underneath her chin so that he could force her to look up at him.

Her eyes shone grey through the blood that covered her face. Robb sighed and reached into his breast pocket to pull out his handkerchief. He moved away from Lenora for just a moment to dip the handkerchief in the river water and then he was back, gently wiping the blood off of her face and then each of her arms. She was still crying and it scared him, he didn't know what to do with her.

It wasn't the hysterical wailing he was used to from Sansa. Her tears were silent, streaming down her cheeks. He thought for a moment that he needn't have dipped his handkerchief in the river, he could have used her tears. Her shoulders were shaking violently. And her lips kept moving, she was saying something but she couldn't find her voice.

"Nora," Robb tried one more time, waiting for a moment and sighing when he still didn't get a response. "Len?" he tried, desperate to break her from whatever spell she was under, even if it meant using a Lannister's nickname for her. "Lady Len."

Her grey eyes shot up to meet his and for the first time since he had knelt beside her he thought that she had finally heard him."Talk to me, Len," he ordered.

"I killed a man," she whispered to him, her eyes darting toward the body. "I killed two of them. I killed them."

Robb nodded, he understood why she was crying. Despite being deadly with a sword Lenora had never killed a man, and now she had killed two. He made a shushing noise and brought his hand to the back of her head, pushing her face into his chest and ducking his head so that he could press a kiss against her forehead. "To save Bran," he told her without pulling away. His lips brushed against her forehead with each word. "To save yourself." He pulled her tighter against him and shook his head, "I would have been lost if something happened to the two of you."

He held her, there on the ground, wrapped in his arms for almost an hour until her shaking ended and her tears dried. Then he grabbed her sword, wrapped her in his arms and hopped onto his horse to carry them all safely back to Winterfell.

...

She was quiet. She had been quiet since he had brought her back to Winterfell. She didn't leave her room, save for meals. She didn't speak during dinners. She smiled softly, but shook her head every time Rickon climbed into her lap and begged her to tell him a story. She looked as if she was going to burst into tears when Theon had raised his goblet to toast their warrior princess every night as she left the hall to head to her bedchamber.

This had been going on for five nights when Robb decided that enough was enough. After dinner, he stayed in the hall for a few minutes more before he too left. He didn't go to his own bedchamber, instead he knocked on her door. It took her so long to get to the door that he was sure that she hadn't heard him. He was turning from her door when he heard the bolt slide and the door began to open.

She stood in the doorway, wearing a light chemise with a heavy red and gold robe draped across her shoulders. She hadn't expected him, he could tell. Her right hand quickly reached up and grabbed at her robe, closing it over her chest, but not before he realized that he could her breasts through the thin fabric of her nightgown. Her left hand reached up to swipe at her face, wiping away tears. She had been crying again. She had been crying every night since the wildling ambush in the woods.

He sighed, "Nora," he greeted her softly, "are you alright?"

She scoffed and turned away from him, walking further into her bedchamber, she didn't look surprised when he followed her in. "Do I look alright to you, Robb?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest as if she were giving herself a hug.

Robb watched her, she wasn't just hugging herself, he realized, she was holding herself together. "Talk to me then," he commanded. "I'm here. Let me help."

She looked around her bedchamber, "Not here," she told him, shaking her head. "I am a princess, after all, we can't have whispers about you spending time in my bedchamber."

Robb nodded, he took a step toward the door before he turned to gesture that Lenora leave before him. Lenora raised her eyebrows at him, "Am I to walk around the castle in my robe?" she asked him before she moved toward one of her trunks. She pulled out a dress, a dark red one that laced up the back. She turned away from him and pulled the dress over her head, letting the wool fabric fall to the ground. She smoothed the fabric with her hands and turned to look at Robb over her right shoulder, "Lace me up?" she asked.

Robb swallowed and nodded quickly walked over to her. He hoped that she wouldn't notice the way his hands shook as he grabbed onto the laces and pulled them tight before tying them, tightening the dress so that the fabric would hug the girl's upper body.

He left his hands on her back, his right hand sliding up to her shoulder and brushing her hair away from her neck. He stared at her skin, transfixed, for a moment before he leaned closer and pressed his lips against it, just above her pulse point. He could feel her heartbeat quicken, he could sense the catch in her breath.

She took a deep, shaky breath, he was sure that she was going to tell him to stop, that what he was doing was not proper. But he interrupted her before she could, "I am sorry," he told her, his voice nothing but a whisper. "I am sorry that my mother took your uncle prisoner."

She sighed and he felt her relax underneath his hand. "I am sorry too," she told him, her voice less than a whisper. "I'm sorry that my uncle attacked your father."

She turned around so that she could look at him, he dropped his hands quickly so that they wouldn't land anywhere inappropriate. "I am sorry that I tried to trick you into doing my mother's bidding."

Robb nodded, "I'm sorry that I blamed you for your uncle's actions." He sighed. "You were right, Nora, their fight is not ours. I should not have taken it out on you."

Lenora smiled up at him and nodded, "Just so," she told him before she brushed around him and walked toward the door of the chamber. She turned to look at him as she paused in the doorframe, "Are you coming or not?" she asked, her tone teasing.

Robb followed her quickly, not wasting a moment. He wasn't sure where she was going to bring him, but he knew one thing, in that moment he would have followed the woman anywhere. She led him through the halls quietly, avoiding the highly populated areas and proving to him just how much she knew about Winterfell. She learned fast.

She led him out of the castle and into the wolfswood. He followed her quietly until they reached the river in the woods, back to where she and Bran had been attacked the week before. He looked around them, expecting to see the bodies of the six men they had killed, but he only found one. Beside the body he saw five mounds of dirt and a hole. Lenora didn't look up at him as she knelt on the ground next to the last body, "I've been burying them," she told him as she slid her arms under the man's shoulders and started to pull him toward his hole.

"How?" Robb asked, watching her as as she slowly dragged the body across the clearing. Then it dawned on him, no one ever saw her in her chamber, she had asked for privacy. "You don't spend all day in your room, do you?" he asked.

She smiled at him and dropped the man for a moment to wipe at some sweat on her brow, "I dig the holes during the day," she told him. "Bury the men at night."

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Robb told her, looking around the clearing. She started dragging the body again, Robb sighed and moved closer to her so that he could help her drag the body. She nodded to him gratefully.

"I'm not alone," Lenora told him with a playfully smirk, "you're with me."

"I wasn't with you last night," Robb pointed out. "Or the nights before."

"No," Lenora told him, shaking her head as the two of them dumped the body in the hole. "But _he_ was."

Robb stared at her, his eyebrows raised, wondering who _he_ was. Lenora nodded toward the trees behind him and he turned to see Grey Wind walking toward them. He turned to look at her surprised, he had noticed it the day Grey Wind had almost attacked Tyrion, the wolf listened to her. He hadn't noticed that the two seemed to get along so well. He watched her as she knelt down on the ground and began to shove dirt back into the hole with her hands, "Why?" he asked her.

"Why what?" Lenora asked, looking up at him from the ground as she continued to bury the man.

"Why are you burying them?" he asked her. "They attacked you."

"They're men," she told him with a shrug. "No matter who they are. No matter what they did. They're men. They lived lives, they had families, they worships gods. And they deserve to meet their makers."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** I had so much fun with this chapter. Robb and Lenora were getting too friendly for my sake, so I had to add some drama. Plus, Lenora was itching to prove herself strong after what little she was able to do when Bran was first attacked.  
I also actually really enjoyed the conversation between Lenora and Robb at the end of the chapter. Robb is an honorable man, there is no denying that, but there is something Lenora has that he does not. Empathy. Yes, these men attacked her and Bran and yes they needed to die. But once they were dead they were no longer her enemy and they deserved her mercy.  
That is why she took the time to bury them.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It came earlier than expected! What was your favorite part? Review and tell me! The box is just down there! (If I could put in an arrow, I would!)  
 **Evaline101** : In Lenora's defense she's in this horrible situation where she is living with the Starks, but she still needs to protect her family. She can't warn Catelyn about the blade, because she knows it belongs to her uncle Tyrion. But don't worry, she'll figure out her priorities soon.  
 **DannyBlack70** : Robb was such a douche in that scene! I love him, but he was a jerk. He was a jerk for most of this chapter too, but Lenora will soften him out, and what she can't soften she will try to understand. Though, don't worry, she won't be afraid to call him on his shit if he needs it.  
 **Guest** : Hello friend! Welcome to the review club. This is where the cool kids hang out! I just wrote the chapter where Lenora figures Jaime out. (It's a good one!) I hope you stick around to get to that one, you won't regret it.  
 **Raging Raven** : I agree. Tyrion is one of my favorite characters. He's hard to write, I'm always too afraid that I won't do him justice. But he makes EVERYTHING better.  
That's all I've got for now! I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: A Prisoner and a Guest

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **Chapter Thirteen: A Prisoner and a Guest**

 _Lenora_

Lenora's head was spinning. Her uncle Jaime had always taught her to think on her feet. To be quick and careful. He had told her that the most dangerous thing to be was to be caught unaware. She had been trained to always be two steps ahead of her enemies. But here she was, caught completely unaware and at loss of what she should do. She didn't even know who her enemies were.

She had been carrying the letter around since Robb had dropped it in front of her at breakfast. He hadn't said a word, and she hadn't blamed him for that. Her mother and brother had imprisoned his father. He had promised that their families' battles would not be their fight, but it was hard to stay objective when your father had been imprisoned as a traitor.

He had hurt her though, when he hadn't said a word, not even an apology for the loss of her father. Whatever was happening to his father, at least Ned Stark was still alive. Her father was dead. She would never see him again, never hear his laugh again, never sit beside him while he told her old war stories again. A girl only had one father and she had lost hers three days ago and not even known it.

Lenora tried to think about what she had been doing three days ago. Had they gone riding that day? Had she spent the afternoon sitting beside Robb while he went about his business of running Winterfell in his father's stead? Had she wasted the day doing nothing? She couldn't remember. Her father had been dying in his bed and she couldn't even remember what she had been doing.

She was rushing up the stairs toward the Maester's tower, she wanted to send a raven to her mother expressing her sorrow. She had the letter already written, it was clutched in her hand, sealed and ready. She had promised her mother that she would leave for King's Landing in the morning. She would be late for the funeral, but she needed to be with her family.

She was almost to the door when she heard voices in the tower. She paused, she shouldn't have been spying, but as she had learned in King's Landing at a young age - that was the only way to learn things.

"Send out the ravens," someone said, it took Lenora a matter of seconds to recognize the voice as Robb's. "Call all the Bannermen. By now they will know what's happened to my father. We'll march on King's Landing."

"Think about it, My Lord," Luwin argued. "Take a night, your father always did."

"And my father is now in a cell in King's Landing," Robb snapped. "I mean to get him out."

"The Queen also has your sisters, My Lord."

"Then we will get them too," Robb announced.

"There will be no talking you out of it then?" Luwin asked. "You mean to march against your betrothed's family?"

"They imprisoned mine!" Robb yelled at the maester.

"What if the Queen hurts your sisters or your father when she hears that you have called your bannermen and started your march on King's Landing?" Luwin tried, his last effort.

Lenora heard Robb pacing the tower floor above her. He sighed, "Then we'll hurt her daughter." He started to walk toward the door, pausing for just a moment to order Luwin to send the ravens out. He started down the stairs and Lenora took a step back, hugging the wall and hiding in the shadows. She didn't want him to see her.

His mind was full, he was worried. He walked right by her. He didn't see her.

She waited a minute, listening to the sound of Robb's feet on the stairs below her and the scratch of Maester Luwin's quill above her. Once she was sure that Robb would not come back up the stairs she left the shadows and climbed the remaining stairs.

She knocked on the doorframe, she didn't want to startle the Maester. "Maester Luwin," she greeted, nodding at him as she walked further into his tower.

The Maester turned to look at her, stilling his quill so that he could stand from his stool. "Princess Lenora," he greeted, bowing low to her. "Let me tell you how truly sorry I am for you, for the loss of your father."

Lenora bit her lip to keep from crying, she would do that in her bedchamber alone that night. Gods knew that Winterfell had already seen too many of her tears. "Thank you, Maester Luwin," she told him inclining her head again in gratitude. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

He nodded, "May I be of service, Princess?" Luwin asked her, one of his hands reaching behind him. Lenora didn't miss it, he was hiding the letters that he had been writing from her. He didn't want her to know that Robb had called his Bannermen. That confused her, it wasn't as though she would be blind to their arrival. And they would be there soon enough.

"You may, actually," Lenora told him with a nod and a smile. She reached out, holding the sealed scroll, her letter to her mother, out to the maester. "Could you send a raven to King's Landing?" she asked him. "To my mother?"

The maester heaved a sigh and reached out to take the scroll from her hand. "Alas, Princess," he told her, his face grim. "You have asked the one thing of me that I cannot do for you. Once again, I must tell you that I am sorry."

"You cannot send a raven for me?" she asked him, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Why not, Maester?"

She didn't miss the way that the old man's eyes darted toward the doorway behind her. He didn't need to tell her, she knew. Robb had ordered him not to send the raven for her. The old man clasped his hands together in front of him and looked down as if he were ashamed. She nodded, "I see," she told him. "I understand, of course. You are a maester of the Citadel, sent here to serve the Lord of Winterfell. I am not the Lord of Winterfell, you serve Robb - not me."

She spun on her heel and left the tower before the maester could apologize to her. She wasn't mad at the old man. She couldn't even find it in her to be mad at Robb. It was only midday and this day had already been too long. She was sad, terrified, and tired. She couldn't find the energy to be angry. It would have taken too much.

So she did not storm after Robb. She did not march after him. Or run. She walked.

She found him in the Godswood sitting in front of the Heart Tree. He might have been praying, but he heard her approach and looked up before she reached him. He didn't say anything, though his face hardened and his jaw clenched. He was preparing for a battle.

She sat down next to him, playing with the scroll of parchment in her hands. "I found out that my father died today," she told Robb, a fact that she knew he was well aware of. "You know that, of course, you read the raven before I was allowed to. You've read all of my ravens before I was allowed to." He didn't deny it, but she had already knew that he wouldn't. The man had too much honor to lie to her. "I spent the morning writing a letter to my mother, to tell how sorry I was and how much I regretted that the last time I saw my father was when he left me here. But when I went up to the Maester's turret, Maester Luwin informed me that he is not allowed to send any letters for me."

Robb shrugged his shoulders, he didn't look at her.

"I wonder how long he hasn't been allowed to send ravens for me," Lenora mused. "This is the first raven I've tried to send since I arrived at Winterfell."

She wasn't going to give it up, he could tell. He sighed, "You haven't been allowed to send ravens since my mother took your uncle prisoner," he told her. "The same time I started reading any letters sent to you."

"Thank you," Lenora told him with a nod. "For being so honest, it's refreshing, really." She bent her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. She sighed, "I'll just have to tell my mother how sorry I am when I see her in King's Landing."

"King's Landing?" Robb asked, his voice purposefully nonchalant.

Lenora nodded, "I will require a small escort," she told him. "Nothing too large, I wish to travel quickly. I plan to leave tomorrow."

Robb shook his head, he had the grace to look apologetic, but he stood firm, "I cannot give you an escort, Lenora," he told her.

"Can't spare the men? You'll need everyone you can get when your Bannermen arrive?" She arched her eyebrows and smirked when she caught the look of surprise on his face. She nodded, "Yes, I heard you tell Luwin to call your Bannermen. I heard you tell him that you would hurt me if my mother did anything to your father or sisters as well. In case you hoped that I missed that part."

Robb was quiet for a moment, "That was said in the heat of the moment," he told her, his voice soft. "You know I would never hurt you."

Lenora watched him for a moment, "No," she finally told him, shaking her head slightly, "I do not believe that I do." She never took her eyes off him so of course she did not miss the pain that flashed across his face when she told him that she couldn't trust him not to hurt her.

He bristled, and when he next spoke his voice was more proper than she had ever heard it, "You have my word, Princess, that I will never hurt you."

Lenora nodded, "And you have my word, Lord Stark, that if you will not give me an escort to King's Landing in the morning then I will go on my own."

He shook his head again, she wondered if he knew how infuriating she found him in that moment. "I'm sorry, Lenora," he told her, and he really did look sorry. "But I cannot allow you to leave, with or without an escort." He knew that she would ask him why so he answered before she could, "Your mother and brother have my father and my sisters. You are all I have of theirs."

"Your mother has my uncle."

"The wrong uncle," Robb pointed out. " You are all I have, the only thing I can use to hurt them."

"If you think keeping me will hurt Joffrey than you are mistaken," Lenora told him, shaking her head. "My brother doesn't care what happens to me."

"He might not care, but your mother does. And she controls the new King."

Lenora sat silent for a moment, still playing with the scroll in her hands, "So, am I to understand that I am not allowed to leave Winterfell until you've gotten your justice? Am I to be your prisoner, just as my uncle is your mother's? Just as your father is my brother's?"

"You're not a prisoner," Robb told her, his voice firm. "You are my guest."

"Your guest who cannot leave," Lenora agreed sarcastically. She was quiet for a moment before she started chuckling, her laughter humorless, "You have been very good, Robb!" she told him. "I should offer you my congratulations. Why, I have been your prisoner for over a month now and I didn't even know it. You fooled me. I was allowed to ride Casterly, I was able to go to the market in Winter Town. You gave me all the appearances of freedom, so much so, that I never realized that it was all an illusion."

She stood from her seat on the ground and wiped at the dirt on her skirts. "Where are you going?" Robb asked her, standing up as well.

She leveled him with a cool glare, "I learned that my father died this morning," she informed him. "I would go to mourn him. Or is that not allowed either?"

...

She was not surprised the next evening when Robb stormed into her chamber, he told her that he had been looking for her, but she hadn't believed that for a moment. He had her followed since she had left the Godswood the day before. He wouldn't have had to look for her, someone in Winterfell knew where she was at all times.

Robb had chuckled and shook his head, "I knew you were here," he told her, "I meant that I looked for you in the hall for supper."

"I wasn't hungry," Lenora told him, turning back to the book she had been reading, signaling that she was finished with the conversation.

"I did not see you this morning to your break your fast, either," Robb pointed out.

"I wasn't hungry then either."

"And supper last night?"

"Not then, either."

Robb sighed. "We're not going to do this," he told her, shaking his head. "You're not going to sulk and starve yourself. You are a princess and you are stronger than this."

Lenora scoffed, "Is that how we're going to play it?" she asked him, closing her book and standing up from her chair so that she was closer to Robb's height. "You're going to try to appeal to my sense of duty?"

"You are the daughter of Cersei Lannister," Robb tried again. "This is not how she would handle this situation. She wouldn't sulk. She wouldn't starve. She wouldn't be silent. She would stand tall, proud. She would wear this pain with dignity. She would punish me with her presence."

Lenora scoffed, "Thank you for that," she told him, her tone biting. "For reminding me of the mother that I might not ever see again. Are you going to bring up my father now? Drive that knife in my heart in a little deeper?"

Robb shook his head, "I'm done," he told her. "But so are you. If you are not in the hall tomorrow morning I will come back here and drag you down there by your hair and force feed you myself."

Lenora glared up at the man, feeling angry tears fill her eyes, "My father is dead," she told him, flinching when she heard the way her voice cracked. "My father is dead and the man I was supposed to marry, the man that promised he wouldn't hurt me, the man who swore that he wouldn't let our families' battles become our own is keeping me prisoner in what would have been my home."

"Your mother and brother have imprisoned my father. How am I to ignore that? How am I not to let that become my own fight?" Robb asked her, begging her to understand why he had done it. He paused for a moment, her words finally catching up with him. "The man you were supposed to marry?" he asked, repeating her words in a hushed echo. "What would have been your home?"

Lenora laughed, biting and cruel, "You think that my mother and brother will allow me to marry you now?" she asked him, shaking her head. "Mother was against the betrothal since the beginning. And your father has been named a traitor. The King's sister will never be allowed to marry the son of a traitor, no matter how much my brother might hate me."

Robb's eyes were cold, "Your mother and brother won't have a choice," he told her. "By the time they get word, by the time they make it North," he shook his head, the ghost of a grin settling onto his lips. "I'll have ruined you." He turned and began to leave her chamber, but stopped in the door way, turning to look at her with eyes as cold and hard as ice, "And as for my father being named a traitor I ask you this: in the time you spent here with my father, in the stories I have told you about growing up with him, have you ever heard of him being anything but honorable?"

Lenora thought about it, by all accounts Ned Stark was the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms. He had treated her with kindness before he left for King's Landing. He had loved her father as a brother. He had raised Robb to be, she was still convinced, a man of honor. She shook her head. Robb watched her for a moment and nodded, "Then why would he stop that now?" he asked her before he left the room.

...

"There's the Karstarks," Bran announced. "Finally." Lord Rickard Karstark and his soldiers were the last of Robb's bannermen to arrive. But it was fast becoming obvious why, for he and his sons were attended by three hundred horsemen and two thousand soldiers on foot. Bran and Lenora were watching them arrive from atop the guard turret on the outer wall of Winterfell.

Lenora knew that Bran wanted to go down to the town below Winterfell, to ride Dancer among the soldiers. He had begged it of both her and Robb.

But she and Robb had both put their foot down and told him no. A soldier's camp was no place for a child, let alone a crippled one.

Lenora had wanted to go to the town too, but she knew better than to ask Robb. A soldier's camp was also no place for a woman, especially one with Lannister blood. Robb had threatened to ruin her, but she knew deep down that he wouldn't. There was no guarantee with his men though. Lenora knew that. And so, she never even tried to leave the walls of Winterfell.

Bran handed her Maester Luwin's far-eye, they had borrowed the glass from his turret that morning, though Lenora was sure that the maester didn't know yet. She brought the glass to her right eye and looked through it, focusing on the marching men. They flew their black banners with their bright white sunburst proudly. "I heard the Karstarks had Stark blood," she whispered as she handed the glass back to the child. "Going all the way back to the First Men."

"They don't look much like Starks," Bran argued.

"No they do not," Lenora agreed quietly.

Bran was still looking through the far-eye, but his next question had nothing to do with the Karstarks or any of Robb's other bannermen. "Lenora?" he asked, not turning to look at her, "I mean, Princess?"

Lenora chuckled and shook her head, "You can call me, Lenora, Bran," she told him."I think you've earned that right."

"Lenora?" Bran asked, a blush rising to his chubby, child's cheeks. "When are you and Robb going to be friends again?"

Lenora turned to look at the boy, "We are friends, Bran," she told him, her voice quiet.

Bran shook his head, "No you're not," he told her, his voice was hard, it left no room for argument. He was using the voice that he had learned from Robb. The _Robb the Lord voice_. "You're not friends at all."

"Do I not sit in the place of honor on his left at supper every night?" Lenora asked the boy. "Have I not been there every evening this past week as he feasted his bannermen? Has he not informed every man that has entered Winterfell's walls that I am under his protection? Did we not go riding in the Wolfswood yesterday?"

Bran shrugged his shoulders, "You sit at his left because you are a princess. You are at all of the feasts because you are his betrothed. He told the men not to harm you because you are a guest of Winterfell and it is his job to protect you. We all rode together because he was worried that you would run away if he didn't get you out of Winterfell for a bit." The boy sighed, "But the two of you are not friends. Not like before. When you were happy. When will you be friends again?"

Lenora sighed and reached out to gently ruffle Bran's hair, the boy was sweet. And he saw more than she gave him credit for. He was right, she and Robb were playing at being friends, but they were not as they had been before her father had died. She thought to comfort him, but this boy did not want her comforting lies, he wanted the truth. "I don't know, Bran," she told him, shaking her head and looking out over the wall toward Robb's arriving bannermen. "I don't know if we will ever be that way again."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

Lenora had faded. That was the word for it. He had first seen her no more than three months before but she was a completely different woman now than she was then. She had been happy and untamable. There had been a wildness about her that had been intoxicating. She was a princess of swords and not just the ones that her uncle had taught her to master. She had a sword for a tongue, her words had the power to wound or defend depending on her mood. Her eyes sparkled silver and had seemed to speak their own language and her smile brightened every room she entered. She had been open and free, but there had been a darkness in her heart, the promise of mysterious, impossible, indecipherable things.

But now she was a shadow of what she had been. She was quiet and well-behaved, reserved. Her laughter never reached her eyes. Her smiles weren't as wide, or as easy. She bit her tongue and held her words, but those stormy grey eyes of hers berated him every time her gaze fell on him. Which wasn't often, the princess barely looked at him these days, even when they were left alone.

She had come to him as warm as a southern, summer day. But now she was hard and icy, like the North in the middle of a long winter.

She was seated beside him now, to his left at a table in his chambers with the rest of his Bannermen. He had left his brother in the main hall with knights and lords's sons and honored guests, Bran would need to get used to being the Lord of Winterfell, and he and his Bannermen had gone to his chambers to make their final plans for the march. They would leave Winterfell by week's end.

She was currently ignoring him, her head turned to the left as she whispered quietly with the Greatjon. Lord Umber had lost two of his fingers two days before to Grey Wind after he had stood up again Robb's decision not to let him lead the Vanguard. It had been a tense moment that could have gone either way and Robb couldn't forget the way Lenora's hand had grabbed his under the table, her fingernails digging into his skin. She had only relaxed when the lord had started laughing and made a joke of it.

After the feast Robb had admitted to her that he had been terrified that Umber was going to kill him. But her moment of weakness was over. She had watched him with hard grey eyes and said, "They don't respect you, if my uncle Jaime had called the Lannister Bannermen no one would have even dreamed of leading the Vanguard with him on the field. They'll follow you, but they'll think they know better the entire time." He had wanted to argue with her, but she had started to walk away from him. She paused just for a moment and without looking at him, said, "You'd be smart to show them that you're not as green as you look and to do it soon."

Now, two days later, the Greatjon's hand was bandaged and he and Lenora were joking about how at least Grey Wind had left him all the fingers on his sword hand. "I imagine you'd be left at the back with the Silent Sisters if you couldn't hold a sword," Lenora told him, a playful smirk resting on her lips.

"Is that where you will be, Little Princess?" the Greatjon asked.

Something crossed Lenora's grey eyes, a memory of her life before she had arrived at Winterfell. Robb thought back, remembering that her brother's guard the Hound had called her by that name. He wondered if that was what she was remembering. Whatever it was, she dealt with it quickly, "I plan to be part of the fight, Greatjon," she told him, her tone playful, but the set of her shoulders told a different story.

The man's laughter boomed across the table. "If what they say about your skills with a sword are true then maybe you should be, Little Princess." He leaned closer to her, "How was it to learn to find from the Kingslayer himself?"

Robb never heard her answer, Lord Bolton who sat to his right, quietly called for his attention. "Is it wise to have her here, my Lord?" he asked, nodding his head to the dark haired woman on Robb's right. "Is it wise to allow her to listen to our plans to march on her family?"

Robb turned to look at Bolton and nodded, "Who is she going to tell?" he asked the older man. "She's not allowed to send ravens. She's got no friends here that would send a letter for her." He glanced at her furtively, to make sure that she wasn't listening to him. "She is also incapable of permanently holding her tongue. She might let something slip, some weakness that we do not know, something that could help us defeat her uncle. That is why she is here."

Bolton raised one of his eyebrows and watched Lenora for a moment, "And you mean to bring her on the march with us?"

Robb nodded, "Easier to keep an eye on her that way," he told the lord. "Leave her here and she might get it into her head to head down to King's Landing on her own. She's hardheaded enough for that."

"If she were my responsibility I'd kill her and be done with it," Bolton muttered, shaking his head.

"And give her mother permission to murder my father or sisters?" Robb growled. He shook his head, "No, there are safer ways to hurt the queen."

"And what do you mean to do with her then?" Bolton asked, this time raising both of his eyebrows.

"Ransom her for my family," Robb answered with a shrug. "Marry her and use her as bait to draw her uncle's and grandfather's armies? Let her go into battle for one of her brother's soldiers to kill? There are many possibilities." He forced a tone of nonchalance into his voice, hoping that Bolton would believe that Lenora meant very little to him.

The older man chuckled, "You might have it in you yet, boy," he told Robb, approving.

Lenora waited a few minutes until the food had been served and Roose Bolton was not paying attention before she whispered. "You do know that I could hear you?"

He nodded, "You told me not to let them think I was green for long. Some will follow me simply because of my father. Some I will win over once I've proved myself in battle. And some, like Lord Bolton, will only respond to me proving that I am willing to do anything to get my father back, even mistreating a princess."

Lenora stared at him for a moment, her grey eyes scanning his face as if she could read his thoughts. As if she could determine what his soul was made of. After a moment she nodded, "You might survive the week yet, Robb Stark," she told him.

He smiled at her. "And so may you, Princess."

...

He saw her later that night on his way to his bedchamber. She was in hers, the door was open and she was kneeling on the ground in front of her trunk. Folding dresses. He stood in the doorway watching her silently. He was surprised, the dresses she was packing were not the dresses she had come to Winterfell with. No, the pretty princess dresses were piled atop her bed, these dresses were sturdy, wool, dark colored to hide dirt. She was packing for war.

"Where are your lovely pretty princess dresses?" he asked her, his tone light and teasing as he pushed off her doorframe though he did not move further into the room.

"I had thought that I would pack them in your trunk," Lenora fired back at him without looking up from her trunk. He couldn't see her face, but he could only imagine the smirk on her lips.

"Shall I bring you some armor to pack in your trunk then?" he asked, playing along.

Lenora chuckled and stood up from the floor. Robb watched as she crossed the room toward her bed and lifted up the pile of dresses on her bed. Underneath them lay a thick shirt, a pair of pants, and a small, surprisingly feminine breastplate. "I have some of my own, thank you."

Robb watched her as she placed these items on top of her dresses. "So you mean to fight?" he asked her, laughter in his voice.

She looked up at him, her eyes dark, her jaw hard, "I don't mean to sit safely in a tent and wait for you to come back or for my family to rescue me." She turned away from him to shut the trunk.

"I won't put a sword in your hand," Robb told her. "You're as likely to kill me with it than anything else."

Lenora turned to smile at him over her shoulder, "I am just as likely to kill you with my bare hands, My Lord."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

Ned Stark was a fool. He was an honorable man, but as she had learned at an early age from her father honorable men were often fools. He had discovered the truth about her and Jaime. He had quickly deduced that her three youngest children were bastards, born of incest. He could have gone to Robert about it as soon as he had learned the truth. He didn't have proof, but Robert would not have needed proof, not from Ned. He would have taken Ned's word for it and Cersei would have been imprisoned or beheaded by now.

But Ned Stark was an honorable man.

And a fool.

He had warned her. He had tried to make it come off like a threat, but Cersei had seen it for what it really was: a warning. He told her that when Robert returned from his hunt Ned would tell him about their children. About what Cersei had done to him. So Cersei had intended that Robert would not come back from his hunt alive.

Another lesson that Tywin had taught his children was that if you wanted something done correctly you must do it yourself. And, as always, her father had been right. Robert did come back from his hunt, still breathing though not for long. The wine and the boar had done well.

And Ned had gotten one last chance to tell his king and best friend what Cersei had done. But the honorable fool had decided not to trouble Robert with her betrayal during his last hours. It had been a mercy to Robert.

And a prison sentence to Ned Stark.

The fool.

He had thought that that piece of paper would protect him. He had thought that he was safe. What he did not realize was that a piece of paper with a dead King's words was only worth as much as the honor of the man reading it.

And Cersei Lannister had neither the honor, nor the inclination, to follow her dead husband's commands.

She had torn up his paper shield and commanded that he be imprisoned for treason. And they had listened to her because a dead man's words were worth nothing with a new King on the throne. And because they were far too busy trying to prove their loyalty to the boy King to remember that they had once been loyal to his father. And King's Landing was not a place for honorable men.

Joffrey had wanted him beheaded, but Cersei had managed to quiet her son's anger, for now. She had pointed out that the Starks of Winterfell still had his sister and that killing Ned Stark would not bring Lenora back to them.

She shuddered still, now, when she remembered the dark look in her son's eyes when he had asked her why it should matter that Robb Stark had his sister. He had another one after all, and he didn't see why it mattered, girls weren't worth much in their world. He had been so hard, so cruel about it, and the only thing that had changed his mind was when Cersei pointed out that his men wouldn't respect him if he lost his sister to some rebelling Northerner.

So Ned Stark was alive, thrown in one of the black cells to rot and his sweet daughter, Sansa, was sitting before her, begging for mercy for her father. Swearing on everything she held dear that her father would never be a traitor.

That was something that she and the girl agreed on, though Cersei would never admit it.

She leaned forward, closer to the young girl, "This betrayal would have broken the King's heart," she told Sansa, her voice held a forced tone of disappointment. "The Gods are kind that he did not live to see it." She sighed and looked away from Sansa, at Pycelle and Littlefinger and Varys that were standing behind her. Littlefinger smirked at her before he looked down at his feet to hide it. She turned back to the girl in front of her, "Sansa, sweetling, you must see what a dreadful position this has left us in. You are innocent of any wrong doing, I know that, but you are still the daughter of a traitor. How can we allow you to marry the King?"

She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling as Sansa wailed about how she loved the king with her whole heart and she would never betray him. The girl was quite boring, Cersei had known that since her first night in Winterfell. But she wanted to be queen and she believed that she wanted to marry Joffrey. And that was useful. "Please," the girl begged, "you _have_ to let me marry Joffrey. I'll be a good wife to him, a good queen, just like you. I promise. I'll be good."

Cersei looked at her council again, they had rehearsed this, they had planned this. And though Sansa did not know the script she was playing her part perfectly. "My lords of the council, what do you say to her plea?"

Varys spoke to her sweetness, how she had a pure love for Joffrey, but could that be canceled out by the condemnation of her father.

Pycelle raged against the traitor's blood that ran through her veins. She was sweet now, but she would grow up to betray them just as her father had.

Littlefinger had defended her by saying that she had more of her mother in her than her father.

"That only goes so far when her mother took my younger brother hostage," Cersei bit out to Baelish. She turned back to Sansa, "If I could truly believe that you are nothing like your father then nothing would make me happier than to see you married to my son. I know how much he loves you. But I am afraid that Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle have the right of it, the blood will tell. Why, it was only a matter of months ago that your sister set her wolf on him. It would seem that your father's traitorous blood runs through her."

"I am nothing like Arya," Sansa wailed to her. "I'm good. I'm good. I only want to be a good wife to Joffrey!"

Cersei pretended to study the girl for a moment, the left corner of her mouth turned up as the child fidgeted under her gaze. "I believe you," she finally told the girl. Then she addressed the men standing behind her without taking her eyes off of Sansa Stark. "My Lords, it seems to me that if the rest of her kin were to remain loyal to Joffrey that it would go a long way toward putting these fears of yours to rest." She leaned back so that she could open a drawer at the desk and she pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. "You know your letters, of course?" she asked, merely a formality. Sansa was the daughter of a lord, it would have been a disgrace if she did not know how to write.

Sansa nodded quickly, eager to please. "What would you like me to do?"

"You will write two letters. One to your Lady Mother and one to your brother, the eldest, what is his name?"

"Robb -"

"You will write a letter to each of them. By now the news of your father's treason will have reached them," she looked over her shoulder at Pycelle, the Grand Maester nodded and told her that he had sent out the ravens days ago, that the news would have already reached the Wall, far North of Winterfell. She turned back to Sansa, "They won't want to believe it. But they will if it comes from you. _You_ must tell them of your father's betrayal to the king."

"I don't know what to say."

Cersei smiled at the girl softly, soothing her worries and comforting her. "We will tell you what to write, sweet child. The important thing is to ensure that your mother and brother agree to keep peace with the King. You must tell your Lady Mother that you are well taken care of, I am sure that she fears for your well being. Tell her that you are in our care," she smiled at her self, Catelyn Stark would see that as the veiled threat that it was. "Tell her and Robb to come to King's Landing, to bend the knee to Joffrey. Tell them that we would like to have Lenora back in King's Landing with us as soon as is possible. Once that is done, you will be allowed to marry him and become his queen."

Sansa had looked as though she were about to cry in delight at that, she nodded, "I will write the letters."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** Hello friends! Back again and making some moves in this chapter!  
I hope that you enjoyed reading it! If you did head down to that good looking box right there and write me a review! They really do make me update faster as you may have noticed.  
And it really is a handsome box. Wouldn't you say?  
I would.  
 **HUGE** thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter:  
 **ZabuzasGirl:** I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one too!  
 **DannyBlack70:** The last chapter was probably one of my favorites so far, except for the third chapter (I think) when Lenora was five and living with Jaime at Casterly Rock. And the fourth chapter when she and Jaime had the conversation about his nickname. BUT definitely one of my most favorite chapters recently.  
I really liked how Lenora reacted after the battle. I know some soldiers and that's very much how most of them describe their first real war experience. All adrenaline during the battle and then breaking down afterward when they realize that they will have to live with whatever they did for the rest of their lives. It felt very real and grounded to have Lenora react like that and I loved it.  
That's all I've got for now lovelies!  
Until next time (which might be tomorrow if you show that handsome box there some love!),  
Chloe Jane.


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Reynes of Castamere

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **Chapter fourteen: The Reynes of Castamere**

 _Lenora_

She shifted in her saddle, it had been a long day of riding and as much as she loved riding she had never ridden this hard or for this long. Robb was sympathetic, at least, not that Lenora particularly wanted his sympathy.

The first week as they traveled south they had been near castles. They had stayed at one northern lord's home or another. This was their first night setting camp. She had ridden at the front of the army with Robb, but the young man hadn't said a word to her all day. "Let me help you," those were his first words to her as he moved around his horse so that he could lift her down from hers.

"I am fine," she told him, her body tensing as she felt Robb's hands settle on her hips. "Really."

Robb looked up at her with his clear blue eyes, studying her. With his gaze on her so intensely he didn't miss the grimace on her face as she shifted in the saddle again. "I can see that," he told her as he began to lift her down from the horse.

Lenora gasped at the easy way Robb placed his hands on her and placed her own on his shoulders to steady herself as he lifted her down. Once she was on the ground he left his hands on her hips, holding her in place. "You'll be sore," he told her, it wasn't a question. "I'll have someone draw you a bath in your tent. There aren't much for women on this march, but Lord Cerwyn brought his daughter to cook for him," he scoffed at some inside joke at that. "I'm sure she will be happier to serve you than him. I'll send for her."

"My tent?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "I get my own tent?"

"Would you like to share mine, Princess?" he asked, chuckling.

Lenora shook her head, "I wouldn't like to, I just, I assumed."

"I haven't decided what I want to do with you yet," Robb told her. "Until then, you'll have your own tent."

Lenora was not going to argue with him. She nodded, "Thank you, Robb," she told him, glancing down pointedly at his hands that still rested on her hips.

He left them there, flexing his fingers slightly as if to tell her he would let go of her when he wanted to and not a moment before. "You will eat supper in my tent," he told her. "Your guard will bring you to me once you've bathed."

And there it was, Lenora realized. She was to have her own tent, that illusion of freedom that Robb loved to give her. But she would eat with him when he commanded, be where he wanted her, and be guarded by one of his men at all times. He wanted her to fight it, she could tell. And she wanted nothing more than to disappoint him. So instead of fighting she nodded, "I should get to it, then. Which one will be my tent?"

Robb finally let go of her waist and turned slightly, nodding toward a man behind him. She didn't know his name, but she recognized him, one of Bolton's men. "Ser Willum will show you to your tent and make sure that no harm will come to you."

Lenora chuckled at that, "What a nice way to say I will be his prisoner."

Robb's blue eyes were light and playful, "You keep saying prisoner," he told her, shaking his head, "and I keep telling you that you are my guest."

"You guest who cannot leave and must be guarded at all times?"

"The guard is more for your safety than to keep you here," Robb told her, his playfulness gone almost immediately. "A camp is no place for a lady." He watched her for a moment, his face tense before his eyes softened, "Do not fight me on this, Nora," he begged her in a whisper, "please."

Lenora watched him for just a moment before she sighed and nodded. "I won't fight you on this _today_ ," she told him. "But there are no promises for the future."

Robb nodded and stepped aside for her. She bit back a smile and moved around him, her gaze finally falling on the knight who was to be her jailer. "Well met, Ser Willum," she told him with a nod. "Let's go." She started to walk, but stopped after a few steps, the knight was too close to her. "Have you ever guarded a lady, Ser Willum?" the young knight shook his head. "You don't walk beside her," Lenora told him. "You walk behind her or in front of her. Not beside."

The man's eyes were wide as he nodded and took a few steps back. She heard Robb laugh behind her. "Stick with this one, Ser Willum, and she'll have you trained as well as the Kingslayer in a fortnight."

Her tent was warm and inviting, much nicer than Lenora had expected, what with them being at war. The ceiling was high, the walls made of bolts of dark red fabric - she wondered if that had been a conscious choice on Robb's part, to make her homesick. There was a a table, more candles than she could count, her trunks. The ground was covered with thick rugs to keep the cold of the earth beneath from reaching her. There was a large, feather bed, several small couches, and at the back of the tent, hidden behind an almost sheer curtain, a bath

"I will wait outside, My Lady," Ser Willum told her. "I won't leave, so if you need me do not hesitate."

It sounded like a comfort, that he would be there for her if she needed him. But Lenora saw it for what it really was - a threat. She shouldn't think of wandering or trying to leave her tent without him. Robb said that he was there to protect her, and she had no doubt that he was, but he was also there to ensure that she did not grab her horse and ride south to her family.

She nodded to him and turned away from the doorway of her tent as he left. She walked through the tent and smiled when she noted that the bath had already been filled with warm water. Robb had really thought of everything. She heard the tent open again and she turned to see an older woman walk into the tent.

"You must be, Lord Cerwyn's daughter," she told the woman with a soft smile and a gentle nod.

"Mariya, if it pleases you, your grace."

Lenora smiled ruefully, "My father and my mother are _your grace_ ," she told the woman. Then she shook her head, "My brother is now _your grace_ , I am just a princess."

"I wouldn't ever use the word _just_ to describe being a princess, My Lady."

Lenora smiled and nodded, "You are right about that, I suppose, Lady Mariya." She turned to study the woman again. She wasn't too old, just a few years older than Lenora herself. She was plump without being fat, and quite pretty. She imagined that her father had not brought her with him to cook for him. And he had not brought her with him to serve Lenora. He had probably brought her along in the hopes that his daughter would find her way into Robb's bed before long.

She wondered if the girl knew her father's plans for her. If she did, if she hoped for it, Lenora wished her luck. She'd rather the girl end up in Robb's bed than herself.

"Have you ever served as a lady's maid?" Lenora asked her.

Mariya nodded, "Yes, My Lady, when I was younger than you are now, my father sent me to live with the Boltons. I was a lady's maid to Lord Bolton's first wife."

"Surrounded by Boltons," Lenora muttered to herself. Her guard was one of Roose Bolton's knights, her lady's maid had spent many years at the Dreadfort.

"What did you say, My Lady?" Mariya asked, moving closer to her.

Lenora forced a smile onto her lips, "Nothing," she told the woman with an encouraging nod. "It was a long ride today and I would like to bathe."

Mariya nodded and walked behind Lenora. Her hands shook as she quickly untied the laces on the back of Lenora's dress. Lenora rolled her eyes as she stepped out of the dress and the woman started to untie her corset, her hands still shaking. If she didn't get used to being around a princess soon enough Lenora would ask Robb to dismiss her from her service, corsets be damned. Once she was undressed she stepped into the tub with the help of woman.

Mariya poured water over her hair. She rubbed soap through it and rinsed it out again. And as she began to carefully run a brush through Lenora's waist length brown hair Lenora set about washing her body with the soap. Her bath did not take long, but it seemed like a waste to leave the tub while the water was still warm. So Lenora stayed. She was still in the tub an hour later when her guard entered the tent to escort her to Robb's tent for supper.

"My Lady!" He all but yelled as he spun around, to look back toward the door and covered his eyes. "I did not mean! I had thought that you would be dressing by now."

"Dressing?" Lenora asked as she stood up in the tub. Mariya helped her out and wrapped a towel around her so that she could dry her skin while the lady found her a new chemise, her corset, and a clean dress. "You meant to walk in on me while I was dressing, Ser Willum?"

The knight shook his head, "Dressed," he corrected, "I thought you would be dressed by now. Lord Stark told me I was to bring you to his tent for supper once you were bathed. I did not want to keep him waiting."

Lenora bristled at that, " _Lord Stark_ is the son of a traitor. I am a princess and the sister of the king. I will keep him waiting if it pleases me."

"As you wish, Princess," the knight told her, bowing his apology though he still did not turn to look at her, too afraid of offending her more than he already had.

Mariya quickly dressed her and braided her damp hair in a single braid running down her spine. "I daresay you are ready, My Lady," Mariya told her, nodding and stepping away from her.

Lenora smiled her thanks and turned to look at Ser Willum's back. "Very well, Ser Willum," she told the knight "You may bring me to Lord Stark's tent now."

"Thank you, My Lady," the man told her gratefully, he strode to the door of the tent and held the flaps open for her to pass through before him. Lenora noticed with a hint of satisfaction that on their way across the camp toward Robb's tent the knight walked three steps behind her. Maybe the man wouldn't be so stupid to have around after all.

Robb looked up from a map laid out on his table when she walked in. His tent was larger than hers, it needed to be, the bulk of his planning would occur in her with his bannermen, but the furnishings in her tent were much nicer. "You sure know how to keep a man waiting," Robb commented as he moved away from his map and walked closer to her. Ser Willum started to make an excuse from the doorway of the tent, but Robb held his hand up for silence, "I know the Lady, Ser Willum," he told the knight. "She will have purposefully kept me waiting just to spite me. I do not hold you at fault for that."

Lenora smiled at him as he dismissed the knight. Once she was sure they were alone she said, "My tent is much nicer than yours."

"Well you are a princess," Robb pointed out, echoing the words she had told the knight in her tent not long before. "I am a mere lord. Of course your tent will be better." He gestured toward another table that she had not noticed when she had first walked into his tent, this one had food laid on it, enough to feed a large group, though there were only two plates and goblets. She and Robb would be dining alone, it seemed. "Have a seat, My Lady, I am sure you are hungry after today's ride."

He pulled out a chair for her and Lenora sat down in it, her spine stiff and straight as he pushed the chair closer to the table for her. He served her wine. Loaded her plate with food. And waited until she had taken a bite before he filled his own plate. It was a mix of intimate and proper at the same time. Lenora watched him for a moment, her lips pursed, waiting for him to reveal why he had wanted to eat his supper with her. She was sure that he had more pressing moments with his bannermen, they were marching to war after all.

"You do know that we're at war," she pointed out, cutting a piece of meat. "Don't you, Lord Stark?"

"When we're alone you can call me, Robb," the man pointed out. He chuckled and shook his head, "I'm honestly surprised that you don't call me Robb in front of the men too."

"Why would I?" Lenora asked him, looking up at him sharply. "I must not be the only one who is aware of the fact that many of your bannermen would see me dead sooner than they would bow down to my brother. Seeing as I am not allowed a sword, _you_ are what's keeping me alive now. It would be a fool's errand to mock you in front of your men while you're still so unproven."

Robb chuckled, "Your uncle Kingslayer taught you the ways of soldiers, did he?" he asked. "I'm not surprised."

"My uncle _Jaime_ taught me how to _lead_ soldiers," Lenora told him, emphasizing her words carefully. She was quiet for a minute, "Now, I'll ask you again, Robb, you do know that we're at war?"

"I don't want a war," Robb told her, his voice and eyes surprisingly honest. "I just want my father and sisters back."

Lenora nodded. "Well, my brother is not going to give them up without a fight. So, whatever you wanted you have a war. And the two people you are most likely to meet on the battlefield, my uncle and grandfather have a lot more experience at war than you do." Robb scoffed at that and despite herself Lenora found herself hoping that he was trying to seem brave, not that he was stupid enough to think that he could hold his own against them. She leaned closer to him, "Have you heard of the Reynes of Castamere?" she asked him, her voice quiet.

"The Lannister song?" Robb asked her, unimpressed. "Yes, I've heard it. Some of your mother's men got drunk and sang it at Winterfell when your family was there."

"No," Lenora told him, "Not the _Rains_ of Castamere, the _Reynes_." From the look on his face Lenora could tell that the young man across the table from her did not understand the distinction. She sighed, "How do you not know this story?" she asked him with a chuckle. "My siblings and I all knew this story by our fifth name day."

"You're Lannisters," Robb pointed out.

"And there were once Reynes," Lenora told him. "House Reyne of Castamere. Their sigil was a lion, a red one. Two cats, two different coats. Castamere was a mine, much like Casterly Rock and Lord Reyne was one of my great grandfather's bannermen. He perceived Tytos, my great grandfather, to be weak and his house rebelled against him. Tytos was too old, too frail to put down this rebellion so he sent his son against them."

"Tywin Lannister," Robb interrupted.

Lenora nodded, "Just so." She was quiet for a moment, "And unlike his father, Grandfather was ruthless and he was cunning, and he was far more intelligent than you. It did not take him long to make an example of them. My grandfather defeated the Red Lion of Castamere in a mere two months. When the rebellion was over Grandfather torched Castamere and had every member of House Reyne executed. Men, women, children. All of them. He hung their bodies from the gates of Casterly Rock as a reminder of what it meant to fight against Lannisters and he left them to rot all summer. That summer lasted many years."

"And this story is supposed to scare me?" Robb asked.

"It's not a story," Lenora told him. "It's a lesson. The Lannisters own Castamere now. There is no House Reyne." She paused for a moment to let that sink in, and then dropping her voice an octave, she added, "And now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear."

Robb watched her for a moment and Lenora finally thought that what she had said had sunk in. He was finally getting it. War against her uncle and her grandfather was not something to joke about. "Why?" he asked her, wondering why she had brought it up.

"You are marching to war against two men who know a lot more about it than you. You should not be wasting your time dining with me when you could be planning with your bannermen. What you're doing is no joke."

"Are you worried about me?" Robb asked, his tone almost playful. Though his blue eyes were serious. Whatever her answer to his question was, it mattered to him.

"Whatever your father has done, he was still like a brother to mine," Lenora told him with forced nonchalance and a shrug of her shoulders. "I cannot wish too much ill on you, no matter how much I long to be home with my family."

Robb nodded, but something darkened in his eyes, that was not the answer he had been hoping for. "As it is, I did not ask you to dine with me to avoid my bannermen. I would show you something." Lenora silently raised her eyebrows, wondering what Robb wanted her to see. He stood from his chair and walked around the table to her side, pulling something out of his pocket as he moved. It was a letter. "This arrived at Winterfell the morning we left," he told her.

He placed it on the table in front of her and allowed Lenora to lean over it to look at it. The parchment was creased and wrinkled and warn soft. He had held it and read it many times. She flipped it over before she read it and saw the Stark seal, "Sansa's handwriting?" she asked as she flipped the parchment back over to read.

"Aye," Robb told her with a nod. "But not her words."

Lenora's eyes darted across the page as she read it quickly, she recognized the style and the urgency. She was not blind to the threats that were made, despite the courteous language. "No," she whispered, "it wouldn't be her words, would it? It says so right here," her fingertip drummed on a passage about how she was in the queen's keeping and being well cared for. "They're my mother's."

Robb nodded, but said nothing as Lenora read the letter for a second time. "She calls for you and your mother to bend the knee to Joffrey in King's Landing. Once you've done that and returned me to my family Sansa can marry my brother." She bit her lip once she realized something.

"What?" Robb asked. "What is it that you see?" From the amount of times he had read this letter he must have known what she was about to say. Lenora had the feeling that this was some sort of test.

"It's what I don't see," she murmured, looking over the letter once more. "She does not mention Arya at all."

Robb nodded, he had expected her to find that. "Does that mean that your mother doesn't have her? Is Arya dead?"

Lenora shook her head, "Mother would tell you if Arya was dead or if she had her. Those are two knives that she would not be able to resist twisting in your heart. If she doesn't mention her it's because she does not know where Arya is or what may have happened to her. That's the best news this letter has to offer."

"Better than my sister getting to marry your brother?"

Lenora bit her tongue, physically forcing herself not to tell Robb how bad it would be for Sansa to marry Joffrey. He was her younger brother and a prick, but he was still her King. "There's something else," she said instead.

"What?" Robb asked, this time more urgently. Showing her this letter had been a test, but he hadn't been expecting two answers.

"She doesn't say what will happen to your father either way. Whether you go to King's Landing to bend the knee or not. There's no mention of what they will do to your father."

Robb's voice was determined, his jaw was set, his eyes hard. "We'll find out," he promised her. "If they want us in King's Landing then we will march all the way to King's Landing. And I'll cut off your brother's head while I'm there."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

His mother found them at Moat Cailin half a week later. The ruins had surprised Lenora when they first arrived. There had once been a wall as large and tall as Winterfell's that surrounded the stronghold, but that was almost gone now. The wooden keep had rotted away a thousand years ago. There were just three towers left standing, the Gatehouse Tower, the Drunkard's Tower, and the Children's Tower. "This is Moat Cailin?" she had asked him, her dark brown hair flying in the wind as she had turned her head from the ruins to Robb and back again. "Are you serious?" Robb had nodded, but Lenora had shaken her head. "Once my grandfather and I were playing a game, planning invasions on other regions of the Seven Kingdoms and Grandfather told me that you northerner's used Moat Cailin as a lynchpin, whoever held this, held the North."

"You planned invasions on the North and called it a game?" Robb had asked her, his eyebrows raised. He was not surprised though, this was Tywin Lannister and his granddaughter after all.

Lenora didn't answer his question, she just kept staring at the ruins before her, "He cannot have meant _this_ , though," she told him.

"Oh, he did," Robb had assured her. He climbed down from his horse and lifted the slender princess down from hers. He placed her in front of him, his left hand resting on her hip, his right arm reached around her to point at the ruins. "Those three towers, the ones still standing, if only barely, command the causeway from all sides. In order to get to the North beyond any enemy would need to pass between those towers."

"Why not around?" Lenora asked him, her voice had a somewhat breathless quality to it. He knew that she wasn't completely comfortable with how free and easy he was with the way he touched her. She never had been, even when she had been friendlier to him, she definitely wasn't now that she wasn't sure if he was her enemy or not. But she wasn't fighting him today and he would take what he could get from her.

"I suppose you could go around," Robb had told her. "But the bogs are full of quicksand and suckholes, teeming with snakes." She shuddered in his arms, the movement settling her further against his chest. Robb tightened his grip on her hip. "And if you mean to gain ownership of any of the towers you must first wade though a waist deep black muck, cross a moat full of lizard lions, and scale moss covered walls, all the while under fire from the other two towers."

"Is that all?" Lenora had asked, her tone holding a ghost of the playfulness he was once accostomed to.

He shrugged his shoulders, playfully indifferent, "They say when night falls there are ghosts. Cold, vengeful spirits of the North who hunger for southern blood."

Lenora sunk even further into his arms at that. "Where's a damn long sword when you need it?" she asked, no doubt thinking of the longswords that sat across the laps of the Lords of Winterfell in the crypt, keeping their ghosts at bay.

"Don't worry, My Lady," Robb had told her. "No harm will come to you while I am with you."

And he had kept his promise. She was safe with him and while they were there she never left his presence except to sleep.

His mother arrived without warning. He had made his seat in the Gatehouse tower. And when she arrived she found him there looking at maps and discussing tactics with Roose Bolton and the Greatjon, his other bannermen sitting around the table as well. Lenora was sitting on the floor by the fire, her skirts flaring out around her, with Grey Wind. She had a pile of shirts beside her that she was mending - earlier that morning she had gone to all of his lords bannermen and asked them if they had anything they needed mended; and now she was working on them while pretending not to listen to what they were discussing.

But Robb knew better. She never looked up from the shirt she was working on, but every so often her brow would furrow or she would pull on her sewing silk a little too tightly, unable to hide her opinions of what they were saying, even if it would have been wiser to do so.

She and Grey Wind both looked up when his mother entered the room though. It was probably her movement that caught the attention of the men in the room, more than his mother's. One by one the lords became silent. And Robb looked up, worried that something had happened to Lenora. Instead he saw his mother at the door, "Mother?" he asked, his voice thick as his direwolf stood from the ground to greet the woman.

She leaned forward slightly, as if to run to him, but she stayed where she was, "You've grown a beard," she told him in greeting.

Lenora smiled as she looked between the mother and son. Robb nodded, "Yes," he told her, reaching up to run his fingers over the stubble that covered his chin and some of his cheeks. Their first night at Moat Cailin Lenora had run her fingers through the hair and commented that his beard was more red than the hair on his head.

Catelyn nodded, "I like it," she told him. "It makes you look like my brother, Edmure."

Lenora had said that too, that he looked more like a Tully with the beard.

One by one the men greeted Catelyn. It had been long since many of them had seen her, but they were all as friendly as if it had been a matter of weeks. "My Lady, a question, if you please," Lord Bolton began once he had greeted her. Roose Bolton always spoke in a quiet voice, but when he spoke, even the loud Greatjon quieted to listen. "It is said that you hold Lord Tywin's dwarf son as a captive. Have you brought him to us? I vow, we should make good use of such a hostage."

Robb watched as Lenora tensed from her spot on the floor. He did his best to ensure that he and his bannermen treated her like a guest, not a hostage, but he knew that she understood what she was. She knew that when his bannermen looked at her most of them saw something the could use against her grandfather and mother.

Catelyn's eyes flicked toward the girl on the floor too, "I did hold Tyrion Lannister, but no longer," she admitted. Robb could not have been the only one to notice Lenora's quiet sigh of relief or the way her shoulders instantly relaxed. The men around him did not share her joy at the news. "I was no more pleased than you, my Lords," Catelyn told them. "But the Gods saw fit to free him, with some help from my fool sister." The men wanted to question her more, but Catelyn had interrupted their questions by requesting to speak to her son alone.

Lenora had been the first one to move. She stood from the floor and turned toward the men surrounding the table. "Greatjon," she told him, turning to look at the large man. "I believe that you were going to teach me how to jump a horse today, were you not?"

"Aye, My Lady," the Greatjon agreed. "I did agree to that did I not?" The Greatjon bowed to Catelyn before held his arm out to Lenora so that he could escort her from the tower. Lenora nodded to the large man and curtsied to Catelyn before she allowed the lord to lead her out of the room. Once the two of them were gone the rest of the lords and Theon left too.

Robb stayed at his place at the head of the table as Catelyn moved further into the room, studying him. "When I left Winterfell you were acting the Lord," Catelyn told him, her voice shaking slightly. "And that was almost too much. Now I find you planning a war."

"There was no one else," Robb told her.

"No one else?" Catelyn echoed, "And who were those men that were just in this room?"

"They aren't Starks."

"They are _men_." She moved closer to her son, finally embracing him now that they were alone. "I still remember the day you were born," she told him. "Red faced and screaming. And now, here you are. Can you not see what I fear?"

Robb nodded, "Aye Mother," he told her. "I can see what you fear. But it is too late now. One day these men will be my true bannermen, they will need to respect me. I cannot run and hide now."

"No you cannot," Catelyn agreed, her voice quiet and sad. She moved away from her son so that she could pour herself a horn of ale.

Robb moved closer to the fire, he grabbed a piece of parchment off the mantle, Sansa's letter. "You've heard about father," he said, a statement not a question.

Catelyn nodded, "Lysa received word at the Eyrie before I left. Have you heard anything of the girls?"

Robb handed his mother his letter. "I received this letter the day we left Winterfell. There was one for you too, but had not imagined seeing you at camp so I did not bring it. Read it, Gods know that I've read it enough to have it memorized."

He dropped himself into a chair by the fire and stroked Grey Wind's head as he watched his mother read the letter. It did not take her long to finish. "This is Cersei's letter, not Sansa's," she told him and he nodded. "But the real message is in what it does not say, she may be taken care of, but she is the queen's hostage."

"She doesn't mention Arya," Robb pointed out. "I had hoped that if you still held the Imp we could have traded him and Lenora for father and the girls." He shook his head and looked away from her. "What are we going to do, Mother?" he asked her. "I've brought an army together and I mean to march on King's Landing, but ..." his voice trailed off, unsure of what to say next.

Catelyn studied him for a moment, her son hadn't just brought an army together, he needed to lead them. He needed to be brave. "What are you afraid of, Robb?" she asked him.

"I'm afraid that we'll lose," her son told her. "I'm afraid that even if we win - the Lannisters hold Father and Sansa, no one has any idea where Arya is. I'm afraid they will kill them."

"They certainly want us to think that," Catelyn murmured.

"You think they're lying?" Robb asked.

Catelyn was quiet for a moment before she nodded, "As long as we have Lenora Cersei will not harm your father or sister. As much as she means to control you by keeping them hostage a lioness will always protect her cubs. If we have Lenora your sister and father will be safe."

"So sending her back to King's Landing as a sign of good faith would be stupid?" Robb asked, his tone lighter than the situation called for. He had thought about it during the ride from Winterfell, but even Lenora had told him it would be stupid. The girl was a mystery to him, she desperately wanted to go home to King's Landing, but she seemed to refuse to do it at the expense of his sister and father.

"Did Lenora suggest that?" Catelyn asked, suspicious.

Robb shook his head, "She told me not to be a fool when I did."

Catelyn nodded, at least one of them had a head for war. "Tell me what you know of the fighting in the Riverlands," she commanded, testing him. "What _you_ know, not what Lenora has told you."

Robb nodded and filled her in on what had been happening. Jaime Lannister had been fighting battles beneath the Golden Tooth, closing in on Riverrun. Before Ned had been arrested he had sent men from King's Landing under the King's banner to put a stop to it, but they had been beaten back. Tywin Lannister had closed the King's Road and was marching north to Harrenhal, burning everything in his path. _Just like her story_ , he realized, thinking of the warning Lenora had given him in the form of her story about Castamere.

"You mean to meet him here?" Catelyn asked, meaning Tywin.

Robb shrugged his right shoulder, "If he comes this far North. But the Lords Bannermen think he won't. He's too smart for that. He will stay near the Trident, taking out castle by castle of the river lords until Riverrun stands alone. We will have to march south to take him on."

"Marching is all very well," Catelyn told him. "But to where? And for what purpose."

"The Greatjon thinks that we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and surprise him. The Glovers and the Karstarks tell me we should join Uncle Edmure at Riverrun and help hold off the Kingslayer."

"And what do you think?" Catelyn asked him.

Robb smiled, Lenora had asked him the same thing the night before. He stood from his chair and gestured for his mother to follow him to the table with the maps. There were wooden pieces all over the largest map of Westeros, each piece the carved sigil of one of the great houses, signifying where their army stood. "Each plan has its own virtues," he told his mother. "But Lenora pointed out last night that if we try to swing around Lord Tywin's host, we take the risk of being caught between him and the Kingslayer. And if we attack him ... by all reports he has more men than I do. The Greatjon says that it won't much matter if we catch him with his breeches down, but after everything Lenora has told me about Lord Tywin, I don't believe that a man who has seen as many battles as he has will be easily caught by surprise."

Catelyn raised her eyebrows, "Lenora has sat in on your strategy meetings?" she asked him, surprised.

Robb nodded, "She's not allowed to send ravens. I've kept her away from any couriers who might be bribed to carry a message for her."

"But why would she help you? Be smart about her, Robb."

"I am," Robb told her, his voice sharp. "I have spent more time with Lenora than you have. I think that she offers help because she can't keep her mouth shut. She told me once about how she and Lord Tywin used to play a game, devising attack strategies on great houses in the Seven Kingdoms. Until it actually comes to a battle and becomes real to her these strategy scenarios are just like that game to her, a chance to stretch her mind."

"A game that puts your life in danger," Catelyn pointed out.

Robb nodded, "Which is why she does not know what I have planned."

"And what is that?" Catelyn asked.

Robb pointed at the map again, "I'd leave a small host here to hold the moat, mostly archers and march the rest down the causeway. But once we're below the neck I would split my host in two. The foot would continue down the King's Road while our horsemen cross the Green Fork at the Twins." He moved the wooden pieces on the map to demonstrate what he meant. "Lord Tywin will march north on the King's Road when he hears word that we are headed south. He won't know that our riders will be hurrying down the west bank to Riverrun."

"You'd put a river between the two halves of your army?" Catelyn asked, her eyebrows raised.

"And between Lord Tywin and the Kingslayer," Robb told her with a grin. He pointed at the Green Fork river on the map. "There's no crossing the Green Fork above the Ruby Ford. Not until the Twins, and Lord Frey controls the bridge. He is your father's bannerman, isn't he?"

Catelyn nodded, "He is," she told him. "But my father has never trusted him, you would be wise not to either."

"I won't," Robb promised her.

"Which force would you command?"

"The horse," Robb told her.

His mother smiled ruefully as she nodded, "That was your father's way too," she told him. "Ned would always take the more dangerous task himself. The other?"

"Roose Bolton," Robb told her. "He's cunning and smart, a good match for Lord Tywin." Catelyn nodded to him, his plan was a good one. She was proud of him. Robb began to take the wooden pieces off the map and place them in their carrying box, he rolled up the map. "I'll give the commands and assemble an escort to take you home to Winterfell."

Catelyn shook her head, it hadn't occurred to her until that moment that she would not return to her youngest boys at Winterfell. "I'm not going to Winterfell," she told her son. "My father may be dying behind the walls of Riverrun. My brother is surrounded by foes. I must go to them."

Robb nodded, "Then we shall take you there, Mother," he promised her.

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** Damn, I must really like you guys. Another new chapter today.  
I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, show that box down there some review love. It's a bit lonely.  
Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter, this update is for the two of you. You're wonderful.  
 **DannyBlack70** : It was a tense chapter. So I softened them a bit here, though ... he's making plans to march on both her grandfather and her uncle so I'm not sure how long this softness will last. I hope you enjoyed this chapter dear!  
 **Arianna Le Fay** : Don't worry, she will find her own ways to punish him. Though she's more likely to verbally put him in his place like she did in this chapter than to beat the crap out of him. She is Tyrion's niece as well, after all.  
Once again, thanks for reading guys!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	15. Chapter Fifteen: A Lion Among Wolves

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen: A Lion Among Wolves**

 _Tyrion_

"Kind of you to go to war for me," Tyrion greeted his father, climbing into a chair and pouring himself a goblet of his father's ale. A small part of his heart felt heavy, when he was younger he would have wished for more of a reaction from his father upon his return, but now he knew better.

His father neither looked surprised that Tyrion had returned to him after being held captive in the Eyrie or particularly thrilled that his son had returned. He did not ask questions, he did not care to know of Tyrion's experiences. He did not want to waste a second more than was needed on his son.

"By my lights it was you who started this war," Tywin replied without looking up at his son. "Jaime would have never allowed a woman to capture him so easily."

Tyrion nodded, he was used to being compared to his elder brother, this comparison no longer stung the way it used to. "That's one way we differ, Jaime and I. He's taller as well, you may have noticed."

His father did not raise to the bait, "The honor of our House was at stake," he told his son. "I had no choice but to ride. No man sheds Lannister blood with impunity."

" _Hear me roar_ ," Tyrion said, raising his cup to his father with a grin before he took a large sip. "How is your war going?" he asked once he had put the cup down.

"Well enough," his uncle Kevan told him before explaining how he and Tywin had been able to destroy most of the troops that Edmure Tully had sent out to stop their raiding his lands. His father cut in and explained to him that Jaime had beaten Lords Vance and Piper at the Golden Tooth and battled with the Tullys outside Riverrun. The survivors had run back to Riverrun and Jaime had taken Ser Edmure as a hostage. Raventree had fallen and Harrenhal yielded. Only the Mallisters, Freys, Arryns, and Starks stood against them.

"No matter," his father had told him. "Frey only takes the field when the scent of victory is in the air, and all he smells now is ruin. Mallister lacks strength to fight on his own. As soon as Jaime takes Riverrun they will bend the knee quickly enough. As long as the Arryns and the Starks do not oppose us, this war is as good as won."

"Do not fret over the Arryns," Tyrion told him, remembering his time at the Eyrie. He had had limited interactions with Lysa Arryn when her husband had been Hand of the King in King's Landing, but even he could see how she had changed after her Jon Arryn's death. Something had snapped in her mind, she was not well, and she would not dream of leaving the Eyrie where she and her son were safe. No, the Knights of the Vale would not willingly join the fight any time soon. "The Stars are another matter. Lord Eddard -"

"Is our hostage," Tywin bit out, his voice sharp. "He will lead no armies while he rots in a dungeon under the Red Keep."

"No," Ser Kevan agreed, "but his son has called the banners and sits at Moat Cailin with a strong host around him."

"No sword is strong until it has been tempered," Tywin declared. "The Stark boy is a child."

"You were an untempered sword once too, Father," Tyrion pointed out, taking another sip of his ale. "At Castamere, you will remember. And you had less of a motivation than the Stark son." He was quiet for a moment then he realized what no one had said. "And what of Lenora?" he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between his father and his uncle. "She has been returned to King's Landing," he assumed. "Under the pretense of attending the King's funeral, but she will not be returned to the Starks, I am certain."

His uncle looked down at the table in front of him and Tywin's fist clenched. "The girl is still with the Starks," he told his son, his voice even harder than it had been before. "Not only has the Stark boy not returned her to her family, but he's dragged her with him as he marches south. She is with him now at Moat Cailin, a hostage.'

Tyrion's eyebrows raised, "I see," he told his father. "So this war was not started for me after all, it is for Lenora." He nodded, "That's better, saves me the worry that you have suddenly decided to care for me, Lord Father." He drained the remaining ale in his cup and poured himself some more. "And what is our fearless monarch doing whilst all this is being done? How has my lovely sister gotten Robert to agree to the imprisonment of his dear friend, Ned?"

"Robert Baratheon is dead," Tywin told him without a blink of an eye. "Your nephew reigns in King's Landing."

"My sister, you mean," Tyrion joked to hide his surprise. This was not at all what he had expected, especially in such a short time.

Tywin neither argued with him nor agreed with him. He told Tyrion that since he had arrived they might as well make use of him. His father proposed to give him fifty men to deal with some men that Ned Stark had sent after Tywin's host before he had been arrested. Tyrion had chuckled at that and made a joke of it before telling his father that as much as he would like to help him during his war he had some debts he needed to repay first.

As if on cue his tribesmen crashed through the door, demanding to know where the little lion was with what he had promised them. Ser Kevan looked as though he had wet himself in surprise. Tywin raised a single eyebrow and waited silently for Tyrion to explain. "The fair maid is Chella daughter of Cheyk of the Black Ears. This is Conn son of Coratt and Shagga son of Dolf, they are both Stone Crows. Ulf son of Ulmar of the Moon Brothers. And Timett son of Timett, a red hand of the Burned Men," he introduced them each to his father, finally ending with Bronn, his sellsword.

Lord Tywin stood and was surprisingly gracious when he greeted the savages standing before him. "Even in the west we have heard of the prowess of the warrior clans of the Moon Mountains. What brings you south of your strongholds, my Lords?"

Tyrion started to explain how the tribesmen had ambushed Bronn and himself on their way from the Eyrie and how he had promised them riches and the destruction of the Vale if they saw him safely back to his father, but he was interrupted when the door to the room opened again and a young messenger walked in, quickly dropping to his knee in front of Tywin.

"My Lord," he began, without daring to look up from the floor. "Ser Addam bid me tell you that the Stark host is moving down the causeway."

Tywin did not smile, but his voice held the smug sound of satisfaction, "So the wolfling is leaving his den to play among the lions? Excellent. Return to Ser Addam immediately, tell him to draw back. He is not to engage the Starks until I have arrived, but he is to harass their flanks, draw them further south."

"It would be better to wait here," Ser Kevan suggested. "Bring him all the way to us."

Tywin shook his head at his brother, "The boy may hang back or lose courage if we make him wait too long to meet us. We need to break him now. The sooner the Starks are broken the sooner I can head south to deal with Stannis Baratheon."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows again, another surprise. The Stark boy was not the only one rebelling against the new king, interesting.

Once the messenger had left Tywin turned to Tyrion's mountain men. "Ride with me against my enemies," he offered them, "and you shall have all my son promised you and more." The wild men seemed reluctant to join him, but Tywin had always been a skilled negotiator, today was no different. "The men of the winterlands are made of iron and ice," he told them, "even my boldest knights fear to face them."

"The Burned Men fear nothing," Timett interjected.

"Wherever the Burned Men go, the Stone Crows have been there first," Conn declared. "We ride as well."

"Shagga son of Dolf will chop off their manhoods and feed them to the crows."

"We will ride with you, lion lord," Chella told Tywin, her eyes landing on Tyrion, "but only if the halfman goes with us. He has bought his breath with promises and until we hold the steel he has pledged us his life is ours."

"Joy," Tyrion said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It was only now that he realized that he would be going to war.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Their ride south to the Twins was not a leisurely one. Robb had his men ride and march hard and fast. Several hundred miles lay between Moat Cailin and the Twins and Robb meant to cover that distance in little more than a fortnight.

They had almost reached the twins, having made it within Robb's timeline, and Lenora could already feel herself adapting to her new lifestyle. When her family had traveled north to Winterfell she had barely managed riding a few hours straight before she had needed a break from her horse. When Robb first started his march south she would ride the entire day, too proud to admit that she needed a break, but she would be sore during the evenings.

Now, she could easily keep up with Robb at the front of the column and when it was time to stop for the day she would jump off her horse with nothing but a slight soreness in her muscles. Her body had changed too, whatever softness there had been to her body was gone now. She had always been slender, but now she was hard. Her stomach was flatter - even without a corset, her muscles more defined, her hair long and windblown, her skin darker from the late summer sun. If her mother could see her now she would have been horrified. Lenora no longer looked like a princess from King's Landing, she looked like a warrior queen, Nymeria reincarnated in the North.

Robb and his men did not seem to mind. If anything Lenora caught the men's eyes on her more often now than she had before. She spent her days riding, sometimes with Robb at the front of the column beneath the snow white banner of House Stark, sometimes with Lady Catelyn, or the Greatjon, sometimes with Hallis Mollen, and sometimes she would lead Ser Willum through the ranks of the marching soldiers. Her presence among them seemed to spur the marcher to move faster. Robb told her that on the days she rode among the marchers they marched further than when she didn't.

If these had been her men and they had been marching to an honorable battle this would have encouraged Lenora. But they weren't her men. And they were marching to fight her grandfather. Lenora did not feel well about hurrying these men to their deaths. This was not the foot soldiers' war, they were forced to be here, she felt horrible knowing that so many of them would die for a cause that was not their own.

Once they reached the Twins they set up camp on the bank of the Green Fork just north of Lord Frey's stronghold. Lenora dismounted from Casterly and patted the horse's back as a stable boy led her horse away to feed and water him. As the horse moved away from her she looked up to see Robb standing just ten feet in front of her, watching her carefully.

She raised her eyebrows, silently asking him what he was looking at. He smiled at her and moved closer. "We will rest here for a time," he told her, gesturing toward the tents that were being quickly erected. "At least until Lord Frey agrees to let us pass. Then we will continue the march."

Lenora nodded and shielding her eyes against the late afternoon sun looked toward Frey's castle. "I've never met Lord Frey," she told him as she started to walk toward where she could see her tent being set up. "Is it true that he has nearly one hundred children?"

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "I've never sat down to count them all," he told her, "but he is near ninety and he has had many young wives."

Lenora nodded, pursing her lips as she thought. "One of his sons is married to my grandfather's sister," she told him. "Grandfather never had much respect for him. Wouldn't trust him with anything worth having at least." She smiled grimly, wondering what that mean about Tywin Lannister's view of his sister.

Robb nodded, "My mother's father feels the same way," he told her. "Which is why I won't be trusting him."

"And how, pray tell, will you get his bridge then?" Lenora asked, looking past the castle to the bridge that linked the castle on the other side of the Green Fork, also belonging to Lord Frey. There was a reason he was called the Lord of the Twins.

Robb shrugged, "I don't know," he told her, "at least not yet. My mother will meet with him tomorrow to discuss an arrangement. I meant to speak with him myself, but Lord Bolton told me that if I went in alone Walder Frey would be more likely to sell me to your grandfather than to let us cross his bridge."

Lenora nodded thoughtfully, "Grandfather did always say that Walder Frey felt no allegiance to his liege lord. Lord Frey only looks out for Lord Frey and right now my grandfather has better odds than you do. Walder Frey is sure to know that."

Robb watched Lenora for a moment, his eyes tracing the furrow in her brow. "What are you thinking, Nora?" he asked her as she lifted her hand to her mouth and began to chew thoughtfully on one of her fingernails.

Lenora turned to look at him and shrugged her shoulders, "I'm thinking about history," she told him softly.

"What history?" Robb asked.

"The Frey's have guarded this crossing for six hundred years," she told him, nodding toward the bridge that spanned the large, deep river. "Grandfather says that in those six hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll. I'm just wondering what the cost will be this time."

...

The next evening found Lenora seated at a fire surrounded by Karstark soldiers. Ser Willum stood behind her, his body looked relaxed though the set of his shoulders was tense. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it if need be. Lenora had teased him and told him that if she were going to run it would not be while surrounded by Karstark soldiers and Willum had surprised her, "I am not worried about you running, My Lady," he told her, his eyes tense as he watched the men around her.

"These men are not lords or the sons of lords or knights. They will not look at your honor as something that should be protected."

Lenora understood what he meant right away and while it frightened her a bit she was not about to let him know these men scared her. "I know that, Ser Willum," she told him, her voice teasing as she turned to smile at the soldiers around the fire. "That's what makes them more interesting."

She had eaten her supper with them and they had told her stories, northern stories of war and winter that she had never heard down in King's Landing. She had delighted in them. And when the men seemed to run out of stories they asked her for one. She had heaved out a sigh as if she was disappointed. "I'm afraid that none of my stories will live up to yours," she told them, wrapping her arms around her legs and hugging them closer to her. "But I do have a song."

"A song?" one of the men asked her, he poured ale in his horn. "It's not a hymn about the Seven is it?" Lenora shook her head, "Then let's hear it, little bird," the soldier told her, offering his ale up to her.

Lenora waved his offer off and turned to Ser Willum, requesting a goblet of wine instead. Ser Willum looked uncomfortable, there was no wine near their fire and he wasn't about to leave her unguarded with the men. They were both surprised when Robb's voice called out from the other side of fire, "Go Ser Willum, I'll watch the Princess."

"My Lord," Ser Willum agreed with a nod before he quickly left the fire.

Lenora squinted through the smoke at Robb for a moment and nodded to him before she looked around at the other men surrounding the fire. "It's a southern song," she told them. "A Dornish snake charmer came to the Red Keep for my brother's fifth nameday and he was all very well behaved until my mother, my siblings, and I left the hall at the end of the evening. Then the charmer got drunk and sang this song while charming that poisonous snake of his to dance to it. My mother didn't know that I had snuck out of bed and back down to the hall with my father and my uncles. It's called _The Dornishman's Wife_ , do you know it?"

The men all shook their heads, "Good," Lenora told them with a nod. "The snake charmer taught it to me and now I will teach it to you. Though, keep in mind, the song is really just about the end."

She sat up a little straighter on the log that she was sitting on and then she started to sing.

"The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,  
and her kisses were warmer than spring.  
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,  
and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,  
in a voice that was sweet as a peach.  
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,  
and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,  
and the taste of blood on his tongue,  
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer  
and he smiled and he laughed and he sung.

Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,  
the Dornishman's taken my life.  
But what does it matter, for all men must die,  
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"

The men around the fire all burst out laughing and clapping as she reached the end of the song. Lenora laughed too, she hadn't been lying when she had told him that the best part of the song was the end. Several of the men cried out for her to sing the song again. She had shaken her head, but she would sing the last stanza again as long as they joined her.

"Brothers, or brothers, my days here are done,  
the Dornishman's taken my life.  
But what does it matter, for all men must die,  
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife - I have!  
I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"

She heard the men laugh, one of them announced that she was much more fun that he had imagined a princess to be. She decided to take that as a compliment. Robb was by her side, at some point during the song he had moved around the fire until he was standing behind her. He bent down, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "Come with me."

For a moment Lenora thought of saying no to him. There had been a reason that she had dragged Ser Willum among the marching foot soldiers over the last fortnight. There was a reason she was sitting with lowborn Karstark men now listening to northern ghost stories and singing southern ribald songs. She wanted the common soldiers on her side so that when/if she decided to try to escape they wouldn't stop her. At the same time Ser Willum's warning about her honor still played in her head. One song would not make them love her, Robb was still very much keeping her alive and unharmed. She'd do best not to anger him.

So instead she nodded and held out her hand to the man so that he could raise her up from the log she had been sitting on. The men around her groaned in disappointment and Lenora smiled at them as she threw her arms out to her sides and sank into a mock, playful bow. The men cheered and clapped and began to sing their new song. Lenora could hear their rousing chorus as Robb led her away.

Robb chuckled and shook his head, his hands clasped behind his back as he steered her toward his tent. "What business does a princess of the Seven Kingdoms have knowing that song?" he asked her.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, her left hand held her skirts off the ground so that she could walk faster, her right hand reached up to brush some of her hair out of her eyes. "When I was younger I told my father that the last thing I wanted was to be a princess. He asked me what I wanted to be and I told him I would be an innkeeper. And I would sing this song every night."

Robb laughed and shook his head, "What an appropriate song for a woman in-keep."

"I never said it was appropriate," Lenora defended. "I said it was _fun_."

Robb was quiet for a moment. "I was surprised that you didn't tell them about House Reyne and Castamere."

Lenora's eyes narrowed, "They will be at battle with my grandfather and his forces within a month," she told him. "Many of them will die. Why should I scare them with that now?"

They were at Robb's tent now. He pulled the flap aside and held it open so that she could walk under his arm and enter. There was a squire boy, one of Lord Tallhart's boys, in the tent, he had just finished pouring them each a goblet of wine. He bowed quickly to the two of them and all but ran from the tent.

Robb handed her glass to her and Lenora held it high for a moment, a sarcastic toast before she took a large sip from it. She looked around his tent, her eyes lighting on something new. It was a large wooden table, carved in the shape of the Seven Kingdoms. There were wooden pieces all over it, house sigils marking where various troops were.

She walked closer to the table, her goblet in her right hand, her left hand tailing over the grooves and ridges in the wood, marking forests, rivers, mountains. She felt Robb's eyes on her, but she did not look up. Her hand stalled for a moment at where King's landing was, she thought of her mother and her siblings and how much she longed to be near them. She shook her head ruefully, "My family must be so worried about me," she whispered, more to herself than to Robb, "and here I am singing drinking songs with men who mean to kill them." She took a large sip of the wine, smiling darkly as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. She had never been much for drinking, but now she felt as though she needed to.

Her eyes traveled the table and landed on one of the lion carvings near Riverrun. "Uncle Jaime," she whispered as she picked the piece up. Robb planned to march on Tywin first and then go after her uncle, at least that's what he told her. Either way, her rescue was not long off. She placed her goblet down on the table and reached out to grab one of the carvings of a direwolf. She held them each in separate hands. The lion and the direwolf, at one point not long ago they were to both be her family. Now she was a single lion surrounded by wolves.

She turned to look at Robb, "This is lovely," she told him, nodding toward the table. "Truly."

Robb nodded, "It was a gift from Lady Mormont," he told her, "from bear island."

Lenora nodded and moved away from the table, she still had not put down the wooden pieces in her hands. She took a seat near the fire. "I'm sure you did not bring me here just to show me your new table," she pointed out "Why am I here, Robb?"

"My mother has returned," Robb told her. "Lord Frey has finally named his price for letting us use the Crossing."

"And what is it?" Lenora asked him, wondering what this could have to do with her. Why would Robb need to tell her the price?

"He will give us the crossing and his men, less the four hundred that he will keep here to guard against the Lannisters. I will leave four hundred men of mine here as well to ensure that Frey stays faithful. He asks that two of his grandsons travel north to Winterfell, they will be my mother's wards. They're both named Walder, it would seem."

Lenora chuckled, "Very original," she joked. "I assume they were named by two of his sons, trying to gain favor with their father?"

"No doubt," Robb agreed with a nod.

"That can't be all," Lenora told him. "Walder Frey would never take such a personal risk to grant your crossing for that. What else?"

"Smart girl," Robb praised her. "His son Olyvar will be coming south with us. He is to be my personal squire. Frey hinted that he expected a knighthood for his son at some point."

"And?" Lenora asked, knowing that there must still be more.

"Arya, should we get her back safely, will marry his youngest son, I don't remember his name, once they both come of age. "

Lenora laughed out loud at that, "I only knew your sister for a short time and even I know that she will not be pleased with that." Lenora was quiet for a moment, "If Lord Frey handled all potential crossing deals like this he would have no unmarried children left," she joked.

Robb did not smile as he nodded, "And," he said.

"And?" Lenora asked, sitting up straighter in her seat. "What more could there be?"

"As you said Walder Frey would never take a large personal risk for so little a price," Robb told her.

"And what, Robb?" Lenora asked him, her voice hard. He was stalling which could only mean one thing: she was not going to like what she heard next.

"And, should they live through the war, your sister Myrcella is promised to one of his younger sons," Robb told her. "And Tommen will marry a daughter, he has many and will give the boy his choice."

Lenora was out of her seat before she could stop herself, her fists clenched around the wood pieces, she could feel the wood biting into her hands, but she did not care. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Robb, "And have you agreed to this?" she growled at him.

Robb nodded, "I sent a messenger to him an hour ago."

"They are not yours to give," Lenora told him, her fists clenching tighter. "Even if you were to win this war, which I find very unlikely, they are not yours to do with what you please. You do not have the right to give them to anyone, least of all to sell them to the likes of Walder Frey!"

Robb bristled at her reprimand. He had known she wouldn't like what he had to say, but he had expected her to cry, not to yell at him. "What else was I supposed to do, Nora?" he asked her. "Give you to the man?"

Lenora's hair flew as she turned to look at him, "What do you mean?" she asked him.

"He wanted you for the crossing," Robb told her. "My mother sent out one of his bastard sons out as a messenger with that early this afternoon. He wanted me to marry one of his daughters and for you to be his new bride."

"He has a wife," Lenora bit out, her head spinning as she dropped herself down into her chair again. Her legs were shaking so much from her anger that she could not stand.

"He was more than willing to set her aside for you, Nora," Robb told her. "Would you like that? To be trapped here at the Twins. Wedded and bedded, many times over, by an old man. To be forced to give him sons and daughters that he names Walder and Walda? Because that was the future that he wanted for you."

Lenora had felt the blood drain from her face at the words _wedded and bedded_. That was the last thing she wanted. What she wanted was to be back with her family. Unbidden she felt tears fill her eyes, "They're but children," she whispered, trying to change his mind.

"It was them or you, Nora," he told her, his voice tense and urgent. "And I would never give you to him. I would never leave you here. I couldn't. So I told him no and offered up Myrcella and Tommen instead." He shook his head, "I couldn't give him you."

"Because I'm too valuable of a hostage?" she snarled at him, standing again from her chair. She had been stupid over the last few days to hope that maybe he had started to change his mind about her. She was a hostage, a valuable one, much too important to leave with Walder Frey.

"No," Robb practically yelled at her, so desperate to make her see the truth. "Because I care too much for you."

"But not for my family," Lenora pointed out. "If you really cared for me you would care for them too. They're children, they need to be protected, not traded to Walder Frey so that you can cross his fucking bridge!" Her legs were still shaking and this time she wasn't able to reach her chair before they gave out. She fell to the floor, her skirts billowing around her and her tears spilling from her eyes and running down her cheeks.

Robb looked down at her and for a moment she saw pity flit across his features before his face hardened, "I am sorry to tell you this, Love," he told her, "Gods know I sorry." He did not look very sorry though, his mind had been made up and no amount of her tears was going to change it. "But the truth of the matter is that what happens to your sister and brother is no longer up to you. If I win this war, as unlikely as you say it is, they will be worth nothing. You think that I will march on your brother in King's Landing, get my father and sisters back and just head home to Winterfell?" He shook his head, "No, I will take Joffrey's head for my troubles before I do. And then you and your siblings will be nothing more than the disgraced siblings of a dead king. Considering what they will become, a marriage to a Frey will be far better than they deserve."

Lenora nodded, "If that's true, than I'm not worth more either. Why not just give me to Frey while you're at it."

"Because I mean to keep you for myself," Robb told her, finally revealing to the girl in front of him that he meant to keep their betrothal. "And so, you see, as your Lord Husband, Myrcella and Tommen will be mine to give away as I see fit."

More tears slipped down her cheeks as Lenora looked up at the man, the one she might have loved at one point, but could not love now. "The Lord of Winterfell could do much better than the disgraced older sister of a dead king," she whispered, parroting his words back to him.

"Aye," Robb told her with a nod. "But I gave our fathers and you my word. I will not break it."

Lenora stood up from where she had been on the floor, looking down at the wooden direwolf and lion pieces in her hands. So she was still to be a direwolf, after all. She walked toward the map table, "I don't know where these go," she told him, gesturing to the two pieces in her hand. Robb told her to put them wherever she wanted. Without thinking she put them side by side near Riverrun.

She was too upset to notice the way Robb's eyes widened slightly at this.

She missed the way he moved quickly to the table and grabbed the wolf piece, placing it back with the rest of the sigils of his bannermen.

She grabbed her goblet off the table and drained the wine in one long draw. She turned away from Robb and walked toward the doorway of his tent. She turned to look at him again before she left. "You gave me your word that you would not hurt me," she told him, her voice cold as ice. "I see that you mean to break that one, at least." And then before Robb could defend himself she left his tent.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

After Lenora had left Robb threw his goblet, still full of wine, against the wall of his tent. That conversation had gone much worse than he had expected. He had known that Lenora would not be happy at the news, but he had not expected her to get that upset with him. Over the weeks of riding from Winterfell she and he had fallen into a sort a peace. She made it clear that she did not like being his hostage, but she didn't fight him too much. And she did not try to run.

That time was over now. She wouldn't be easy on him, she would fight him on everything. He called out to the squire, the Tallhart boy and told him to bring a message to Ser Willum, to tell the knight to keep a close watch on the princess from now on.

"Aye, My Lord," the boy had told him. Then he handed him two scrolls of parchment, one had been opened and one remained sealed. "These come from Lord Frey. The sealed one is from him, the unsealed one was sent to him, but he means for you to see it."

Robb nodded and took the scrolls of parchment from the boy before he sent him on his way to find Ser Willum. He opened the sealed scroll from Lord Frey before the other one, though once he read it he realized he had looked at the opened scroll first.

Frey's letter told him that he believed that Robb had not known the contents of the first scroll and that he had made their deal in good faith. Frey told him that he would agree to hold up his end of the bargain as long as Robb promised to find one of his close relatives to marry one of Frey's daughters as well.

Robb raised his eyebrows, wondering what had made Frey add that to their bargain after it had already been agreed to. He unrolled the unsealed parchment and read:

 _All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left but one trueborn issue of his body, the princess Lenora. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Queen Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime, called Kingslayer._  
 _As King Robert's one trueborn child is a girl and unfit to rule, by right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty._  
 _Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms._

Robb wished he had not throne his wine away now. But Frey was right, he had not known that Tommen and Myrcella were bastards when he had struck their deal. He clenched his fist around the letter from Stannis and left his tent quickly looking for his mother, of course they would agree with Frey's additional demand, he wondered who is mother would suggest for the match with Frey's daughter.

He briefly thought of sharing the letter with Lenora, but he changed his mind. He had hurt the girl enough for one night, this news could wait.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Hey friends, just you friendly neighborhood fanfiction writer. Out with another chapter for you. (I do spoil you don't I? This will be the fifth update this week!)  
Well I hope you enjoyed it, I particularly liked this one. Especially the song, I don't know if you guys have been able to see it yet, but I really enjoy adding songs and lore into this story. There's just so much in the ASOIAF universe to draw from and I get to pick and choose my favorites.  
Just like you! What was your favorite part of this chapter? Drop a note about it in that handy little review box down there! You know those make my day!  
Thanks to those who commented on the last chapter, as always. You are all wonderful people (just in case you were wondering)!  
 **ZabuzasGirl:** Glad you enjoyed it!  
 **RHatch89:** Hello new review friend! Welcome to the cool table, we wear pink on Wednesdays! Anyway, glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.  
 **HPuni101:** Another cool new kid to join the Review Group! In addition to wearing pink on Wednesdays we also don't talk about Fight Club! But we do talk about how much I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!  
That's all I've got for now! Maybe we'll see each other again tomorrow.  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Blood, Sweat and Tears

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me.)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more.  
_

 _-.-.-.-.-_

So usually I answer reviews at the end of the chapter, but the wonderful **RHatch89** had a question that I figured the answer would be useful for everyone. So I'm going to answer it up here. The question was, **"As Robert's only heir wouldn't Lenora be first in line for the throne? Robb marrying her would only strengthen their ties together."  
** And as answer for that I have two examples of where my mind is going. One from history and one from GoT.  
 **First history** : Henry VIII is my favorite English King. There is just something completely wonderful about a man who has a pattern for getting rid of his wives (divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, died). Anyway, his first wife Catherine gave him a daughter, Mary. And no other living children. Before Henry decided to completely piss off his country and change everyone's religion and basically declare war on the Pope just so that he could get a divorce, Henry was **so** desperate for an heir (read: son) that he legitimized one of his bastard sons born from a mistress: Henry Fitzroy. Fast forward he divorces Catherine, marries Anne, has Elizabeth, beheads Anne, marries Jane, finally has his sone Edward. Somewhere in that timeline Henry Fitzroy dies, but it's okay because Henry finally has a son.  
The problem becomes that he only has one. His last three wives don't give him children at all, let alone heirs. He's sick, it looks like he's going to die. So he does something that hasn't been done before, desperate to keep a Tudor on the throne, he puts his daughter Mary I and Elizabeth I in the line of succession. **They were never supposed to rule**. He planned for Edward to live a long, happy life and pass the throne on to his own sons. This didn't happen, Edward died young and Mary Tudor became the first Queen to **rule** England.  
Elizabeth became the second. Elizabeth never married because it was already a stretch to ask England to be ruled by a woman. If she had married the people would naturally look to her husband as their King. In everything except for chess ... King trumps Queen.  
 **Now GoT** : Think about the show. Tywin Lannister ordering Tyrion to marry Sansa and get her pregnant shortly there after. He calls Sansa the _Key to the North_. Her children will be the heirs of Winterfell, specifically her sons. Sansa will never be in control of Winterfell, her son with a regent would be.  
I'm going to assume that the same concept would apply to Lenora and the Iron Throne. She is Robert's only trueborn child. At this point in the story, Westeros is not ready to be ruled by a queen, they'd probably sooner legitimize Gendry before that. She would not rule, but her sons would be able to. So if a family, say the Boltons **(though I'm not naming any names or making any promises)** were to capture her, force her to marry their heir, get her pregnant, have that child be a boy ... he could be King. And if that family, say the Boltons **(though I'm not naming any names or making any promises)** did that ... the boy king would need a regent. Oh look, here's Roose Bolton **(not naming any names or making any promises)**.  
So being the one true child on Robert Baratheon puts Lenora in danger of that sort of situation. A family who wants control of the Seven Kingdoms and would use Lenora and any sons she had to gain it. She wouldn't rule, honestly if the family was cruel they would just keep her pregnant repeatedly until they had enough heirs to guarantee that the succession was safe. And then once her son came of age they'd probably kill her.  
And there you go, my long winded explanation of my thought process. If anyone is still reading I hope that clears some things up.  
Now on with the chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter sixteen: Blood and Sweat and Steel**

 _Catelyn_

The woods were whispering to her. She supposed that was how they had gotten their name. _The Whispering Wood_ , where the trees were full of whispers and moonlight. The whispers did not frighten Catelyn as she sat on her horse, beside Lenora, waiting for them to return. Waiting for whoever _them_ meant.

The two ladies were surrounded by guards, Robb had insisted. He had wanted fifty men to guard his mother and his betrothed when he went to battle. Catelyn had told him that ten would be sufficient. Lenora had only wanted a sword, she had sworn she could protect them herself. In the end they had settled on thirty men. Neither Robb, nor Catelyn, nor Lenora were happy.

Hallis Mollen had requested to lead the group, it was his right as the Head of the Guard of Winterfell and Robb had not refused the man, though it was Ser Willum, the knight who had been tasked with guarding Lenora who stood closest to the princess's black charger.

Lenora no longer sat in the saddle, she had been fidgeting too much, unaccustomed to waiting. Catelyn had raised her eyebrows at that, sure that a princess would be taught patience, but then she realized that Lenora had probably never waited on anything. She had been raised for the first part of her life by Jaime Lannister, a man who her uncle, the Blackfish, had sworn never learned patience himself and was unlikely to pass it down to his charge; and then when finally returned to her family the little princess had most likely been spoiled by the father who had missed her so much.

Catelyn on the other hand was used to waiting. Her men had always made a habit of making her wait for them. First her father, then Brandon Stark, and then Ned Stark and now she waited on her son Robb. She waited and hoped for her son to come back to her in one piece.

He had left them hours ago in the woods, but she could still remember the preparations as if they had just happened. If he was frightened, he had given no sign of it. He had moved around his soldiers: touching their shoulders, joking with some, praying with others, calming the anxious horse of at least one.

He wore armor and mail over his entire body, only his head was left bare. He had wanted to make sure that as many of his men saw him before the battle as he could. Catelyn had looked away from her son, aware of the precious chance of seeing him alive she was giving him up to look at the princess beside her.

Lenora had been quiet since the day they had arrived at the Twins and Robb and Walder Frey had struck their deal. The princess had changed since she had last seen her at Winterfell gone was the beautiful smile and easy laughter; she had been smart enough to realize that she was a hostage and while she was not thrilled at the prospect she had tried to make the best of it. Until she had learned that Robb meant to give her younger sister and brother to Walder Frey in order to cross the Green Fork and that he intended to keep his betrothal to her.

The girl never smiled now. She never laughed. She didn't talk to Robb's men as she had once done. She barely ate, if the bags under her eyes were any indication she didn't sleep. She rode silently beside Ser Willum when Robb's host moved. She dismounted when she was told. Went to her tent when she was told. Mounted her horse again the next morning and rode when she was told. She rode by Robb's side; walked by Robb's side; ate, what little she did, by Robb's side. But the familiarity that had been growing between the two of them at Winterfell was gone now.

And now, more than ever, Catelyn realized just how much the young woman took after her mother. She was hard, cold, and icy like the North, but she was every bit Cersei Lannister, a few inches shorter with Robert Baratheon's dark hair and grey eyes.

The princess had watched Robb move among his men with stormy grey eyes. Catelyn had longed to know what the young woman was thinking, but had not dared to ask. It turned out that she didn't need to, Lenora volunteered the information.

"He's a genius," the young princess had told her, her voice little more than a whisper. "This whole time he has me thinking that he was going to march his entire host against my grandfather. And this whole time it had neither been my place nor my inclination to tell him how foolish that would be. And now it appears that was never his plan. Split your host, put an uncrossable river between Tywin and Jaime Lannister. Attack the son at night, the father the next morning. Catch one by surprise and hope to hold your own against the other." She was talking to herself, that much was clear, but Catelyn listened to every word.

"It's something even my battle-tested grandfather wouldn't think of," Lenora had added, a tone of awe and maybe even respect coloring her words, no matter how unbidden the feelings were.

The night was warm and the wind ruffled his auburn hair as he and his giant wolf Grey Wind walked among his men. Catelyn had closed her eyes in a brief prayer that the Gods would bring her son back to him. That they would let him grow old, see his own children grow, and die warm in a bed. When she opened her eyes she noted that Lenora's eyes were closed as well, she was praying too.

They were praying for different things. So Catelyn forgot her prayer to the new Gods and prayed to the old ones instead - the Gods of her husband, her children, the Gods of Winterfell and the North. One way or another the night's battle would prove who was stronger: Robb or the Kingslayer, the North or the South, the Old Gods or the New.

The two woman had sat on their horses side by side as Robb mounted his own. Walder Frey's son, Olyvar, held his horse steady for him. The new squire strapped Robb's shield in place and handed his helm up to him. Robb held the helm in his left hand, his horse's reins in his right, he did not put it on right away. Instead he rode up to his mother and his bride-to-be to say his farewells.

"I must ride down the line, Mother," he told her, still mounted on his horse, "Father says that you must let your men see you before a battle. That it will give them courage."

"Go then," Catelyn had given him her blessing. "Let them see you."

Robb turned his attention on Lenora, and for the princess he climbed down from his horse. He left his shield strapped to his arm, but placed his helm on the ground so that he could hold his left arm out to the young woman. "Nora," he had asked, his tone almost pleading when the stubborn princess had not immediately climbed down from her horse.

Lenora sighed, but gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her down. His brows were furrowed, his face full of concern for her when he had whispered, "I cannot promise that he will not be injured, but I can promise you that we will not kill your uncle. He will become our prisoner."

"You better try to kill him," Lenora told Robb, shaking her head. "Because Gods know that he will kill you if you don't."

Robb looked down toward the men, where the group that had been assembled by his mother and his bannermen waited for him. They were calling him the Young Wolf and many of the lords bannermen's sons had volunteered for the task of guarding him. There were two Karstarks, a Mallister, Smalljon Umber, a Hornwood, Theon Greyjoy and at least twenty more. And Grey Wind shadowing every one of his steps. "I'd like to see him try," he murmured to her.

"He's the Young Lion, to your Young Wolf. He was the youngest to ever be made part of the Kingsguard. Fifteen years old when he was raised up. Do you think my grandfather bought him that honor?" Lenora asked him. She shook her head, not waiting for an answer, "No. Jaime earned it with blood, and sweat, and steel. And during this battle he will try his hardest to bring me your head."

Her statement was not a threat. It was a promise. Her uncle would try to bring her Robb's head. She never said if she wished for it or not. The girl was smart, she was hedging her bets. If her uncle won the battle she could tell him that she had known he would and recount this conversation. If Robb won, well Catelyn was sure that Jaime would try to kill him so the girl would be right either way.

Robb had not taken offense to her statement, though Ser Willum had bristled at Lenora's side. He had chuckled and shaken his head at her. Even leaning down and pressing his lips against the corner of Lenora's lips. "When I come back, we will marry," he promised her, his voice a hushed whisper. "I won't make you wait long, I promise."

And then he had gone, to ride among his men, to lead them through the trees and to a battle that Catelyn could only guess at the end of. And he had left his two women to wait for him.

Lenora was sitting on the ground, her dark skirts flared out around her, a pile of dark blue flowers in her lap. She had gathered them after Catelyn had suggested that she dismount and walk to keep from fidgeting. Catelyn had not paid much attention the flowers the girl had gathered while she was gathering them. But now she looked.

Lenora was stringing them together, making a flower crown. She had been working on it for almost an hour and it was almost complete. Catelyn squinted through the dark at the flowers, a cloud that had been blocking moon light blew away after a moment or two and lit up the woods. The flowers were a bluish-purple and looked hooded. Catelyn gasped and quickly ordered Lenora to drop the flowers. The girl had not stopped stringing the flowers together, but she had looked up at Catelyn with raised eyebrows, silently wondering what had her so worried. "Those flowers are Wolf's Bane," Catelyn had told her. "They will kill you."

Lenora had smiled sweetly at her and lifted her flower crown, placing it atop her dark hair. "I studied plants under Grand Maester Pycelle," she told Catelyn. "He tried to stay away from the poisonous ones, he could not imagine a reason for why a princess would need to know about poison, but he taught me about Wolf's Bane. You see, my uncle Tyrion told me that when I was a baby a Targaryen spy tried to poison me. They almost succeeded." She gestured to the dark blue crown atop her head. "They used Wolf's Bane. What most people don't realize is that there are many species of Wolf's Bane. This one - Atis Root is completely harmless. I could even feed it to Grey Wind and it wouldn't do a thing. It's been my favorite flower ever since I learned how to identify it."

Catelyn studied the girl, she certainly wasn't acting as though she had been poisoned. She must have been right. She remembered when the queen had told her about when Lenora had been poisoned, Cersei had never told her that it had been Wolf's Bane.

"It's curious," Catelyn murmured.

"What's curious?" Lenora asked, she had stood from the ground and was now braiding the dark blue flowers into her horse's mane so that they would match.

"That when you were a baby you were poisoned and almost murdered with Wolf's Bane. And now you are betrothed to a Stark of Winterfell. It's as if you were always meant to be a wolf."

Lenora glanced up at her, her grey eyes glinting and for a moment Catelyn was struck with how similar she looked to Lyanna Stark. "No," Lenora told her, shaking her head. "I was meant to be a lion. Like my mother."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He had left his mother and Lenora high on a ridge, well above where he planned for the battle to take place. He had no fear that if the Lannisters won they would keep Lenora safe, but there was no promise for his mother. And he wanted them both safe.

Safe. And high up. And far away from the battle taking place in a tree covered valley in the forest below them.

They had lured the Kingslayer and his men into the valley. Lured them into a trap with a few hundred men raiding the Kingslayer's host and carrying Tully banners. The Blackfish, his uncle, had sworn to him that Jaime Lannister would find it impossible not to go with his men when they searched for the raiders. And he had been right.

Robb could feel the anger rising in his chest as he watched, hidden in the trees, as the Kingslayer led his men through the woods, the moonlight glinting off his golden hair, turning it silver. He did not even wear a helm, that was how sure he was of victory.

They would teach him a lesson about that tonight, he promised himself silently.

The Lannister men and some of Lord Tywin's bannermen marched into the valley. And Robb and his men waited in the dark. It did not take long, a matter of a few minutes before Maege Mormont blew her war horn in the East, signaling that the last of the Kingslayer's men had entered the trap.

From his spot, hidden in the trees, Robb could see the way the Lannister men's heads turned east, looking for an attack, sure that one was coming from behind them.

Grey Wind threw his head back and howled, his howl echoed off the ridges of the valley, seeming to come from all directions at once.

The Greatjon added the sound of his own war horn to the chaos. The Frey's and the Mallister's blew their own horns from the South and the West.

And North, Lord Karstark blew his. Signaling to the Lannister men below that they were surrounded on all sides.

The Kingslayer's men began shouting, their horses reared and cried at the noise. The Kingslayer slammed his helm on his head, finally, and tried to gain control of his men, yelling orders to them and telling them to prepare for battle.

But it was not so easy to ready men for battle when they were caught by surprise in the dark, surrounded on all sides, and a giant direwolf howled in their ears.

The spot for the ambush had been well picked. With the way the walls of the three ridges closed in on the valley below sound acted strangely. Robb could hear the whispers of men in his ears, both his own and Lannisters. And the sound of Grey Wind's howl would be in every man's ear, making him sure that the giant wolf was just behind him, ready to attack.

The archers that Robb had ordered to hide in the trees, released their arrows almost simultaneously, the sound of one hundred bows sighing out a breath in unison as their arrows landed in the valley below; some sinking into the ground, some into flesh.

The battle had just begun and the field was already full of the screams and wails of agony that came with dying men.

Robb raised his sword high above his head so that it glinted silver in the moonlight and yelled, "Winterfell!" before he spurred his horse into a gallop and began to lead his men down into the valley below them.

It was complete chaos, all around him as he and his men rushed to the fight below. Some were ready to kill, others to die. But all were ready to fight.

Swords were clashing everywhere around him competing with the yells of _Winterfell_ and _Lannister_. _Tully_ and _Riverrun_!

Robb's white horse cut through the men on the ground, Grey Wind ran beside him. Between his sword and his wolf Robb was sure that no harm would come to him. Even as a Lannister man swung his sword and gutted his horse in one swing.

Robb launched himself off of the falling horse and though he had stumbled a bit on the landing no one would remember that because he had also managed to ram his sword under the lip of the soldier's helm and embed the metal in the man's throat.

The guard his mother and his bannermen had insisted on cheered as he wrenched his sword from the man's neck and they continued forward, many of them now on foot, slashing and cutting their way through men and horse. Looking for the Kingslayer.

Grey Wind ran beside him, snarling and biting his way through. Ripping off arms and legs, tearing out throats as he went. Whenever he got too far away Robb would call him back with a soft, but forceful call of, "To me!" He wondered how Grey Wind knew who their friends and enemies were because in all the dark and all the blood, the wolf never got it wrong.

"Robb!" Theon yelled from somewhere to his right, a warning. Instinctively Robb threw up his shield arm a matter of seconds before a Lannister sword landed on it, cutting through the wolf face that had been painted on it not too long ago. But the shield had done its job and Robb was uninjured with the exception of a bruise that he could already feel forming on his forearm.

He could not allow his mind to wander, he realized, turning toward the Lannister man and advancing on him, meeting the knight strike for strike with his sword. Until, with one lucky swipe at the man's sword hand he managed to disarm him. The man fell to his knees, begging for mercy, but he would not get any. Robb's sword cut through the man's chain mail and drove deep into his chest.

It was too early in the battle to take hostages.

Men yelled and cursed all around him as the battle raged on. Grey Wind snarled and growled, his teeth snapping loudly as he tore flesh from bone on men and horse alike. It seemed as though they had been fighting for just a few minutes and it felt like hours since the battle had begun at the same time.

And then finally, in the middle of the valley, covered in other men's blood he finally found him. The Kingslayer.

He had removed his helm, a bold move, though there was no way that any of Robb's men would be able to get close to him, he realized. He watched as the blonde knight swung his great sword and almost cut one of the Mormont men in half from the top of his head down to his gut.

Although, thanks to Stannis' letter Robb knew that Lenora was the only one of the queen's children who actually belonged to the king. Even though he knew that there was no way that Jaime could be Lenora's father. He saw some of her in the Kingslayer's fight. Or maybe he saw some of the Kingslayer in what he could remember of Lenora's fighting.

He could see why a young princess might watch her uncle fight and decide that she too wanted to be knight.

There was a certainty, a precision, a magic to his swings. Robb watched as one of Karstark's sons rushed forward to fight against him. The fight did not last long, in a matter of minutes the Kingslayer had grounded Lord Karstark's son with a casual swing of his sword, cutting off Torrhen's sword hand. Robb gasped, he had seen that move before, Lenora had used it on one of the wild men that had attacked his brother back at Winterfell.

"Where are you?" he called out, his tone taunting. "Have you held back? Are you too much a coward to face me? Will my niece be fighting all your battles?"

Robb shifted, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. He wanted to move forward, to step into the Kingslayer's line of sight, but Daryn Hornwood stopped him, moving forward instead. "No, My Lord," the man had told him. "Let me."

Moonlight glinted off steel as the two men clashed their swords. Daryn Hornwood was giving the fight everything he could, the Kingslayer looked a bit like a bored child, playing with his food. He yelled Robb's name, as if to make sure that he was watching before he swung his sword over his head and brought it down on Daryn's head, cutting it in half, helm and all.

"I know you're close," the Kingslayer yelled, moving further up the hill toward Robb. "I've seen your wolf. I remember Winterfell, that beast never left your side. Maybe I should just cut off the monster's head, would that draw you out?"

Grey Wind growled beside Robb and started to move forward, but Robb called him back. "To me," he ordered the wolf. "To me." The wolf seemed to glare at him balefully, but he listened to Robb's command.

The Kingslayer kept coming, slashing through men as came. And then, he stood in front of Robb. "There he is," the blonde knight yelled, his arms flying out to the sides. His sword hand came forward to point at Robb's chest, the tip of the blade no more than a foot away from him. "The Young Wolf, they're calling you. At least you're not hiding behind your mother's skirts." He looked at Robb, raising his eyebrows and waiting. "We can end this right now, boy," Jaime offered him without even sparing a look to the man who now lay on the forest floor at his feet, clutching his bleeding stump. "Stand up against me. You for your army, me for mine. Trial by combat. One death instead of thousands. I promise to make it quick."

Robb shook his head and took a step forward, raising his sword to meet Jaime's, "No, Kingslayer," he said. "Because if we do it your way you will win." He pulled his sword back and swiped, trying to catch the older man in the stomach. Jaime jumped back, quick as a cat, unharmed. Robb glared at him, "We're not going to do it your way."

The Kingslayer chuckled, "Fine then, tell me, since you've seen her more recently than I have. Would my niece prefer me to bring her your head, or your dogs?"

It had been a taunt, a jest to make him lash out, to make a mistake, Robb was sure of it. But before he could respond Eddard Karstark pushed forward to meet the man and engage his sword. Eddard held his own for longer than his brother or Daryn. But in the end the Kingslayer still won, embedding his sword so deep in the young Karstark's neck that when the young man's body fell to the ground, the sword went with him.

Jaime Lannister stooped to pull the sword out of the man's neck, but stopped when he heard Grey Wind's growl. He looked up through some sweaty strands of his hair to see Grey Wind no more than a foot from him, his teeth barred, ready to fight. His green eyes shifted to the left and the right to see ten swords pointed at him.

The man was no coward, but he was not an idiot either. He knew when he had been beat. He stood up straight, his hands held up in surrender, "I surrender," he told Robb.

Robb accepted his surrender, ordering Theon to bind the Kingslayer's hands and hold him hostage. Then he had nodded at one of the Frey's who started to blow a higher pitched horn than war horns from the beginning of the battle. The signal that the fight had finished.

He pushed past the Kingslayer, his shoulder hitting the knight's armor to check on Torrhen Karstark. He had only cut off his arm and Robb hoped that the man would still be alive.

When he found him on the ground there was blood, too much of it. The young man groaned, still alive, but just barely. He heard the Kingslayer laugh, cruel and humorless from behind him. "Do him a favor and kill him, boy," he suggested. "He won't make it through the night as it is."

Robb knew he was right and as much as he hated taking the Kingslayer's advice he pulled a small dagger from his side and turning Torrhen's head away so that he wouldn't see it coming he drove the dagger through his neck, just below his helm and killed him.

A red dawn was breaking in the East as Robb stood and moved toward Theon and the Kingslayer. "Tell me," Jaime drawled out, "Just tell me how she's doing?" His voice was slow and bored as if he did not care about the answer either way, but his green eyes were sharp and urgent. "Is Lenora being well cared for? Is she safe?"

"I don't owe you anything." Robb growled at him. And for a moment he thought about not telling him anything, but he knew man would see for himself soon enough that Lenora was fine. And he wanted the Kingslayer to suffer. "She is safe for now, Kingslayer," he told the knight in front of him, stepping closer to him so that he could whisper in his ear. "I've kept her fed, and safe, and protected her honor from men at camp who would have raped her and killed her in the same night. But who knows? With you as our prisoner, _I_ might bed her tonight. Maybe she will scream loud enough that you will hear her from wherever we cage you."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Waiting for the battle to end had been torture. Lenora spent a great deal of time fidgeting in Casterly's saddle before Lady Catelyn had suggested that she get off of her horse to calm her nerves.

The moving had helped for a time, until she realized that if she was quiet she could hear sounds from the battle below. She had turned away from the edge of the ridge and noticed a patch of dark blue flowers growing at the base of a tree. Wolf's bane. Upon closer inspection she had recognized it as Atis Root, one of the only species of wolf's bane that was not poisonous.

She had picked as much of it as she could and sat on the ground, braiding and twisting, and weaving it into a flower crown. She had felt Lady's Catelyn's eyes on her several times while she worked and she knew that the older woman must have thought that she was terrible. That she was callus. She was making a flower crown like it was an early spring day while men were dying in the dark in the valley below.

What the older woman did not realize was that Lenora had simply been looking for something to do with her hands to ease her worry. That with every flower she added to the crown she said a prayer for the men fighting below.

They were mixed prayers, she wasn't sure what outcome she wanted from the battle. She would say a prayer for her uncle's safety and then she would match it with one for Robb. And so it continued all the way around the crown: Jaime, Robb, Jaime, Robb, Jaime, Robb. _Her family or the man she could have loved_.

The fighting finally ended as day broke in the East. And all Lenora and Catelyn could do was wait at the top of the ridge One way or another they would soon know who won. Lenora knew that she was safe either way: if Robb won he meant to marry her to spite her family, if Jaime won then he would take her back to King's Landing. Lady Catelyn was not so lucky. She would only be safe if Robb won.

Robb came back to them on a different horse. The wolf's head painted on his shield was slashed, raw wood showing in deep gashes through the paint. But Robb, himself, seemed to be unharmed. That was until he rode closer to them, his mailed glove and the sleeve of his surcoat were black and sticky with blood.

Before she could stop herself, not even sure if she wanted to stop herself Lenora rushed forward on foot, grabbing the reins of his horse to steady the creature as Robb jumped down. "You're hurt," she said softly, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his men.

Robb had smiled grimly at her concern and shook his head as he handed his horse's reins to one of the stablehands. "It's not my blood," he told her as he grabbed her hand and began to gently pull her toward his mother.

Lenora stood strong though, she was not going to allow him to distract her until she was sure that he was all right. She grabbed his hand and lifted it closer to her face, letting the early dawn light land on it. Robb sighed, but he humored her, opening and closing his fingers so that she could see that his hand still worked. "This is ... Torrhen's blood."

Only then did Lenora allow him to lead her toward his mother. He looked down at her, studying her face, "Tell me, Nora," he asked her, his voice grim. "Is this concern for me self-serving? Are you trying to align yourself with me now that you know that I've won the battle? Now that you know you are to be my hostage for a bit longer?"

Lenora was quiet for a moment, honestly thinking about the answer to his question before she voiced it. "I don't know," she finally told him. "At different points throughout the night I wished that you would win or lose. It varied by the minute," she shook her head, trying to make sense of how she was feeling. "I only know that no matter what I did not want you hurt."

"No?" Robb asked her, he seemed honestly surprised by that. Lenora nodded. Robb reached for her head, his fingers playing with the flower crown that still rested on her head. He took it off her head and held it in his hand. "And what is this?" he asked her.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "Something to do with my hands since you won't put a sword in them."

Robb looked as though he wanted to say more, but Lenora had looked over his shoulder and caught sight of the mob of soldiers and knights and bannermen who were climbing the crest of the hill now. At the front were Theon Greyjoy and the Greatjon, dragging her uncle between them. "Uncle Jaime," she gasped out, meaning to run to him.

Instead of holding her arm Robb caught her around the stomach with his forearm and held her back. "Now is not the time," he told her, his blue eyes darting to the men around them, the men that would have been suspicious if the princess had been allowed to run to her uncle's side.

Lenora did not care if now was the time or not. Just as she had needed to check on Robb to make sure that he was all right she needed to check on her uncle. But Robb's restraining grip on her did not lessen and after almost a minute of struggling against him Lenora had stopped. Fighting him wasn't going to get her what she wanted, but behaving might.

He pulled her beside her horse and with two hands on her waist lifted her into the saddle. Theon and the Greatjon dragged Jaime up to them and dropped him to the ground in between Catelyn's horse and Casterly.

"The Kingslayer," Hallis Mollen announced though neither lady needed the introduction.

Jaime looked up, first to Lady Catelyn as expected, "Lady Stark," he greeted from his knees. Blood ran down one cheek from a gash in his forehead and Lenora's hands clenched at Casterly's reins, itching to jump down from her horse again and to wipe the blood from her uncle's face. To examine the gash for herself. To ensure that her uncle was just as safe and unharmed as Robb was.

But Robb put a restraining hand on her leg, a silent warning that she was to stay put.

"I would offer you my sword, but I seem to have mislaid it," Jaime told Lady Catelyn. Once he had said that his green eyes darted to Lenora. She watched as he scanned her face, her body, looking for any injuries, any signs of mistreatment. She saw the way his eyes narrowed when his gaze landed on Robb's hand on her thigh. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, to let him know that despite the situation she was not being mistreated. His jaw clenched.

"It is not your sword I want," Catelyn told him, drawing his gaze back to her. "Give me my father and my brother Edmure. Give me my daughters. Give me my Lord Husband back."

Jaime grimaced slightly, "I have mislaid them as well, I fear."

"Pity," Catelyn told him, her voice as cold as Winterfell.

"Kill him Robb!" Theon urged.

Lenora gasped and leaned forward on her horse, meaning to what? She didn't know, but if she could only get between her uncle and these men she thought she might be able to save him. Robb patted her leg, almost soothingly, as he said, "No. He's more use alive then dead. And my father never condoned the murder of prisoners after a battle."

"Take him away and put him in irons," Catelyn commanded.

Robb nodded, "Do as my Lady Mother commands," he told his men. "And make certain there's a strong guard around him, Lord Karstark will want his head on a spike."

Lenora watched quietly as her uncle was led away. Short of the gash on his forehead he seemed uninjured. She would go to him and make sure though. "Why would Lord Karstark want his head?" she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving her uncle's golden hair as it glinted in the early morning sun.

"He killed them," Robb told her, his voice both quiet and hard. An iron fist in a velvet glove. "Karstark's sons."

"No one will ever be able to fault Lannister on his courage," Lord Glover interjected. "When it seemed to him that the battle could be lost he alone fought his way up the valley hoping to find Lord Robb and cut him down. He almost did."

"He _mislaid_ his sword in Eddard Karstark's neck. After he cut off Torrhen's hand and split Daryn Hornwood's skull open, that is. All the while he was shouting for me. If they hadn't tried to stop him -"

"That was their job," Catelyn interjected. "They died doing what they had sworn to do, protecting their liege lord. Morn them, honor them, but not now. We have won a battle, not the war."

"But what a battle it was!" Theon interjected. "My Lady the realm has not seen such a victory since the Field of Fire! I vow that the Lannister's lost ten men for every one of ours! They will write songs about the Battle of Whispering Woods!"

"Aye," Robb agreed with him, "but the dead won't hear them." He turned to look at Lenora, his blue eyes scanning her face as if trying to memorize it. "You'll want to see him, I suspect." A statement, not a question. Lenora nodded. "I'll take you to him."

He grabbed the reins of her horse and led him back to their camp. Lenora expected him to take her to a tent much like her own, one with a guard outside. But instead he took her past all the tents, past where the horses were kept, near the very edge of the camp.

And there he was, her golden lion of an uncle, laying in the mud, his hands chained, in an iron cage that was too small for him to stand in. "Uncle Jaime," Lenora whispered, as she climbed down from Casterly. She started to rush toward the cage, but stopped and turned to look at Robb, anger welling in her chest. She walked back toward him, "You're keeping him locked in a cage like an animal?" she growled at him.

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "Seemed like the most appropriate space for him," he told her. "Karstark would have my head if I gave him anything more comfortable."

"Your sister is being well cared for in King's Landing," Lenora pointed out. "She'll still have ladies and she'll be allowed to move freely around with a guard. And you put my uncle in a cage?"

"And what of my father?" Robb asked, his voice harsh. "Is he being well cared for?" Lenora had no answer for that, at least not one that Robb would want to hear. She knew where they put traitors in the Red Keep, a cage was better. Robb shook his head, no doubt reading the look on Lenora's face for what it was. "He killed Jory, and the rest of my father's men. He attacked my father."

Lenora felt sympathy for Robb then, but she would not allow it to color or soften her feelings for him now. "You have no honor!" she told him, her voice little more than a whisper, though she knew he could hear every word. "Whatever you feel about him. What ever he's done. Whether you are at war or not! He is the son of a lord, he is a knight! You don't cage him like an animal! Put him in a dungeon at one of your lords bannermen's castles! I am sure they would all volunteer for the honor of imprisoning the Kingslayer."

She had used her uncle's nickname to drive home her point, but it tasted horrible on her tongue.

Robb shook his head, "It would be too risky," he told her. "What if whatever Lord I choose gets greedy and sells him back to your grandfather? I will not lose the Kingslayer."

"Then give him a tent and a guard like me!"

Robb chuckled, dark and humorless, "Your uncle would need more than one guard. If you haven't noticed, princess, we are at war. I cannot spare the men."

Lenora shook her head, "My uncle might be the one who is treated like an animal," she told him, glaring at the man in front of her. "But it is you, Robb Stark, who deserves the cage."

She watched as a dark look flitted across Robb's face, he took a step closer to her, "You think that your uncle is so honorable?" he asked her, his voice little more than an angry hiss. "Ask him. Ask him about a certain letter that we received. Ask him about his honor. And you will find he is not the honorable knight that you think he is."

Lenora rolled her eyes, "If you're talking about how he got that horrible nickname, I already know his story. And if you knew everything that had happened I'm sure you would have done the same thing."

Robb shook his head, "I'm not talking about how he got the name Kingslayer. I'm talking about something else entirely."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
BOOM!** I've been very excited about this chapter for a long time. And I hope that I did it justice. I really do. What did you think? Let me know in that awesome box down there! I'd love to hear it!  
Thank you for taking the time to stop by and read. I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter. An even BIGGER thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. Men will write songs about you and your selfless reviews. I'm sure of it!  
 **ZabuzasGirl** : Glad you liked the last chapter and I hope you liked this one as well!  
 **RHatch89:** Once again thank you for your review! In case you missed it I answered it up at the top of the story because I figured that it was information that everyone might need. Thank you for the question though, if you have any more let me know. I love giving long-winded answers about my thought processes. (And I promise, that was not sarcastic, even though the internet likes to make that statement sound that way!)  
 **DannyBlack70:** Yay you're back! I had worried that you had left us. I'm glad you liked the last two chapters and I hope that you enjoyed this one too. Things are really picking up now. I think ... I'd have to check what I've got written, but not published, but I think it'll be another two chapters before we see Lenora's reaction to Stannis' letter. But I think it's a good one.  
 **Raging Raven:** There you go, the start of the reunion between Jaime and Lenora. The real bulk of the reunion takes place in the next chapter though.  
 **Nagtooth:** Hello guest friend. Your review was for chapter one, but I'm thinking _maybe_ you got to this chapter. So here's where I'll answer it. Thank you! I'm glad that you think that I'm a good writer. That means a lot. And thank you for the criticisms as well. No hurt feelings, I promise.  
I know that the Stark family (specifically Robb or Jon and a Baratheon princess) are a bit of a cliche or a trope. But I like it and this is just where my head went (probably because I think Richard Madden is beautiful and I love his accent) and I'm hoping that by the time this story is done I will have done enough to make it original despite its cliche and very much my own.  
That's all I've got for now! And for those of you that remember the week before last, my work week starts tomorrow. I might be able to post a chapter before I go to work tomorrow morning, it really depends on what my hours are ... I should really check on those.  
If I don't ... fear not! Lenora and I will be back the Monday after next!  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	17. Chapter Seventeen: I Am His, He Is Mine

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, no one more._

* * *

 **Chapter Seventeen: I Am His and He is Mine**

 _Lenora_

It was done in the forest at night. The same forest where just days before Robb had captured her uncle after the Battle of the Whispering Wood. The trees still whispered their secrets in the moonlight, but Lenora could not understand them. She could hear nothing but the erratic, fast pace of her own heartbeat and her ragged, irregular breath. Her hands clenched into fists and released only to clench again a moment later. She could not stop the shaking, or the way her stomach seemed to be doing flips.

She shook her head violently and blinked away tears, "I can't do this," she whispered. "It's not right. I can't do it."

Theon shushed her, he had been put in charge of watching her tonight and he did not have Ser Willum's patience for her. "You will do as you're told," he ordered her, no doubt enjoying being able to order a princess around.

"I can't," Lenora told him, trying to get him to understand how she was feeling.

She was not supposed to be married in the woods at night in a dark Northern dress. She was supposed to be married in the Great Sept at King's Landing in a dress of ivory and gold. Her father, or he grandfather, or maybe even Uncle Jaime would have escorted her down the aisle to give her away. All the guests, and there would have been many would have stood as she walked past them and whispered about how beautiful she looked. Her husband would have draped the cloak of his house over her shoulders to symbolize how he had brought her under his and his family's protection. And then in front of their guests and in the sight of the Seven their hands would have been bound together and the septon would have proclaimed that they were now of one heart, one body, and one soul. He would have kissed her and their audience would clap and cheer.

The bells of the Great Sept would have rung out for days and the celebrations would have lasted for weeks. No doubt _The Rains of Castamere_ would have been played so many times that even Tywin Lannister would have been sick of hearing it.

But that would not be the way of things, not for Lenora at least.

Instead she was to be married in front of a Heart Tree, in the woods at night in front of Robb's most trusted bannermen. No ivory dress, no bell ringing in the Sept, no celebrations, and no family. Instead of her grandfather or Jaime giving her away it was to be Theon Greyjoy who walked her to the tree. It was an honor that Robb had bestowed on Theon, though Lenora was sure that part of his decision had been to humiliate her.

How far she had fallen in such a short time, that the Stark's ward and the son of a rebellious lord on an island no one cared about, was to walk her to her marriage ceremony.

Lenora looked up toward the sky, a soft gentle snow was falling through the trees, Robb's men had said that Robb brought the North with him when he marched south. And maybe he had. Theon watched her face, looking for any sign that she was going to disobey him. Then he dropped his voice down to a whisper, "You would do well to do as you are bid," he warned her. "Quickly and quietly. Robb has decided to honor his betrothal to you and as long as you are under his protection you will be treated well. But, I'm sure, that there are plenty of men at the camp that would like to see what a princess looks like without all of her pretty dresses."

Lenora's eyes narrowed into a glare, but she kept her face forward, refusing to look at the man beside her. Refusing to let him know that his threat had frightened her.

"You could do worse than the Lord of Winterfell," Theon told her, his voice easy as if they were having a conversation about the weather. "No matter how this war turns out you would have a good life. But think about what your family would do if they learned that you had been ruined and not by a Northern Lord like Robb but by some common foot soldier or a sellsword."

"I imagine that my mother will think me ruined no matter what happens after tonight," Lenora told him, still looking straight ahead. "Whether he has the word _Lord_ in front of his name or not Robb is still a traitor. I'd almost rather it be a common foot soldier, at least then I would know that he was betraying his king and country because his liege lord had ordered it and not because he was a child throwing a fit."

Theon chuckled, "You did always have a tongue like a sword," he told her, his voice quiet. "I would be careful though, Princess, you might get what you wish for and not like it once you do."

Lenora nodded as if he had just reminded her of something, "I am a princess," she told him. "And as your princess, I order you to stop talking to me. Your voice is more annoying than my brother's."

"As you wish, My Lady," Theon told her, he held his left hand up, bent at the elbow, it was time to start. She placed her right hand on his upper arm without looking at him and allowed him to walk her down the short, overgrown path to the Heart Tree where Robb stood waiting for her. She was surprised to see an old man, a septon standing in front of the tree as well.

She glanced between the old man and Robb, unasked questions in her eyes. Robb smiled at her softly as Theon placed her hands in his and then melted away. "My father prays to the Old Gods," he told her, "my mother to the New. You worship the Seven. I thought that it would make you feel more comfortable if this was somewhat familiar."

He had explained this all in a quick whisper. Lenora raised her eyebrows, surprised that Robb had cared anything about making her feel more comfortable. "If you truly wanted me comfortable you would not make me do this," she whispered to him.

Robb shook his head, "It's a smart decision," he told her. "Even you cannot fault me for it."

Lenora scoffed, "And what of love?" she asked him. "Do we not each deserve that in our marriage?"

"Would you have gotten that with whatever southern lord your mother is probably already planning to sell you to?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "There would have been the hope for it."

If Robb wanted to say anything else he was not given the chance. The septon walked forward and requested that Robb cloak her and take her under his protection. He did not have a formal cloak with his family's sigil on it, but he did take off his warm, fur cloak and drape it over her shoulders. Unbidden Lenora's mind went to that day in Winterfell when Robb had given her a tour of the castle, she had been cold and Robb had given her is cloak that day too.

A different place. A different cloak. A different man.

His hands shook as he smoothed the cloak over her shoulders now and when she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes she could see how nervous the young man really was. He wasn't alone in that.

He took her hand in his and they walked a step closer to the septon, their hands outstretched. The old man took a long leather cord from the pocket of his robe and started to wrap it around their interlaced hands, binding them together. "In the sight of the Seven, and the unnumbered Old Gods, I seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity." He stepped back, and held his hands out to the two of them, "Look upon one another and say the words," he commanded.

With their hands still bound together, her right and his left, they each turned a quarter turn so that they were looking at each other. Or rather, Robb was looking at Lenora and she was staring down at their bound hands. It was too real for her, too much, and still so wrong. This was not how her wedding was supposed to go. Robb reached his right hand out and slipped it under her chin, gently lifting it until her gaze found his. His blue eyes were soft and kind, though they narrowed with concern when Lenora felt the tears she had been trying so desperately to hold in begin to slip down her cheeks. He reached his hand up and brushed away one of the tears, leaving his thumb on her cheek. "Are you ready?" he asked her, his voice a whisper as soft and warm as velvet.

She nodded and he nodded too.

"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger," they said in union, making each name of the Seven its own sentence. "I am his and he is mine. From this day until the end of my days." Still in unison, though Robb changed it to "I am _hers_ and _she_ is mine."

The septon had nodded to Robb, "Then here, in the Godswood, in front of the Old Gods and the New I declare you husband and wife, Lord and Lady."

Robb looked at her, as if asking for permission before he stepped closer to her, their hands still bound and dropped his lips on hers. This was the first time they had kissed since they had learned of her father's death and his father's imprisonment.

His kiss was soft and gentle, but claiming all the same. Whether she had wanted it or not, whether she was happy or not, whether she loved him or not. They were married now. She belonged to him.

He wiped her tears again as he pulled away from her and as his bannermen's cheers filled the woods around them, chasing away the whispers with shouts of congratulations the septon took the leather strap off of their hands and turned them toward the waiting lords. Lenora swallowed back her tears, not wanting to seem weak in front of the men. She lifted her hands to Robb's cloak that was still draped over her shoulders, meaning to return it to him, but Robb shook his head, "It's too cold out here for my southern bride," he told her, "it is yours for now."

Lenora ducked her head and sank into a shallow curtsy, "As you wish, My Lord," she told him, her tone sarcastic.

"Oh come now, Nora," Robb had begged her. "Don't be like this, My Lady."

Lenora looked at him for a moment, watching how his eyes danced over her face, then she let a smile slip onto her lips, "Would you rather me kick and scream on my way back to camp, Robb?" she asked him.

"Only if you want to," Robb told her, a smile of his own finding its way onto his lips. "Though it would go a great way to showing me that you were back to normal."

Lenora looked past him, toward his bannermen who were making their way back to the camp, loud and happy, she had heard that a great feast had been planned to celebrate the occasion. "Something tells me that your Lords Bannermen would not take kindly to the insult," Lenora told him, the smile falling from her lips.

"To the seven hells with them," Robb told her, his eyes dropping to her lips, his gaze staying there. "I would rather spend the night with you." Lenora struggled to hold onto her anger, but it was hard when he looked at her like that. It brought her back to Winterfell and to happier times. It reminded her that she had once been well on her way to falling in love with him. And he with her. She sighed, her chest rising and falling with her breath, maybe they still were, despite everything, on their way to being in love.

If they weren't already there.

"Do you think?" Robb started, his blue eyed gaze leaving her lips and rising to her eyes. She held her breath, waiting for what he had to say, but he was interrupted by Theon calling out to him to hurry up, his bannermen would get drunk without him if he made them wait much longer.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

The feast was loud and busy. The food was warm and delicious. The ale flowed freely. It did not take long though, for his Lords Bannermen to realize that something was missing from the wedding ceremony.

Lord Glover was the one who reminded them, standing up from his seat at a table below the one where Robb, Lenora, Catelyn, and a few trusted others sat. He bowed low to Robb and Lenora. "The Lord and Lady's hands have been bound. He cloaked her in front of the Old Gods and the New. They said the words and kissed in front of witnesses. But this wedding is not complete yet. As I have heard Lord Walder Frey say at one of his many weddings: A sword needs a sheath and a wedding needs a bedding."

The men all cheered loudly and Robb chuckled loudly, though his laughter died on his lips when he turned to look at Lenora. Her breathing was shallow and quick, her chest rising and falling rapidly, straining against the corset she wore. Her eyes were wide and frightened as she looked between Lord Glover and Robb. Her lips were parted as if she was about to ask a question, one that she did not want to know the answer to.

Robb placed a comforting hand on top of her own and leaned closer to her so that he could whisper in her ear, "The bedding ceremony, surely you have these in the South?"

Lenora nodded, "We do, they're rather formal affairs. A lot of bowing and curtsying as the couple is led to their bed chamber. No one gets _this_ excited about them." She looked away from him at the men at the tables below. "What am I missing?"

Lord Glover interrupted before he could answer, "What say you, Lord Stark?"

Robb stood and smiled, "Very well, Lord Glover, if my Lords Bannermen insist." The resulting cheer made it clear that they did, in fact, insist. Robb held his hand out to Lenora and gently lifted her from her seat. He leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "It won't take long, and they will be gentle." Lenora's eyebrows lifted at the word _gentle_ and Robb realized what she must have been thinking when she heard that word. "No," he told her quickly, shaking his head, "no. They won't touch you," he whispered, "we Northerners are not so wild as that."

Lenora looked at him, her eyes nervous, as if she did not trust him. "I once read about the rite of First Night," she whispered.

Robb shook his head again, "Outlawed," he promised her. "By one of the Targaryen Kings. Though even if it hadn't been, as the Liege Lord only I would be allowed to partake in the rite."

Lenora looked between Robb and the lords that were quickly approaching her. "Then what do they mean to do with me?" she asked him, her eyes darting back to the men.

Robb thought that she had been joking, surely someone would have explained this to her, so instead of comforting her he shrugged his shoulders, "Undress you," he told her.

"Undress me?" Lenora fired back, the surprise in her voice making him look at her, truly look at her for the first time since Lord Glover had suggested the bedding. They were more respectful down south, especially when it came to noble women. Whatever the bedding ceremony in King's Landing entailed, it did not involve men who were not the groom, undressing the bride.

"Nora," he started, trying to find a way to comfort her. But it was too late, the Lords had reached her.

"Up you get, Little Princess," the Greatjon told her, not unkindly, before he wrapped his arm around her small waist and picked her up off the ground. The lords and Theon crowded around her and Lenora screamed as they started to carry her away from Robb and the table, toward Robb's tent.

Robb smiled ruefully as she screamed again, louder and longer as one of the lords pulled his cloak off of her shoulders and dropped it on a table as they passed. He could still remember his threat to the Kingslayer the night before, when he had told the knight that he would bed his niece and that maybe she would scream loud enough that Jaime would be able to hear it from wherever he was caged.

He was sure that the Kingslayer could hear Lenora now. But the knowledge did not please him the way he thought it would. One of Karstark's nephews tore impatiently at the laces that held Lenora's dress, the princess looked terrified as her hands quickly shot to her chest, clutching at the fabric to hold it in place, to keep her decent.

Robb felt his fists clench, he had never understood the bedding ceremony. He just knew that it was a tradition and that it was not for him to question tradition. But he did not like it, the way the men were touching her now.

His mother stood and made her way to his side, "Your wife is uncomfortable," she told him, scolding him in the gentle way she had always been able to do.

He looked at his mother, turning away from the scene in front of him. "What am I to do, Mother?" he asked her. "It's a Northern tradition. I'm sure you did not like it on your wedding night. And father probably hated it."

Catelyn smiled sadly and shook her head, "Your father forbade it," she told him. "He told me tradition be damned, that it would not be right for him to break a man's jaw on our wedding night. We walked to our bedchamber alone and he undressed me himself."

"I can do that?" Robb asked, not looking away from his mother.

"You are their Liege Lord," she told him, "you can do whatever you would like."

Robb turned nodded and turned away from his mother. The group of men had not gone too far, much more concerned with undressing the princess than bringing her to his tent, it would seem. "Stop," he yelled, his voice loud and firm. The noise and chaos seemed to stop almost instantly, some of the men even turned to look at him, waiting for further commands. He walked around the table and started toward the group. "Put her down," he commanded.

He paused, for just a moment to grab his cloak from where they had dropped it. They put Lenora down though they still surrounded her; she was crying, silent tears sliding down her cheeks. They had torn off her dress, removed her corset, and someone had ripped at the collar of her chemise. The only thing keeping the thin, almost see-through white garment up was Lenora's hands, clutching desperately at it, probably praying to the Seven that it did not slip.

Robb quickly moved to her side and draped his cloak over her shoulders, shielding her from the men's gaze. He pulled her away from them and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she curled into him, clutching at his shirt as desperately as she held her chemise. "What are you doing?" she whispered, though he could sense just how grateful she was to him.

"I promised to protect you," Robb whispered back, turning to look at his small bride. "Letting them do that to you was not protecting you."

"But it's tradition," Lenora whispered, not looking at him.

His thumb slipped under her chin and he held her between his thumb and his crooked index finger, gently turning her head and tilting it up until she was looking at him. "Tradition be damned," he told her, echoing his father's words from so many years ago. "As your husband it is now my job to protect your honor. Are you going to let me do that or are you going to keep arguing with me?"

Lenora watched him, her grey eyes narrow and careful, as if she did not trust this sudden desire of his to protect and preserve her honor, but after a moment she nodded. "Get on with it then," she told him, her eyes darting away from his face and toward the men that were still there, staring at their lord.

Robb nodded and turned toward the men, "That is enough, My Lords," he told them, his eyes narrow and hard. "I will take my wife to my tent myself." And then, when he received no argument from any of the older men he allowed his left arm to slide under Lenora's legs and then as if she were as light as his younger sister he lifted her off the ground and carried her to his tent. He could have let her walk, but he felt as though the princess was going to break at any moment and he knew that she would rather not break in front of the men.

He put her down on the edge of the bed and turned toward the entrance of the tent so that he could close the flaps. Every candle in the tent was lit and it was warm and well lit. He poured her a glass of wine and walked back to the bed, handing it to her silently before he walked away. He grabbed one of the chairs and carried it toward the bed. He set it down about a foot away from the end of the bed and sat down.

Lenora shied away from him, moving a bit further up the bed. He chuckled and shook his head, reaching out for her goblet of wine. She handed it to him and he took a long sip before he handed it back to her. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you do not want to do."

She scoffed at that, "That's kind of you," she told him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, I suppose it was my decision to marry you."

Robb chuckled at that, now that she was away from his men she was braver than he had been before. It was good, he liked her better this way. He didn't know what to do with a meek and mild Lenora. She was a fighter, that was what he loved about her. His laughter died quickly when he realized that it was true - he loved Lenora Baratheon.

She took a sip of wine and looked at him over the rim of the goblet, "What is so funny?" she asked him.

"There you are," Robb told her, whispering with a smile. "My little warrior."

Lenora smiled ruefully, no doubt remembering the first time he had called her that. "Why did you do it?" she asked him.

This would have been the time, he realized, to tell her the truth of the letter that her uncle had sent to all the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. But he didn't. Instead he shifted in his seat, "Marry you?" he asked her.

"No," she told him sarcastically as she shook her head, "wear that shirt. Of course I meant marry me."

Robb laughed, enjoying her fiery spirit. He had missed it over the last few weeks. "Because -" he started.

"Do not tell me it was because you need to keep your word to our fathers," she interrupted.

Robb smiled, "As you wish," he told her, his voice quiet and playful. "I married you because," he paused, swallowing his nerves. If he couldn't tell her one truth he would tell her the other. "Because I love you."

He didn't miss Lenora's gasp as her gaze quickly landed on his face. She shook her head, trying to deny it, but Robb wasn't going to let her write him off. He shook his head too, laughing quietly, "I probably loved you since that first day at Winterfell," he shook his head again, remembering. "When I first saw you on that horse I thought you were a whore, one of your uncle's." He laughed, closing his eyes at the memory. "I was so stupid, Nora, so blind. If I had only opened my eyes a little wider I would have seen you for what your truly were, before your father introduced you."

Lenora smiled, "My mother was so angry at me that day," she told him. "I was supposed to dismount and ride in the wheel house with her before we arrived at Winterfell, but I -"

"You had a mind of your own," Robb interrupted.

Lenora nodded at him, "So it was then?" she asked him, "Then that you realized that you loved me?"

Robb nodded, but quickly changed his mind, "No," he told her. "I loved you before that, I'm only realizing it now."

Lenora watched him, her grey eyes stormy and sad, "I don't love you," she told him, her voice was quiet, its own kind of apology. "I can't, not after everything that has happened between us." She looked up at him and Robb tensed when he noticed the tears sparkling in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He nodded, "I know," he told her, standing up from his chair. "That is why I won't force myself on you, not tonight, nor any other night either. I will wait until you are ready."

"What if I am never ready?" Lenora asked him.

"Then I will keep waiting," Robb told her. "Until the end of my days," he promised, echoing the words of the marriage vows.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He saw her walking toward his cage and he quickly sat up, wiping at his face. He couldn't keep her from seeing him chained in his cage, but he could keep her from seeing his face covered in mud and shit. She was still followed by her guard, though the man kept more of a distance than he used to. Her grey eyes sought him out, but her first words were to his guard, not to him. "Leave us," she ordered.

Jaime watched with raised eyebrows as the man listened to her. He didn't leave them entirely, he stood far enough away to be out of earshot, but close enough to stop her if she tried to free him. Close enough to kill him if he tried to run.

She turned her gaze on her own guard and without her needing to say a word, the knight bowed to her and backed away. She turned back to him, her eyes were still a dark, stormy grey, but there was a light in them that hadn't been there when she first approached him. Her lips twitched into an _almost_ smile.

"Enjoying your newfound power, Len?" he asked her, his tone light and playful although this was not a joke. She had come to tell him, no doubt, but he already knew. He had heard some of the young soldiers around his cage talking about it that morning, how his niece and Robb Stark had been married in the woods the night before.

If Lenora was surprised that he knew she did not let on. Her _almost_ smile became a true smile. "Of course I am," she told him. "It's been so long since I've felt that I had power."

Jaime chuckled at her and shook her head, "I don't believe you have ever been without power, Lady Stark. You have more power in your little finger than most people will have in their whole body," he told her. He was hinting at something, she could tell, he could see it from the glint in her grey eyes as she looked up at him. "Or are you still a Baratheon?" he asked.

Highborn ladies had a choice in these matters, after all. There was no law requiring them to take their husband's name, nor precedence really. It usually depended on how much the woman loved her husband or whose house was more powerful. Catelyn Tully had become Lady Stark because the Starks were a more important family. Whereas Cersei Lannister would always be Cersei Lannister because in her eyes there was no greater honor than being a part of the richest and most influential family in the Seven Kingdoms.

Baratheon was a good, strong surname, it belonged to the King. But for now, Lenora was in the North, surrounded by men who planned to behead the King, it would probably be wisest for her not to remind them that he was her brother.

"Lady Lenora Stark," Lenora murmured, a sparkle in her eye. "I hadn't really thought much of it, to be honest, Uncle Jaime. But I suppose it has a nice ring to it."

Jaime noticed the sparkle, but said nothing. "Was he kind to you?" he asked her instead. "Did he force himself on you?" Lenora looked at him, surprise written all over her face, it was clear that this was the last thing she had expected to discuss with him. She was shy. He sighed, "I heard my guards talking this morning," he told her, looking away, he was as uncomfortable with the conversation as she was. "They said that the boy put a stop to the bedding ceremony before you were completely disrobed," he hated to admit it, but he would have to thank the Young Wolf for protecting his niece's honor. Lenora nodded, silently confirming what he said. "But after that, once he brought you to his tent, did he force himself upon you?"

Lenora shook her head, "He was the perfect gentleman," she told him, her voice nothing but a whisper. "He told me he loved me," she scoffed, though Jaime had a feeling the laughter was for his benefit, that Lenora wanted to believe that the boy really did love her. "He told me that he would not force himself on me, that I would not have to do anything I did not want to. He swore it to me."

"And you believed him?" Jaime asked with a chuckle.

Lenora nodded, her face solemn, "I do," she told him. "He kept it last night."

"You mean the marriage was not consummated?" Jaime asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Lenora shook her head and after looking around for moment she sat down in the mud next to him. Jaime made a noise of protest, but she waved him off. "He said he wouldn't make me and I couldn't do it. He says that he loves me, but I love him not."

Jaime shook his head. Whispers of the wedding were not the only stories he had heard since his imprisonment. He had heard of a letter, one that Stannis Baratheon had sent to all the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms. They had teased him about it. About how three of Cersei Lannister's four children were his. It seemed that no one had shared the information with Lenora though.

The Stark boy had been smart, marrying her. Once it came out, the entire country would be gunning for Joffrey's head. For Cersei's. For Myrcella's. And Tommen's. The only person who would be safe was Lenora, but only from the death. As the only trueborn child of Robert Baratheon, she would be a fine prize for any man with his eyes on the Iron Throne. She would be a pawn, captured and recaptured countless times by this family and that.

Not only had Robb gotten a head start on them, but Jaime realized that the boy also meant to protect her. As of last night in the woods none of his northern men would dare to touch her. She was safe from here to the wall. But only if she was his _true_ wife.

He shook his head, "Listen to me, Len," he told her, his voice quiet and urgent. "You _must_ consummate your marriage. The sooner the better. Do you hear me?"

Lenora looked at him, surprised, "Uncle Jaime?" she asked, shaking her head, "I thought you would be pleased with me."

It broke his heart, to see the hurt and confusion on her face, in the set of her shoulders. He moved closer to her, wanting nothing more than to hug her, but with his hands chained together the best he could settle for was to hold her face between his hands. He pulled her closer to him and pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. "Oh sweet girl," he told her, pulling away so that he could look her in the eye, trying to make her feel what he felt about her. He pulled her closer to him, pressing another kiss to her forehead. "My sweet Len. My good, strong Lenora. Of course I am pleased. I would be much less proud of you if you had given yourself to him without a fight. But now, you must do as I say?" He was pleading, that was what would get her, in her now eighteen years of life she had never known him to beg. If he was begging now it was because he had good reason for it. "Len?" he asked her, waiting for verbal confirmation that she would listen to him, just as he had done many times when she was a small girl at Casterly Rock.

She nodded. "Len?" he asked, he didn't want a nod, he wanted her word.

She sighed, "Yes, Uncle Jaime," she told him with a nod.

"There's my good girl," Jaime praised her. "You always were the best one."

"Better than Joffrey?" Lenora asked, her eyebrows raised.

"Better than the lot of them."

Lenora smiled at that, but only for a moment, the smile quickly slipped from her lips as she looked around the cage. "How are you being treated, Uncle Jaime?" she asked, though her tone told him that she already knew the answer to that question.

"Well enough," he told her, not wanting her to worry about him. "Though I could do with some more women," he added, making a joke of it.

Lenora sighed, "When did you turn into Uncle Tyrion?"

Jaime laughed at that, "My little brother had to learn it from somewhere, did he not?" he asked her.

"I suppose so," Lenora told him, pursing her lips playfully. "He once told me the story of his wife, the one you bought for him."

Jaime looked down, "Not my finest moment," he admitted.

"Indeed," Lenora agreed, looking away from him for just a moment. "What will it be like?" she asked him, turning back to look at him.

"What will _what_ be like, love?" he asked her.

"To become his _true_ wife, even if I do not love him."

"It will be painful," he told her, "I will not tell you false, my sweet doe. But it will get easier, I promise."

"But I don't love him," she argued.

"Do you think my mother loved my father when they married?" Jaime asked her. "Or your mother and father? Or even Catelyn and Ned Stark?" he shook his head. "Love grows, Len, it doesn't just happen. You might not love him now, but you will bear him children, sons and daughters and you will love him because he gave them to you. And he will continue loving you because you gave his house a future."

Lenora smiled ruefully, "Mother once told me something like that," she whispered. "She also told me that I was to love no one but my children. To trust no one but my children."

Jaime nodded, "Cersei trusts more than her children," he told her.

"You," Lenora told him.

Jaime nodded, "Don't listen to everything your mother tells you," he warned the girl. "For all the world it gave her, it never made her happy."

"She told me once that it was not a woman's job to be happy," she argued.

"There you go, listening to your mother again. Don't."

Lenora smiled at him, "And this is the advice from the only man my mother trusts: don't listen to her."

She leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I wish I could free you, Uncle Jaime," she whispered.

Jaime shook his head, "Do you think I would leave you here?" he asked her. He shook his head when she didn't answer. "Even if they were to free me today, I would not leave with out you, my sweet girl."

She stood up straight, not bothering with the dirt on her dress. "I would order you to."

Jaime shook his head, "These men may listen to you, Lady Stark," he told her, "they may follow your orders. But I will not."

Lenora nodded, "Then I might not follow yours," she told him, half joking.

"You gave me your word, Len," Jaime told her. "You will do it."

Lenora nodded, "Aye," she told him. "I will do it."

"Now," Jaime ordered.

"This week," Lenora told him with a shrug.

"Tonight."

"We'll see."

And then she was gone. He would give Cersei one thing, she had taught her daughter how to always have the last word.

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 **Author's Note:  
** And they are married. It's a thing that's happened. I'm excited about it because it opens the two of them up to some pretty exciting things in the future.  
Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter! Thank you for stopping by and reading it. And thank you in advance for dropping down to that empty box down there and writing a review. I'm pretty sure that the New Gods and the Old smile on people who review! Just saying.  
BIG thanks to those who wrote reviews on the last chapter, I enjoyed getting the chance to read them last week, even though I didn't have time to update the story!  
 **DannyBlack70** : Glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. The battle part was my favorite thing to write. I cannot wait to really sink my teeth into the war so I can write more about the battles. One more chapter, I think, until Lenora finds out about Jaime!  
 **Arianna Le Fay** : Will Robb die ... hmm ... I don't know. (Actually, I do, but I don't want to ruin it for you.) But I will tell you this, Jon Snow will be coming back to the story in a BIG and important way. I promise.  
 **Anonymous Guest Friend** : Hello! Thank you for your review. I'm glad you enjoy the story! As for your question, Lenora is kind of in the in between. She is a prisoner, but now she's Robb's wife. Cersei would have been willing to make a trade for Lenora's return but Joffrey, Tywin, and Robb would not be that stupid. Especially since Robb knows that Lenora is Robert Baratheon's only trueborn child, he's not letting her go now.  
 **Rhyming With Oranges** : I am in love with your review! Thank you! I'm glad that you've enjoyed this story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well.  
I'm glad this chapter is different from other Robb/OC stories you have read. I haven't read many of them, because the first few I did try to read were too predictable and just ... blah. So I decided to write this one because I wanted a Robb/OC story that I would actually want to read. And I'm just really happy that other people want to read it too.  
There was some thawing in this chapter, as far as Robb and Lenora's interactions go, but I cannot promise that it will last long. I like Robb Stark and I like roller coasters, so there will be some ups and downs for the Young Wolf.  
That's all I've got for now! I might (probably) will be back tomorrow.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	18. Chapter Eighteen: A Wolf in her Bed

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying is for you ... the reviews are for me.)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and I suck at sex scenes._

* * *

 **Chapter Eighteen: A Wolf in her Bed**

 _Sansa_

She took special care when she dressed that morning. She would be up on the steps of the Sept of Baelor with the Queen, Joffrey, and her father. The entire city would be watching her. Her dress was a pale blue, a color she had worn many times in Winterfell, her mother's color. But the dress was a southern style: thin fabric, flared sleeves, the neck a slightly plunging v. It was the first dress she had had made when they arrived in King's Landing.

It looked exactly like one that Lenora had worn when she first arrived at Winterfell. When the Queen had first seen the dress she had smiled softly and told Sansa that she looked just like her daughter. Sansa had taken that as a good sign, there was a reason she had chosen this dress to wear.

Lenora was one of the few of the royal family who stood up to Joffrey, who told him when he was being a fool. She hoped that she looked like Lenora. There was no love lost between the two, but, she hoped, that by looking like his sister she would remind Joffrey that Lenora was currently marching south with Robb. That she was being treated well, now, but that she might not be so well treated if anything happened to Robb's father.

The bells of the Great Sept were ringing as they waited for the citizens of King's Landing to arrive. It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny and warm. It was a day for good things. No harm could come to her father on a day like this, she was sure of it.

The people of King's Landing quickly arrived, packing into the Street of the Sisters, standing shoulder to shoulder. And yelling angrily as the guards led Ned toward where the royal party stood. Sansa watched them with wide eyes, her father had been the best Hand King's Landing had ever seen, she could not understand why they were acting out against him now. But when her father passed her, her eyes softened, she might never see her father again, but he would live. Joffrey had promised her that he would live.

He was dressed in a rich, grey velvet doublet with a white direwolf stitched on the chest. He looked so handsome, though he was thinner than she remembered. His face was drawn in pain. Once the bells overhead ceased ringing the people quieted down and her father began to speak. He was in so much pain, his voice was so quiet and thin that even Sansa could not hear him.

"What?" someone from the crowd before them shouted.

"Speak louder!" came the command from another.

"I can't understand!" came a third cry.

Her father swallowed, lifting his head and started again, this time louder. "I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King." This time his voice carried across the plaza in front of the sept, and no one could say that they could not hear him. "And I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

The crowd began to shout at her father, loud obscene things. Sansa hid her face in her hands, embarrassed for her father. But she knew that he had to endure this. Joffrey had made his bargain clear. Her father would have to confess his treason against the King and the realm. And then once he had done that Joffrey would be merciful and allow him to join the Night's Watch. He would go to the Wall and take the black. He would join Jon and Uncle Benjen.

Her father spoke even louder now, straining to be heard over the noise of the crowd, "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. "I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold I plotted to depose and murder his don and to seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

This wasn't true, of course, Sansa knew it. Her father would never have tried to kill Joffrey, not when he knew how she loved him. He had done something bad, but it could not have been that. He was King Robert's friend and would never have tried to murder his son. But he had to say it, he was saying what they wanted to hear, what they needed him to say in order to send him away. Any moment now Joffrey would step forward and grant her father mercy.

A stone flew out of the crowd, Sansa did not know from where, but its aim was true. She turned to see it hit her father's head, he would have flown back if two of the King's Guard were not holding him up. Tears filled her eyes as she saw blood begin to run down his face from a deep gash near his hairline.

As the Septon walked forward Sansa wondered if she would be allowed to say goodbye to her father before he was taken to the Wall, or if this sight, would be the last she would ever have of him. The Septon bowed before Joffrey, "As we sin, so do we suffer," he told the King, his voice so much louder than her father's had been. "This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of Gods and men, here in this holy place," he lifted his hands to the King. "The Gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

She bit her lips to keep from smiling, she did not want to give away the game. No one, but she, the King, and the small council knew that Joffrey intended to grant her father mercy. It was to be a surprise. But her father had confessed his treason, he had named Joffrey the one true king. Now all that was left was for Joffrey to keep his word and be merciful. She knew he would be, he loved her after all. He would not kill her father.

The crowd was screaming at Joffrey to kill him, they were bloodthirsty, but her sweet King was not. He would be just and kind. He stepped out, away from his mother and the King's Guard. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black," he informed the crowd, many of them quieting to hear him speak. He turned to smile softly and Sansa and she smiled back, giving him her encouragement. "And Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

The crowd started yelling again, angry that it seemed that Joffrey was not going to heed their bloodlust. But Sansa felt no fear, he was smiling at her, Joffrey would keep his word. He _had_ to.

Joffrey was still smiling as he turned back to the crowd, "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head."

The crowd roared its approval, but up on the steps of the Sept it was chaos.

The High Septon clutched at Joffrey's cape, trying to help him see reason. Varys the Spider rushed forward, waving his hands, shouting about mercy. Even Queen Cersei grabbed on to the King's sleeve, whispering something urgently in her son's ear. But Joffrey did not listen, he did not heed their pleas. He shook his head, grinning, as Ser Ilyn Payne moved toward Ned, his sword glinting in the sunshine.

Sansa screamed, tears coming to her eyes as she surged forward. She hoped to get to the King, to remind him that he had promised mercy. She hoped to get to Ilyn Payne, to grab his sword and throw it into the crowd so that he would not be able to use it against her father. She hoped to get to her father, to wrap her arms around his shoulders and to apologize to him for whatever part she had played.

But she got nowhere. One of the King's Guard grabbed her around the waist, keeping her in place. She cried, begging the knight to let her go, but he held strong.

She cried as her father's two guards shoved him down to his knees, holding him in place.

She cried as Ilyn Payne moved closer to him, drawing a two-handed great sword from the scabbard on his back.

She cried when she saw the sunlight rippling and dancing down the dark metal.

She cried when she realized that he had _Ice_. Her father was going to be beheaded with his own sword.

She screamed, loud and unending as the King's Justice lifted the sword high above his head and brought it down, quickly and cleanly separating her father's head from his neck.

The crowd was still yelling, still cheering, though Sansa could not hear it. She sank to her knees, staring ahead.

All she heard was the sound Ice had made as it sliced through the air.

All she saw was her father's body slumped on the steps of the Great Sept, his blood staining the white direwolf on his chest red.

All she felt was the sudden emptiness in her chest when she realized that Joffrey had never intended to grant her father mercy.

This had always been his plan.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was waiting for him in their tent. He didn't know that she was there, she meant to surprise him. He was dining with his bannermen, planning their next move. He wouldn't tell her what it was and she did not blame him. None of his bannermen seemed to mind him marrying her, but she knew that it made them uncomfortable when Robb discussed his battle plans with her. Not that she could see why, she wasn't allowed to send ravens. She wasn't allowed to speak to any of the prisoners that they meant to send back to her grandfather. She was only allowed to speak to Jaime, and he was about as likely to make it out of the camp as she was.

But she did not fight it. Like it or not, she was married to him now, her wagon was tied to his as her father would have said. She looked around the tent, it was hers now, she realized. She had spent every night of the last two weeks in the tent. And Robb had been the perfect gentleman for each of those fourteen nights. He had not forced himself on her. He had given her the bed and had slept, rather uncomfortably she assumed, in one of the chairs by the fire.

She had not kept her word to her uncle. She had promised him that she and Robb would consummate the marriage at the end of the first week, but every time she had thought of trying she talked herself out of it. There had once been a time when she would have gladly made love to Robb Stark, but that time was long gone now.

As much as Jaime had told her not to listen to her mother's advice, Lenora wished that Cersei were with her now. Her mother would have known what to do, what to say to make it all make sense to her.

She sat down in a chair by the fire and closed her eyes, imagining herself for a moment back in King's Landing with her mother. She could still remember the first time her moon blood had come and how her mother had brought her for a walk in the gardens to teach her exactly what that meant. She had been blunt, as was Cersei's way, but almost gentle about it.

She had warned Lenora against falling in love. She had told her daughter that now that she had bled negotiations would begin in earnest for her betrothal to Robb Stark, but that she must not believe herself in love with the young man, no matter how handsome or earnest he seemed. She told the young princess that sex was not an expression of feelings, but rather a weapon. One she must use to her advantage.

Lenora laughed bitterly at that as she stood up from her chair in Robb's tent. If only her mother had explained to her how to use it to her advantage, because she was at a loss. Jaime had told her that she _needed_ to consummate the marriage. Her mother told her that she _needed_ to use sex to her advantage. If she couldn't love Robb she needed to do as her mother told her. But she didn't know how. It wasn't as though having sex with the man would make him want to free her and send her home. It wouldn't stop the war. Or free her uncle. It would do her no good.

She moved around the tent, pausing at his desk. He had a stack of parchment on his desk, letters that had been sent to many of the castles they had stayed at on their march. He never let her read them. Some, he read to her, though she was sure the he didn't read her everything. Some he hid from her. She looked toward the entrance of the tent. The flaps were closed to keep out the cool air and she could still hear the sounds of him and his bannermen eating, it would be a while before he came back to their tent.

She looked back at the pile of letters on the desk and made a quick decision. She grabbed them and quickly walked back to her seat by the fire, flipping though them quickly, scanning for any interesting information. Most of them were old - reports of her grandfather or uncle's troop movements. There was the letter from Sansa beckoning him to King's Landing. The announcement that Joff had been made King of the Seven Kingdoms and that Ned Stark had been arrested for treason. She was about to bring them back to the desk when she noticed the one at the bottom of the stack.

It was written in her uncle Stannis' hand. It mentioned her. Robb had never told her that he had received word from her uncle. She quickly leaned closer to the letter so that she could read it.

 _All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my beloved brother Robert, our late king, left but one trueborn issue of his body, the Princess Lenora. The boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Queen Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime, called Kingslayer._  
 _As King Robert's one trueborn child is a girl and unfit to rule, by right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty._  
 _Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms._

At the first reading the only thing that stuck was the odd ending to the letter, her uncle Stannis had never been the religious type, but he had grown up worshiping the Seven. She had heard stories of the red priests and priestesses that worshiped who they called the Lord of Light, but she hadn't realized that her uncle was one of them.

She read the letter again, sure that she had missed something important.

Upon the second reading it hit her that her uncle had proclaimed himself King. She shook her head, Robb marching against Joffrey was treasonous enough, but to name himself King over his nephew - men had lost their heads for much less than that.

She was moving back toward the desk, to put letters back when she realized that something was still wrong. Her uncle Stannis was one of the most honorable men she knew, he was cut from the same cloth as Ned Stark. He would never do anything this treasonous. Neither would Ned, she realized, thinking about the man who was probably still imprisoned in the black cells under the Red Keep. These two honorable men would never do anything treasonous without reason.

She read the letter a third time.

 _left but one trueborn issue of his body, the Princess Lenora_ ... she shook her head, that wasn't true, she had three siblings.

She looked up from the letter and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror that stood against one of the walls of the tent. She moved closer to the mirror, taking in her wild dark hair, her stormy grey eyes, her jaw line - all traits she had gotten from her father. She looked like a Baratheon. But there were hints of her mother: the cheekbones that Cersei was so proud of, she was graceful and poised in a way her father had never been, slender.

She looked so different from her other siblings. With their blonde hair and their green eyes - lions all the way.

Because she was still standing in front of the mirror, still staring at her reflection Lenora had the rare chance to watch her own eyes widen as she realized something. Her three younger siblings looked nothing like her. The Stark children each favored one parent more than the other, but she could see a bit of each in all five and when they stood next to each other they looked alike. There was no Baratheon looks to her three younger siblings and if lined up - Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen would look alike. Lenora with her Baratheon hair and eyes stood out from the pack.

A stag among a bunch of little lions.

She glanced back down at the letter in her hand, her eyes scanning it one last time.

 _abominations born of incest between Queen Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime, called Kingslayer._

She shook her head, more from disgust than trying to deny it. Now that she was reading the words, now that she was picturing her siblings standing in a row. There was no way to deny it. No way to argue. Her three younger siblings were not her father's children.

She moved in a daze.

She must have put the letters down on the desk because they weren't in her hands when she left the tent.

She must have asked Ser Willum to give her some space because as she moved through the camp she felt him like a shadow, but when she looked over her shoulder he was several yards behind her.

She must have known where she wanted to go because when her feet finally stopped moving she didn't feel surprised to find herself in front of Jaime's cage, though she could not remember making the decision to go see him.

Her uncle looked up at her and a smile started to spread across his lips, but as he looked at her, his green eyes scanning her face the smile faded quickly. "You know," he told her, his voice quiet. It wasn't a question, her face must have already told him the answer.

Lenora looked at her uncle's face and saw her brother Joffrey's. The boy was a spoiled prick, but he had always been a handsome one. Just like his uncle. Lenora shook her head, that was wrong, "Just like his father," she murmured, her eyes never leaving her uncle's face.

Jaime had the grace to look down, as if ashamed, but Lenora wondered if it was just an act. How ashamed could her uncle really be? This wasn't an accident. It hadn't happened once. He had slept with her mother enough times that they had three children together.

He had slept with his _sister_ enough times that they had three children together.

She stepped back from the cage, disgusted. Her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she felt bile rising in her throat. She was going to be sick.

"Len!" she heard her uncle call out to her. She shook her head, the sound of his voice was enough to have her stomach contract violently. She moved further away from his cage, determined that he and his guards would not see her retch. Once far enough away she sank down to the ground, not caring about getting dirt or mud on her dress. She fell to her hands and knees, her stomach contracting again, her throat burning as she swallowed, trying to force the bile back down, trying one final time to keep from trowing up.

"My Lady?" she heard Ser Willum call from close behind her.

She shook her head, trying to find a way to order him back, but she couldn't open her mouth. The knight moved closer to her and knelt on the ground beside her. She felt his hands in her hair and for a moment she was afraid before she realized that the young knight was only holding it away from her face. "It's all right, My Lady," he told her, his voice gentle. "There's no use holding it in now. Go on, I'm sure that I have seen worse on the tourney field."

That was all she needed, his permission. Her stomach heaved again and this time without her hands covering her mouth she retched on the ground in front of her. Her eyes watered at the feeling of the acid working its way up her throat. She stayed, on all fours on the ground, breathing out of her mouth so that she wouldn't smell her vomit, waiting for more to come up. But it seemed that she had expelled all she had in her in that one.

Ser Willum knelt beside her, trying to soothe her, but after a minute or two of her dry heaving he must have realized that she had nothing left. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod and reach into his cloak, withdrawing a handkerchief for her. "There you go, My Lady," he told her as he stood up. He let her wipe her face before he held out his hand to her and pulled her off the ground. "Shall I escort you back to your tent now?" he asked her, his voice still gentle.

Lenora shook her head, as much as he disgusted her she wasn't done with her uncle yet.

The knight followed her gaze back to the cage and he nodded, "I shall find someone to bring you water then," he told her before he walked away briskly.

Lenora stayed where she was for a moment longer, steeling herself before she walked back to her uncle. He watched her, concern darkening his green eyes, but at least he knew better than to speak, she wouldn't have been able to handle it if he did.

She watched him for almost a minute before she spoke. "How did he not know?" she finally asked. "I was blind to it, but how could he be? He saw us all. He saw the two of you. How did he not see that only one of the four was his?"

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "He didn't care to see it," he offered.

Lenora closed her eyes and shook her head, her questions had been a mistake. "Don't," she ordered. "Don't you talk about him. I can't bear it." She opened her eyes again, but they were narrowed. "How could you?" she asked him, her voice as much of an accusation as her words. "My mother - she is your sister. How could you?"

Jaime shrugged his shoulders and his gaze dropped down to the mud in front of him. At least he was ashamed. "She is my twin," he told her as if that explained everything. "You would never understand. But we are two, and one. We were made together, we were born together. She had me convinced that no one but I was her equal, her match. Two pieces, one whole."

His answers were disjointed, as if now that he was forced to say them he was realizing just how wrong they were. They were excuses, not answers. She shook her head silently, they weren't enough.

He tried again. "The Targaryens married brother and sister for generations."

She actually laughed at that one, "And look at how that turned out for them," she bit out. "The last Targaryen King was mad. As you well know."

Jaime was quiet for a moment. "We stopped after Tommen," he told her. "I have not touched your mother since she became pregnant with Tommen. I wanted to stop earlier, I wanted to stop after you were born, but your mother would not sleep with your father, she would not bear him any children, and -"

Lenora shook her head, her eyes closed again, she could not hear any more of it. "And the realm needed an heir?" she interrupted, her voice bitter. "Is that your excuse? You didn't want to, but you had to fuck your sister because the realm needed an heir? You were just doing your duty? Your fucking duty?" She shook her head again, "Stannis knows," she told him. "He sent a letter to all the great Houses, by now even some of the small folk must have heard the whispers. What shall Joff call you if you ever make it back to King's Landing? Uncle? Father? Maybe both?"

She was being cruel, but she couldn't hold it in. She had grown up looking up to her uncle, always believing the best in him, but now he disgusted her. Her uncle looked up at her sharply, "Stannis knows?" he asked.

Lenora nodded as something struck her. "That is why Ned Stark proclaimed that Joff was not the true king," she whispered quietly. "He learned the truth and to save her own skin Mother had him named a traitor and thrown in a black cell for it." She looked to her uncle for confirmation, not that she truly needed it.

"I was not there for that decision," Jaime told her, "but I would make that assumption as well."

"And Jon Arryn?" Lenora asked, quickly jumping to another conclusion. "Is that how Jon Arryn died? Not sick, but poisoned because he learned the truth?" Jaime didn't even get to begin to nod before Lenora realized something else. "You didn't go on the hunt," she whispered, shaking her head as if she could deny the words she was speaking. She gasped, "What happened to Bran?" she asked her uncle, moving closer to his cage and wrapping one of her hands around the cold metal, as if it would keep her grounded. "The day he fell? What happened to him?"

Jaime wouldn't meet her eyes. That was how she knew the answer. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but she needed to hear it from him. "What happened to Bran, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him, her voice hard. "He had been climbing that tower for years. He had never fallen before. What did you do to him? Did you push him?"

Jaime looked up at her sharply, she had guessed it. "He heard your mother and I talking about it," he told her as if that excused his behavior. "We couldn't have him telling anyone."

"He's a child!" Lenora cut in. "Younger than Joff. You could have scared him into silence." She shook her head, she was too disgusted. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at her uncle, "You have never disappointed me, Uncle Jaime," she told him, her voice cold. "Not until now. Disappointed isn't even the word for it. You disgust me. You, the man who raised me - the man I have always looked up to, I can't even look at you." She sighed, feeling tears fill her eyes as she looked away from him. "You are nothing to me now," she told him. "Nothing."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He returned to the tent late that night. He had no reason to hurry back from his men. What was he hurrying back to after all? Another night sleeping uncomfortably in a chair because he had given Lenora the bed? Because he had given her his word that he would never force himself on her? He had forced her into a marriage that she didn't want, the last thing he would do was force her into sleeping with him. But Gods it was hard.

She was a beautiful woman, Robb would never deny that. And she was intoxicating. Her mind and tongue were as sharp as swords, she knew how to keep him on his toes. She was wild and bright. And she knew how to kiss. Gods know she knew how to do that. They had kissed at their wedding in the woods, or rather Robb had kissed her. Lenora hadn't kissed him since they were at Winterfell. And it was hard for him, to be around her now, staring at those red lips of hers and knowing that she wouldn't kiss him again.

So he stayed away from her. The Greatjon had joked just that evening that Robb was spending too much time away from his young bride. Robb had smiled and made some excuse, anything but explain the truth - that his young bride was disgusted by him. He didn't even talk about it with Theon, he knew what his friend would tell him to do: force himself on her. Theon saw things in black and white. Lenora was his wife. As his wife she had a duty. Theon wouldn't haven given her a choice. None of them would have.

There were times when he wanted to tell her how lucky she was that he had married her. If she knew about her brothers and sister, if she knew about her mother and her uncle then she would understand. Every great house in the Seven Kingdoms would want her for their own. They would not be as gentle as he was. They would have her wedded and bedded a thousand times against her will if it meant that they could claim King Robert's only trueborn child as their own.

But not Robb. He had married her because he loved her. He had married her to keep her safe. He had married her so that she wouldn't play the pawn to everyone else's game. And if the price of keeping her safe meant never having her in his bed? It was a price that he would pay.

But Gods, she was tempting. So he stayed away. It was easier to resist her charms and her beauty if he left the tent before she woke up and came back after she had fallen asleep. It was easier to resist his urges if the only time he saw her was when they were surrounded by his bannermen and his mother.

It was long past dark when he finally entered their tent. He expected to find her sleeping as he had every night since their wedding night, but she was still awake. She was sitting in the chair he used for his bed, reading a book by the firelight. She looked up at him when he walked into the tent and a soft smile found its way onto her lips. He tried to remember the last time she had smiled at him when no one was around, but he couldn't. Since leaving Winterfell all of her sweetness had been saved for when they had an audience.

She closed the book and reached out for a goblet of wine that he hadn't noticed on the table beside the chair. He didn't know how much wine was in the goblet, but she drank it all in one long pull before she stood up from the chair and moved closer to him. "I expected you hours ago," she whispered.

Robb laughed at that, a dark chuckle as he moved around her to pick up her goblet and pour some wine for himself. "I didn't realize that you expected me at all, My Lady," he told her, his voice darker and more bitter than he had intended.

She sighed, her grey eyes uncertain as she watched him. Her left arm was crossed in front of her chest, she lifted her right to chew on her thumbnail, a habit he had long noticed that showed that she was nervous. He turned to look at her and raised his eyebrows, silently waiting for her to tell him why she was nervous. She sighed again and shook her head, "It's not easy, you know."

"What's not easy?" he asked her, honestly curious.

Lenora shook her head, still chewing on her thumbnail. Robb moved closer to her, quickly, she seemed shocked when she realized that he was standing right in front of her. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from her mouth. "What's not easy?" he asked her again, demanding an answer this time.

She sighed, looking away from him. "I've been trying to catch you alone since our wedding," she told him, her grey eyes darting to look at him for a moment before she looked away again. "But you've been avoiding me. You tell me that you love me and then when I say that I don't love you back you avoid me like a plague."

"I think you told me that you couldn't love me," Robb corrected her.

"And I never will if we never spend any time together," Lenora argued.

"You made it perfectly clear on our wedding night that you did not want to spend time with me," Robb told her.

She shook her head, "I'm trying," she told him.

"Trying to do what?" Robb asked her, moving to stand directly in front of her. "What are you trying to do, Nora?"

Lenora stared up at him for a moment, she bit her lip and sighed. For a moment he thought she was going to walk away from him, to tell him to forget it. But then, without any warning, the girl rocked up on her tiptoes, her hands on his shoulders and her lips landed on his. He was so surprised he didn't kiss her back. Her lips moved against his for a moment or two before she realized that she wasn't going to get anything from him. He felt her sigh, he felt her give up. She pulled away from him and took a step back. "I'm sorry," she told him, shaking her head, "I'm sorry."

She turned to walk away from him. Robb moved fast, his hand flying out to catch her arm. "Come here," he almost growled as he pulled her closer to him. She spun, her hands landing on his chest to steady herself, her head tilted up to ask him why he wanted her to stay. Before she could get a word out Robb lowered his lips down on hers, kissing the girl properly.

She kissed him back, almost hungry. This was not one of her shy kisses from Winterfell where she was unsure of herself. She may still have been nervous, she may still have been convinced that she did not know what she was doing. But she wasn't going to let it stop her this time. Her lips moved against his, desperate. And when his tongue slipped out to lick her lips she opened them readily, allowing him in her mouth, chasing at the last taste of wine on her tongue.

His hands fell to her hips and he squeezed the bones through her dress, moaning as the action caused her to arch her back, pressing her chest against his. It was embarrassing, he realized, how easy it was for her to draw a reaction from him. But he wasn't going to stop or slow down. He didn't know why she was kissing him, but he wouldn't question it until she was done.

Her hands flexed against his chest, he could feel her nails through his shirt. He wanted more of her, but he had promised that he wouldn't force himself on her. If she wanted more then she would have to tell him. He was hers to command.

She bit his lip, a playful nip and Robb was surprised when he heard a giggle escape her lips. He pulled away slightly, looking at her. She was smiling, though her eyes were still a stormy grey. "What?" she asked him, a pink blush coloring her cheeks.

"I was just making sure that it was my wife I was kissing and not one of Theon's whores," Robb told her, smirking when the blush on her cheeks darkened from pink to red.

"One of Theon's whores?" Lenora asked, giggling again. "I should punish you for that, I really should." Her hands were still on his chest and one of them closed into a fist, clutching at his shirt. She used this grip to pull him closer to her, crashing his lips down on hers and kissing him again.

"Is this your idea of punishment?" Robb asked her, leaving his lips where they were, brushing against hers with every word, Lenora's lips mirrored his movements. He pulled away for just a moment before he brought his lips down onto her jawbone. He kissed his way up to just below her ear and then started to make his way down her neck, kissing and biting down to the collar of her dress. "Because this is exactly how you should punish me every time I displease you," he whispered against her skin, smiling when he felt goosebumps rise on her neck under his lips.

Lenora shook her head, though she didn't push him away from her, "This isn't a punishment," she whispered. "I said that I _should_ punish you, not that I _would_."

"And why won't you?" Robb asked, his voice low and full of need. He wouldn't let himself hope, not until she gave him more of a reason to.

"Because I want you," Lenora whispered, her voice echoing the same need that he felt, but there was something else coloring her tone as well, something that Robb couldn't put his finger on. Before he could ask Lenora had slipped her hand underneath his chin and lifted his lips back to hers, kissing him deep and slow. "Gods know how much I want you," she whispered. "But I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, "help me."

Robb chuckled at that, "Believe me, Nora," he whispered against her lips as his hands went to the back of her dress, sliding down to the laces, "you know exactly what you are doing."

He kissed her again, his hands working at the laces of her dress. Lenora's hands slid down from his face and instead of fisting in his shirt again they slid underneath his shirt. Her hands were shaking, he realized, as they landed on his stomach. He nibbled on her lip to keep from laughing as her fingers traced over the muscles on his stomach, a barely there touch that tickled as she moved. Her hands kept sliding up his chest, bringing the hem of his shirt with them. He was finally obliged to stop unlacing her dress so that he could lift his arms above his head, breaking their kiss just long enough to allow her to take his shirt off before he lowered his lips to hers again.

Her breath was ragged as she dropped his shirt to the floor. Her kiss bruising against his lips as his hands went back to her laces and continued their work untying her dress. At one point she had giggled and offered to go get her lady's maid, she claimed that the girl could untie her much faster than that. Robb had growled at that and spun her around in his arms, his lips landing on her neck as he continued with her laces, the job easier now that he could keep at least one eye on his work.

He wasn't the only desperate one. As soon as her dress was unlaced Lenora had pulled it off of her. Robb readied himself for the laces on her corset, but was surprised when he realized she wasn't wearing one. She smiled at him, almost slyly as she turned back around in his arms, wearing nothing but her chemise and her small clothes. Her hands shook even more as they lowered to his waist and the laces that held his pants on his hips.

There was nothing more Robb wanted to do but to finish undressing and to get into bed with the girl, but he stopped himself. "Nora?" he asked her, waiting until the dark haired girl looked up at him to show that she was listening. "Are you sure you want this?" he asked her.

She studied him for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before she nodded. "I'm sure," was her whispered answer as she nodded.

Robb nodded too before he quickly kicked off his boots and scooped up the tiny princess, carrying her to their bed where they finished undressing quickly.

"Gods, but you're beautiful," he whispered to her, looking down at her. He was kneeling on the bed, staring down at her. Her face was tanned from the sun and all the time she spent outside now, but the rest of her body was as pale and smooth as cream. She was breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath. She was blushing as he looked at her, the blush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest. Robb smiled and crawled on top of her, once more kissing his way down her neck. He bit down just above her pulse point, marking her skin and smiling slightly as she moaned beneath him.

Then he kissed lower, his tongue dipping into the hollow between her two collar bones. He kissed along the right collarbone, biting down gently on her shoulder. Lenora moaned louder this time as her right leg lifted instinctively and wrapped around Robb's hip. She looked surprised and started to move her leg, but Robb's hand shot back and he grabbed the back of her thigh, keeping her leg where it was. She nodded and her hands went to his hair, running her fingers through it as Robb continued kissing her. He moved to the left shoulder, this time kissing in toward the center. Then he worked his way down, kissing and licking the narrow space between her breasts. Her fingers left his hair and began to stroke his back, her nails digging into his skin.

She gasped beneath him and her hips rocked up against him on their own accord when he licked at the skin on the underside of her right breast. And he smiled. "I'm sorry," she apologized, her voice a breathy whisper as he lifted his lips to her nipple, biting down gently, teasing her.

He waited until he moved on, repeating the attention to her left breast before he allowed one of his hands to slide down her flat stomach to rest between her legs. She gasped and he waited, sure that she was going to tell him to stop, but instead her other leg came up to wrap around him, making things easier on him. He would have teased her about how this could not be the first time she had been with a man, but he didn't want to embarrass her.

He was too worried that if he teased too much she would stop him.

And the last thing he wanted to do was stop.

She tensed when he inserted one of his fingers into her. He stilled, not wanting to hurt her, but so desperately needing to open her up so that he could be inside of her. She was wet around his finger, wet and oh so tight. He could just imagine what she would feel like around him, but he wouldn't be able to experience it if he rushed her.

So he waited.

After a moment he felt her begin to relax around his finger.

After another moment she nodded, giving him the silent go ahead to continue.

He lifted his lips back to hers and kissed her deep and slow as he began to slowly move his finger in and out of her. It did not take her long before she demanded, "More," in a soft, breathy whisper. He was only too happy to comply as he added a second finger, this time scissoring his fingers as he worked them in and out, stretching her just a bit.

After a few minutes he stopped, he kept his fingers inside of her as he pulled away from her lips, looking down at her. "Are you sure?" he asked her one final time. She nodded, her eyes closed and a soft smile resting on her lips as if she was complete bliss. Robb shook his head although she couldn't see it. "I need to hear you say it, Nora," he told her, though he was desperate for her and could feel his self-control slipping with every second he waited. He wasn't going to last long once he was inside her, that much he knew. "Are you certain?"

She opened her eyes, the stormy grey clouded with desire, "I am certain," she whispered, lifting her head off the pillow to kiss him again. Robb nodded as he kissed her and pulled his hand out of her, reaching down to position himself instead. "I'm sorry," he whispered against her lips as he pushed himself inside of her. He closed his eyes, he himself flinching when he felt her tense up around him, she cried out in pain, turning her head away from him so that she could muffle her cry with one of the pillows.

He braced himself with his hands on either side of her, keeping his chest off of hers so that he wouldn't crush her. "Are you all right?" he asked her, his teeth gritted against the desire to roll his hips, to move. He would not do more until she told him she was ready, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

Her eyes were squeezed tight and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, Robb bent down to kiss the tear before it could slide down her cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her, "I know this hurts, I'm sorry."

She nodded and slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, looking up at him, taking in the hard set of his jaw, the way his teeth clenched. "Oh," she sighed out, "you're in pain too." Her hand lifted to his cheek, trying to comfort him.

Robb chuckled and ducked his head again, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "A different kind of pain, Love, I assure you."

She nodded, starting to slowly relax around him. "You can move now," she informed him, her voice playfully prim and proper.

Robb chuckled, though he wasn't going to reject her offer, "And how is it that you know that I'm supposed to move?" he asked her as he slowly rolled his hips, gently pulling halfway out before thrusting just as gently back in.

Lenora rolled her eyes, "Just because I've never been with a man does not mean that I don't know a bit of what it entails," she told him. Robb snorted at that, continuing his movements even as he raised one of his eyebrows and looked down at her skeptically. She shrugged one of her shoulders, "A maid and a squire in King's Landing," she told him, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "They were in the stables, I saw them one day when I went down to ride Casterly."

"And you spied on them, did you?" Robb asked, his hands running down her sides, tickling her slightly as he began to quicken his movements, pulling all the way out of her before thrusting back in now.

Lenora giggled and surprised him by rolling her hips up to meet his, thrust for thrust, "I was curious," she told him as she demonstrated that she may have learned something from her spying.

That little roll of her hips was all Robb needed to bring him overboard. He groaned as he pulled out of her and thrust in, deeper this time than ever before. Her felt her tighten around him and he groaned again, this time muffling the sound against her shoulder. He stayed there, slowly rocking his hips against her, riding it out. Only once he was finished did he open his eyes and lift his head off her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered, quickly pulling out of her even though the last thing he wanted to do was leave her.

"For what?" she whispered.

"The last part is a bit messy," he told her. He quickly moved away from the bed toward the tub at the back of the tent. He grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the jug of water. He would have wiped himself off first, but he was a gentleman. He brought the cloth to Lenora and gently eased her legs apart, using the cloth and the warm water to clean the blood and semen from the inside of her thighs, she flinched. He nodded as he began to clean himself off. "You'll be sore for a day or two," he told her, dropping the cloth to the floor and climbing onto the bed.

Slowly, careful not to jostle her too much he lifted her up so that he could pull the blankets out from under them. And then he laid her back down, covering them both up with the blankets. She sighed, almost happily and rolled onto her side, curling against his chest. He lifted one of his hands to her hair and ran his fingers though it for a few silent minutes before he finally spoke up, "So," he said, drawing out the word. "Are you going to tell me why you finally decided that tonight was the night?"

She shrugged her shoulders and kept her eyes closes, "The same reason you decided to marry me," she whispered. Robb's breath caught in his throat, and for just a moment he allowed himself to hope that she was going to tell him that she loved him. She didn't. "Because I am the only true Baratheon heir," she whispered, finally opening her eyes to look at him. "And if I'm going to have a beast try to get into my bed it might as well be a wolf. At least I know that a Stark will defend my honor."

* * *

 **Author's Note:  
** Hello friends! Did you miss me? I've been gone for like twenty-four hours.  
Anyway, my name is Chloe Jane and like I said at the top, I suck at writing sex scenes. So do with this chapter, what you will.  
I hope you enjoyed it. Even if it was bad. I figured that by the time we reached chapter eighteen it was time for our two lovebirds to "do the thing" as my husband likes to call it. (He's very mature, that one.)  
Anyway, since you've read the chapter, and I'm going to hope that you liked it. and I'm going to assume you are reading this note ... why don't you drop down to the review box and show a little love. They do motivate me to keep going after all.  
 **HUGE** thank you to those who reviewed on the last chapter:  
 **DannyBlack70** : Robb didn't backtrack for long. I definitely understand, in GoT world hesitation often ends in death, but that was a conscious decision. He made her marry him. He forced her into that, but he loves her. He wasn't going to steal anything else from her. If he had her, he wanted it to be n her terms because he's still good guy Robb, even if Lenora doesn't always see it. I hope you liked this chapter, it was kind of fun to write.  
 **RHatch89** : Well, you got your wish friend. Lenora learned the truth. She's not particularly happy with her uncle right now. Heartbroken I would say. I hope you enjoyed it! You sadist, you. (Just kidding!)  
 **HPuni101** : I'm glad that you liked the last chapter. I hope that you enjoyed this one too! Thank you so much showing some review love!  
 **Arianna Le Fay** : I will give you this. If Robb dies, Lenora will end up with Jon ... in some capacity or another. They probably will not marry each other though. But, this might make you happy, once this story is done (not during because I've learned my lesson for writing multiple stories at once) and my brain has settled a bit, the next story I will write is a Jon Snow one.  
 **ZabuzasGirl** : Hi friend! Glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope that you liked this one too!  
That's all I've got for now. Thank you guys for stopping by.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	19. Chapter Nineteen: The King in the North

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora ... nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and my suggested youtube videos looks a lot like a Lannister wedding. "Rains of Castamere" EVERYWHERE._

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Chapter Nineteen: King in the North

 _Lenora_

Something had changed between Robb and Lenora, but she couldn't put her finger on it. He was nicer to her now, kinder - but there was a wall between them. A low one, an old one, a wall that could have been knocked down easily if she cared enough to try. But she couldn't say that she did care enough. She knew he was hurt - she hadn't expected that, but it was true. She had thought that he would have appreciated that she was finally his true wife, but it had hurt him.

It took her a week to realize that Robb was hurt by the fact that she had consummated their marriage not because she loved him, but to save herself from a worse fate with a different family. When she first read the letter from her uncle Stannis she had believed that Robb had told her that he loved her and married her because he had wanted to be tied to Robert's only true heir. But when she realized that she had hurt him she also realized that she had been wrong.

Robb had married her to keep her safe.

Robb had married her to protect her.

Robb had married her for love.

And she had taken all that love and thrown it back in his face when she had used him to save her own skin. Yes, they were a true husband and wife now, but she wasn't acting like a wife. She was acting like her mother. When she was still talking to her uncle Jaime he had warned her not to listen to her mother, not to take Cersei's advice. And when she had sex with Robb she had done the opposite. Her mother would be proud.

But all Lenora felt was ashamed.

And now he was in more pain.

Her poor Robb.

They were close to Riverrun, it would only be a few more days before they overtook the Lannister army surrounding the castle. Theon had been the one to shoot down the raven, flying toward Riverrun, to Lord Tulley to announce the news of Ned Stark's death.

Theon had been the first to read the announcement, he had read it silently, but the look on his face when he glanced up at Robb and then Lady Catelyn was all Lenora needed to know what sort of news the parchment carried.

 _Dark wings. Dark words._

She had thought it was one of the girls, probably Arya. Even in her darkest thoughts she had never imagined that her mother would have allowed Joffrey to have Lord Eddard Stark beheaded. Joffrey was an idiot, but her mother was not. She wondered how much control over her brother Cersei had lost since the last time she had seen her family.

She had sat quietly in their tent as Robb and his mother read the letter together. Catelyn's legs had given out before she was done reading and she had fallen to the ground, tears filling her eyes.

Robb's blue eyes had narrowed as he finished reading the letter. He had crumpled the letter in his fist and dropped it to the ground, lifting his gaze to hers. His jaw clenched and for a moment she thought that he would yell at her, strike her, something. But instead he shook his head and stormed out of the tent.

Lenora stayed where she was, he was angry and hurt and he didn't need the daughter of his enemy running after him. Even if she was his wife. She helped Catelyn off the ground and bundled the older woman up in her cloak. She quietly walked her mother in law to her tent, commanding her servant to fetch some hot wine for the woman. Catelyn had shook her head, silently refusing the wine.

But Lenora had shushed her, she did not know the specific pain the woman was suffering, but she knew that nothing would soothe her now. The only thing she could do for the woman was to warm her up and hopefully help her to sleep.

The wine came and though Catelyn had refused it she drank when Lenora told her to drink and she allowed the younger woman to steer her toward her bed. Lenora spent a half hour with Catelyn; slowly convincing the woman to lay down, covering the woman with her blankets, and sitting with her, holding her hand as she cried herself to sleep.

Only once Catelyn was sleeping did Lenora leave the tent. The camp was alive with whispers of the news. Theon had not waited long before he had told Robb's bannermen. Ned Stark was dead. Joffrey had beheaded him on the steps of the Great Sept after he had begged for mercy. He was still betrothed to Sansa, though Lenora had a feeling that it would not last, Joffrey would rid himself of the Stark girl as soon as he realized that marrying her was not going to help him control her older brother.

She wandered the camp, looking for Robb. Many of the knights and lords she passed bowed low to her, greeting her with _My Ladys_ and apologizing to her as if it were her own father that they had lost. If it weren't for the horrible fact that one of the most honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms had been beheaded like a traitor it would have amused Lenora that more of these Northern Lords were apologizing to her now than they had when she had lost _her_ father.

This, more than anything, told her that they truly did see her as one of their own. She was no longer a Southern Princess. She was a Northern Lady, _their_ Northern Lady. It hit her suddenly, she was now Lenora Stark, Lady of Winterfell. She felt tears spring to her eyes at the thought. She had not known Ned Stark as well as she would have liked. But she knew he was a good man, a brave and honorable man and that he had not deserved the end Joffrey had given him.

She found Robb in the woods, still dressed in his mail and armor. He was yelling and using his sword to hack away at a tree in front of him. If it weren't for his pain she would have lectured him, yelled at him even for mistreating his sword, for ruining it. But she would not fault him for how he dealt with his pain. She could not fault him for it.

She stood, there, amidst the trees, watching him as he swung his sword over and over again at the tree in front of him. He had ruined his sword, he was going to need it, he planned on marching on the Lannister army that surrounded his grandfather's castle the next morning and they would need every sword that they had. This one would not be usable anymore. Her heart broke as she watched tears sliding down his cheeks with each slash and stab at the tree trunk. He was heartbroken and she was sure that he did not want her sympathy, but it was all she had to give.

"Robb," she called out to him quietly, trying to get his attention. He didn't look up, he continued swinging and yelling. "Robb," she tried again. More tears filling her own eyes, overflowing and sliding down her cheeks. "Robb Stark!" she tried one final time, raising her voice above the sound of the metal hitting the tree.

This time he looked up at her. And she had to bite back a sob of her own as she saw his tearstained cheeks. She couldn't cry in front of him, she had to be strong. It would not be fair to him to have him feel as though he needed to shoulder her pain as well as his own. It would have been cruel. She moved a step closer to him, her hand reaching out toward him. "I am so sorry, Robb," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper now that she had his attention. "For your father, for your mother, for you. I am so sorry."

He stood in front of her, watching her for a moment before he dropped his sword to the ground and moved closer to her. Lenora took a step away from him, unsure of what he was going to do. She would not have been surprised if the man raised his hand to hit her. But instead he crashed into her, his arms wrapping around her, crushing her cheek against his breastplate and holding her tight against him. Now, with his arms around her she could feel him shaking. In fact, her whole body shook from the force of his sobs.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her right hand lifting toward the top of his head so that she could run her fingers through his auburn curls. And she was sure that she had never wished for anything more than she now wished for the ability to turn back time, to take away his pain.

"I am so sorry," she whispered to him again, at a loss of what else she could say, what else she could do to ease some of his pain.

"I could kill them all," he told her and she felt one of his tears land on her forehead. "Every last one of them, I could kill them all."

She nodded, she understood his pain and she would not argue with him. She would not point out that _them all_ was her entire family. She would not beg him to spare her family after her mother and brother had showed so little care for his own. "My love," she whispered, pausing for a moment, shocked at the endearment that had slipped from her lips. "They have your sisters. You have to get those girls back, for your mother." She paused again, unsure of what to say next, unsure of what she wanted or wished. "And then you may do whatever you wish with them," she promised him.

It was then that Robb seemed to realize who he was holding. He pulled away from her, frowning when he caught sight of her cheek. He reached his hand out, brushing his fingertips against her cheek, when he pulled them away they were wet and red with her blood. The metal of his breastplate had dug into her skin when he held her crushed against him. She was bleeding. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her, his voice rough with emotion.

Lenora shook her head, reaching one of her own hands up to wipe at the blood on her cheek. "It's nothing," she promised him, trying to force her voice to be light. "It's a scratch, I daresay I will see much worse than this by the end of everything."

"I'd say that it's a bit more than a scratch," Robb told her, his voice a little gentler. "And that wasn't what I meant," he added. "Your father died and I never even told you how sorry I was. I let you suffer and when you asked to send a raven to your family I forbade it." He shook his head, disappointed in himself. "I was horrible to you."

Lenora pursed her lips and nodded, she wasn't about to deny it to save his feelings, "You were a bit of a prick," she told him. "I won't lie to you, even today. But I will not blame you either."

Robb reached down, grabbing for one of her hands and interlacing his fingers with hers. "You are too good," he told her, his voice almost a whisper, "too good to me."

Lenora shook her head, "You have a pretty low standard for too good," she told him. "If acting like a human is too good to you."

Despite his pain Robb chuckled and shook his head, "I want to ask you something," he told her.

Lenora smiled softly at him, "Thank you for the warning," she told him, even now unable to hold back her sarcasm. "What do you need, Robb? Name it and it's yours."

"I need you," he told her, his voice both quiet and desperate.

"You have me," Lenora told him, shaking her head in confusion.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head. "I _need_ you."

"You _have_ me, Robb," she told him. "I am your wife."

Robb shook his head again, "I don't want you if you're only doing so out of duty," he told her.

Lenora smiled softly at him, "I would never do something simply because of duty," she told him. "And if you think I would then you do not know me at all." She started to pull him out of the woods, intending to bring him back to their tent.

"I don't want you to do so because you feel sorry for me."

She paused, turning to look at the man behind her. "Then come along."

He followed her to their tent and once the flaps closed behind them he really did his best to seem excited by the prospect. He placed his hands on her hips and held her tight. He kissed her lips, but she knew that his heart was not in, not like it was on their first night together. He needed this, he needed her, but he could not bring himself to actively enjoy it.

She undressed him, slowly and carefully taking off his armor and placing it on its stand. She took off his shirt and untied his pants, her hands did not shake this night, she was more sure of herself. He seemed lost, as if he was unsure of what to do next. She kissed him and lowered him into a chair. Then, hoisting her skirts up she climbed on top of his lap, slowly lowering herself down on top of him, flinching slightly as she adjusted around him.

"You're still sore," Robb whispered, reaching up to stroke her cheek.

Lenora shook her head, the last thing she wanted was for him to worry about her. "I am fine, Robb," she told him. "I swear it."

She kissed him in earnest this time, allowing her tongue to slip between his lips and taste the inside of his mouth. She smiled slightly as his hands came back to her hips. He began to kiss her back and his hands helped guide her hips. Setting a pace that was much faster and rougher than she had intended.

It hurt a bit, though Lenora was not going to argue with what Robb wanted or needed. She rolled her hips against him, smiling wider when he groaned. He bit her lip, sucking it into his mouth, Lenora could not help but cry out. It was too much, for her. She had tried not to get lost in the sensations, this was for Robb, not for her, but it all felt too good, too real for her not to feel so much.

Robb's thrusts quickened, going deeper and as he came to a finish his hands tightened on her hips and he brought her crashing down on top of him, holding her tight to him as his thrusts slowed.

Lenora waited until he had stopped moving before she leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose before she started to climb off of his lap. Robb's eyes darkened in concern as she flinched. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her as he watched her let her skirts fall to the ground.

"For what?" Lenora asked him, turning to look at him underneath her eyelashes.

"I used you," he told her, looking away ashamed. "I used you in a way no husband should use his Lady."

Lenora smiled at him softly, walking closer to him so that she could press a kiss against his lips, "I would consider us even then," she whispered against his lips alluding to the first night they had been together, when she had used him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

The boat rocked with the waves of the river as it moved quickly down the Tumblestone, the rowers were given a bit of a reprieve as the strong current of the river propelled the boat toward its destination. Riverrun.

Lenora had said the word as if it were some kind of magic spell. And he realized that to her maybe it was. She was a princess, _the_ princess of the Seven Kingdoms and before she came to him the only places she had ever really seen were Casterly Rock and King's Landing.

Then she saw Winterfell.

And Moat Cailin.

And now, she was sitting with him and Theon at the bow of their boat, craning her neck, hoping to catch the first sight of Riverrun. She reached down absentmindedly to pet Grey Wind's head as she looked ahead, "Littlefinger has told me so much about the beauty of Riverrun," she told him. "At King's Landing. He used to go on and on about how beautiful and green this place was. At first I thought that it was because he wanted to talk to me. But I quickly learned the truth of it."

"And what was the truth?" Theon asked, leaning forward

Lenora turned her head slightly to smirk at Robb, her eyes sparkling almost playfully. "The truth of it is that Lord Baelish likes to hear the sound of his own voice. And he loves to talk about your mother."

Robb raised his eyebrows, "My mother?" he asked.

Lenora nodded, "He grew up here, a ward to your grandfather. He loved your mother and now, as an older man he relives their time together by talking about her whenever anyone will listen to him. Oh, he's sly about it. He talks about Riverrun, he talks about his time spent with both the Tully sisters, he never specifically says _love_ and your mother's name in the same sentence. But you can hear it if you listen carefully enough."

She turned her gaze back to the river in front of them, "Littlefinger likes to play games," she continued, "he speaks too many words and speaks them so quickly that you're lost in the conversation as soon as it's begun. But his words didn't do this place justice."

Robb smiled at that, pleased that she liked Riverrun. "I was born here," he told her, his own gaze turning to the landscape in front of them.

Lenora turned to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed, "Not at Winterfell?" she asked him.

Robb shook his head, "My mother and my father were married shortly before our fathers marched against the Iron Islanders. My mother came here when she learned that she was pregnant and she had me here. I spent my first two years here and then at the end of the war Mother and I traveled to Winterfell to meet my father."

Lenora smiled sadly and reached out for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Robb smiled at her gratefully. Something had really changed between the two of them. He did not want to get his hopes up by believing that everything would be fine between them, but at least his wife did not hate him anymore. They were a team again, a pair, but they didn't talk about it.

And they needed to.

They could pretend that their families' battles were not their own. But the truth of the matter was that her brother had murdered his father. He could not forgive that or forget it. And one day he would get his revenge.

At the expense of her family.

But for now, after the death of his father, Lenora was being kind to him. And he wasn't going to let that go to waste.

He moved closer to her and instinctively she leaned in to him, her temple resting against his cheek. He turned his head slightly, pressing his lips against her cheek, "Are you happy?" he asked her, his lips brushing against her skin with each word.

He watched her as she closed her eyes and a sad smile slid onto her lips, "As happy as can be expected," she whispered to him, her eyes still closed. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him, "Oh no," she whispered, she must have seen something on his face, "you don't make me unhappy - at least not as much as I thought you would." She sighed and looked away, turning to glance over her shoulders at all the boats that followed their own down the Tumblestone. "It's just all of this," she told him, turning back to look at him.

"Not how you pictured your life?" Robb asked her.

Lenora smiled at him, "Is it how you pictured yours?" she parroted back at him.

He chuckled and shook his head, "No," he told her, his voice serious despite his laughter. "I assumed I would marry you, have a child or two, watch my father grow old, and become Lord of Winterfell once he had died an old man."

Lenora nodded, "Sounds a bit boring now, doesn't it?" she asked him.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head, "it sounds wonderful."

"I don't know," Lenora told him with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, "I could stand to see a bit more of the Seven Kingdoms before we head back to Winterfell."

It was embarrassing for Robb to admit, even to himself, how pleased he was that Lenora considered her heading back to Winterfell as inevitable and that they were still a _we_. His happiness must have shown on his face because he heard Theon snort and he looked up to see his friend grinning at him as if he could read his mind. "Shut up," his hissed at his friend.

Theon opened his mouth, probably about to taunt him, but Lenora interrupted. She sat up a little straighter, her neck elongating, her shoulders tense. "Is that it?" she asked, coming up onto her knees to get a better look. "Is that it?" she asked again, turning her head to look at Robb for confirmation.

Robb nodded, he stood up from his seat and moved so that he was standing behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, "Welcome to Riverrun, Lady Stark," he whispered.

When the boat finally docked his mother had rushed off to see her father, many of Robb's men had gone to the hall for food and ale, Robb pressed a kiss against Lenora's cheek and told her to head to the hall. He would find her there, but first he would go to the Godswood. He had thought to go alone, but he was not the only one of his men who kept the Old Gods.

This wood was much smaller and much less wild than the one in Winterfell, but it would do. He found the Heart tree and knelt in front of it, thrusting the point of his new sword into the hard ground.

He closed his eyes and for a moment he was unsure of what to do. He had come to the Godswood because that is what his father would have done, he had hoped that being here would bring him some solace, some sense that his father was at peace. He had hoped to find some bit of the man who had raised him here. But all he found was a tree with a bloody face carved in it, a restless wind, and silence.

He heard movement to his left and he turned his head to see Lenora slowly and carefully making her way through the group that had followed him to the wood. She wanted to be near him, but she was trying her best not to disturb the others. She knelt beside him and turned her head to smile softly at him for a moment before she reached out for his hand. Once their fingers were interlaced she turned back to the tree and closed her eyes.

Robb kept his eyes open, he looked at the long line of the woman's neck, watching her pulse point where he was convinced he could see her heart beating underneath the skin. She must have felt his gaze on her because she opened her right eye, turning her head just enough to look at him. "You should be praying," she whispered to him. "There will be plenty of time for you to stare at me later."

Robb looked around to make sure that their whispers weren't disturbing anyone else. But his Lords Bannermen had given him enough space that he was sure they could not even hear them. "I don't know what to say," he admitted, his voice so quiet that the rustling leaves above his head completely shielded his words. He shook his head, "I had hoped to find my father here."

Lenora nodded, she had expected that, "And you did," she told him, turning back to the tree.

"If you don't think that he is with you right now than you are a fool, Robb Stark."

"What will you pray for?" Robb asked, turning the discussion away from him.

"I will pray for your father," Lenora told him. "And for mine. I will thank the Gods for keeping me safe so far, and for keeping you safe, and for watching over my uncles even if they are your enemies. I will pray for the people of Westeros who neither asked for this war nor needed it. I will ask the Gods to help this war end without any more unnecessary bloodshed. I will pray for your sisters and your brothers. I will ask for the Gods to watch Jon on the Wall and keep him safe. I will pray that my own younger siblings are treated well, despite what they are now. I will ask forgiveness for my mother and uncle. I will pray for Lord Karstark and his three sons. I will ask for mercy. And then I will be selfish and beg the Gods to grant me happiness at the end of it all, even though I am sure to lose something on one side or the other and I have done nothing to deserve that happiness."

Robb looked at her, "I like your prayers," he told her, squeezing her hand. "At least most of them."

Lenora smiled ruefully, "Well," she finally said, "you are more than welcome to borrow them, My Lord Stark. Maybe your Northern Gods will hear them better from your Northern heart than from my Southern one"

"I cannot believe that any of your prayers would fall on deaf ears," Robb assured her, "whether the ears are Northern or Southern, Old or New."

"You would be surprised," Lenora told him before she turned away, closing her eyes.

Robb left her alone with her prayers. He still had not found what he had hoped to find in the Wood, but he did find himself hoping that at least some of Lenora's prayers would be heard. Instead of praying he closed his eyes and brought forward images of his father, playing through all of his favorite memories of his father in his mind. He could remember when he had learned to ride a horse, when his father taught him to shoot a bow, the first time Ned had brought him to the Godswood in Winterfell, and when he had sat at the table with his father when he conducted his business, learning how to be Lord once his father had passed on. There were so many lessons that Ned Stark had taught his son, but there were so many more that he never got the chance to teach, always believing that there would be more time.

There was no more time now.

Robb would have to teach himself.

After a time he stood up from the ground and waited, his hand outstretched until Lenora finished her prayers and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to pull her off her knees. They turned together to leave the Godswood and he was surprised to see his mother standing away from the praying Lords, watching him and Lenora with tears in her eyes.

He squeezed Lenora's hand and pulled her along with him as he moved toward his mother, "Mother," he greeted her once they were standing in front of her. "We must call a council. There are things to be decided."

"Your grandfather would like to see you," Catelyn told him, her voice shaking. "Robb, he's very sick."

Robb nodded as Lenora squeezed his hand, a comforting gesture, "Ser Edmure told me. I am sorry, Mother ... for Lord Hoster and for you. Yet first we must meet. We've had word from the South. Renly Baratheon has claimed his brother's crown." Lenora gasped quietly beside him, it was news to her. She started to pull away from him, whispering that she would go to their chambers to rest, but Robb shook his head, "You will come to the council," he told her, his voice forceful.

"Is that wise?" Lenora whispered, turning her head to look at the Lords who were now rising from their own prayers. "You're fighting against my grandfather on my mother's side. And soon my uncles on my father's side if you're particularly unlucky. And there are still so many who would see me as an enemy."

Robb shook his head, "You are my wife," he told her. "You bear my last name. You sleep in my bed. You pray to my Gods. You mourn my father. Hopefully soon you will carry my children. You _will_ sit on my council."

It looked as if tears were filling Lenora's grey eyes, but she quickly blinked them away. "Just so," she whispered with a nod, he would hear no further argument from her.

"Renly?" Catelyn asked, still surprised at what her son had said. "But Lord Stannis has already declared himself King. I would have thought that Renly would have declared for his brother."

"So did we all, My Lady," Galbart Glover told her, approaching their group. "But it seems that Renly would fancy his ass on the Iron Throne as well. And he does not mean to wait until his older brother dies to do it."

"He wouldn't," Lenora told them, her voice quiet as the group left the Godswood to walk to the Great Hall for their council meeting. "Uncle Renly has never held much respect for Uncle Stannis. The small folk love Renly, they do not love Stannis. Uncle Renly believes that the people's love is all he needs to deserve to be King."

The war council convened in the Great Hall at four long tables arranged in a square. Robb's uncle Edmure sat in the high seat of the Tully's as his father, Lord Hoster, was too sick and too weak to leave his quarters. The Blackfish sat next to him at his left. Lord Hoster's Bannermen sat to the left and right at the side tables. Robb sat opposite Edmure with Lenora on his left, his mother on his right and the Northern Lords to his left and right. There were less of them, but compared to the River Lords they looked stronger, more battle ready.

To Lenora's left sat the Greatjon and then Theon Greyjoy; Galbart Glover and Maege Mormont sat to Catelyn's right. Lord Rickard Karstark took his seat looking like a deadman. He had not slept or ate or bathed much since the Battle of the Whispering Wood where he lost two of his three sons. The third, he had not heard from since he had marched against Tywin Lannister on the Green Fork.

The arguing raged late into the night. Robb did not speak much, he listened and gave every Lord at the table a chance to speak. And they did _speak_. They also yelled, and cursed, and jested, and begged. They threatened and they walked out of the hall only to return some time later smiling, sullen, or embarrassed. Robb listened, and watched and out of the corner of his eye he kept a watch on Lenora's facial expressions, only guessing at what was going on in her mind.

Roose Bolton was reforming what was left of their force at the mouth of the causeway; Tallhart and Frey still held the Twins; Lord Tywin had crossed the Trident and was marching on Harrenhal. There were three Kings in the realm and no one could agree on which ones to support. The only general consensus was that Joffrey did not belong on the Iron Throne.

Some Lords wanted to march on Harrenhal and take out Lord Tywin.

Others urged Robb to attack Casterly Rock.

Some begged him to continue his march on King's Landing.

While some of the River Lords loudly shouted that Robb should join his forces with Renly's, declare Renly King and march with him.

Robb watched as Lenora's fingernails dug into the wood table they were sitting at, she did not approve of any of the suggestions so far, but least of all that last one. He realized with a surge of sympathy that she had probably been right to wish to go to her chamber. No matter how much he wished for his Lords Bannermen to trust her, no matter how much he wanted her council - this entire meeting was about destroying one part of her family or another. It had been cruel of him to bring her with him.

He finally spoke up though, "Renly is not the King," he announced to the River Lord who had suggested joining forces with him.

"You cannot mean to hold us to Joffrey, My Lord!" Glover shouted. "He put your father to death and if Lord Stannis is to be believed he is not King Robert's trueborn son."

"That makes him evil and not fit to rule," Robb told Glover, his voice calm despite the fact that the older man had yelled at him. "I do not know that it makes Renly King though. He is Robert's _younger_ brother. Bran cannot be Lord of Winterfell before me and Renly cannot be King before Stannis."

"So you mean to declare us for Stannis?" Glover pressed.

"Renly is _crowned_ ," Marq Piper, one of Lord Hoster's bannermen argued. "High Garden and Storm's End support his claim. The Dornishmen will not drag their feet. If Winterfell and Riverrun join him he will have five of the Seven Kingdoms. Six if the Arryns join! Six kingdoms against the Rock! We could end the Lannister power in Westeros. What does Lord Stannis have against that?"

"The right," Robb told him, stubborn.

Ser Stevron Frey suggested patience, that they bide their time and let the three Kings in the South fight it out. If things turned against the Lannisters they could always offer their peace. Lord Tywin would be sure to accept it if he was facing a battle on all sides.

Lenora shook her head beside him, "Such a Frey," she whispered, glaring at the knight in question.

The Northern Lords were outraged at the idea of finding a truce with the Lannisters, but Catelyn surprised her son by asking, "Why not a peace?"

Robb turned on her, his eyes narrowed, "My Lady, they murdered my Lord Father, your husband." He unsheathed his sword and laid it on the table in front of him. The metal glinted in the torchlight much like Lenora's eyes when she was angry. "This is the only peace I have for Lannisters." He felt Lenora stiffen beside him and he reached out for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent reminder: _you are a Stark._

Catelyn defended herself. She told the Lords that she only wanted her daughters back, that war would not bring her husband back to her, would not bring back their sons, would only bring further bloodshed. But they did not listen to her, she was speaking women's words in a woman's voice.

And they were speaking of war.

Lord Karstark wanted revenge for his sons' deaths.

Lord Bracken wanted justice for what the Mountain had done to his lands at Lord Tywin's command.

Lord Blackwood asked what would happen if they supported the claim of one King only to have another one win the war.

Marq Piper declared that whatever happened he would not have a Lannister for a King.

Finally the Greatjon stood up from his seat at the table, "My Lords!" he yelled, loud enough to bring a complete silence to the room. "Here's what I have to say to these three Kings!" He spat on the floor, turning for just a moment to nod an apology to Lenora and Catelyn before he continued. "Joffrey is a bastard! Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the South? What do they know of the Wall? Or the Wolfswood? Or the First Men? Even their Gods are wrong! The Others take them all!" He reached over his shoulder to the cheers of the men around him and drew his two-handed greatsword. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" He pointed at Robb with his blade. "There sits the only King I mean to bow my knee to!" he thundered. "The King in the North!"

He knelt, laying his sword at Robb's feet.

"I'll have peace on _those_ terms," Lord Karstark agreed, standing from his seat and for the first time since the Whispering Wood he looked alive. "They can keep their red castle and their iron chair as well." He withdrew his sword, laying it down and kneeling beside the Greatjon, "The King in the North!"

"The King of Winter!" Maege Mormont declared, standing and adding her spiked mace to the swords at his feet.

The River Lords were rising, the Northern Lords too.

"The King in the North!"

"The King in the North!"

" _THE KING IN THE NORTH!_ "

Robb stood from his seat, turning to look first at his mother and then at Lenora. Lenora watched him, tears filling her eyes before she nodded, "The King in the North," she told him softly, adding her voice to the chant, only once.

But once was enough.

It was only then that Robb nodded, agreeing to his new role.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He could hear them from his cell underground. He had heard them the night before proclaiming the boy _King in the North_. And he had laughed, these Northerners were fools if they thought that the Young Wolf would continue beating Tywin Lannister. There hadn't been a King in the North for more than three hundred years and there wouldn't be one for much longer.

The boy came to see him that night, Jaime knew it was him because of the sudden outburst of activity from the jailers. He could hear the boy walking toward his cell. "The King in the North," he yelled out, a sarcastic greeting before the boy reached the door. As the jailer opened it he added, "I would kneel, but," he gestured to the chains that kept him bolted close to the wall of the cell. "I'm a bit busy sitting in my own shit."

He glanced over the boy's shoulder, looking for Lenora, hoping that his niece had come with her husband as well. But she was not there. The newly named King smirked at Jamie's disappointment as if he could read his mind, but did not rise to Jaime's comment. Jaime tried again, "I kept waiting for you to leave me at one castle or another. Will I stay here for safe keeping or will you continue to drag me along from camp to camp?" He lowered his voice, "Have you grown fond of me, Stark?" he asked, his voice dripping with innuendo. "Is that it? I've only seen you with one girl."

The boy nodded, "Your niece," he agreed. "Shall we ask her how fond of you I am?" He shook his head. "No, Kingslayer, if I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight and my Bannerman would receive a raven with a message. _Release my son and you will be rich beyond your dreams; refuse and your house will be destroyed, root and stem._ "

Jaime shook his head and clucked his tongue in playful disappointment. "You don't trust the loyalty of the men following you to battle?"

The boy shook his head, "I trust them with my life. And with Nora's." His eyes narrowed, "Just not with _yours_."

Jaime nodded, he had to admit that the boy was smart. "Smart boy," he congratulated him, smirking when he saw the Stark King's jaw clench. "What's wrong? You don't like being called _boy_? Are you insulted?"

The boy smirked at him, somewhere in the dark cell Jaime heard a growl. He turned his head wildly, side to side looking for the source of the noise. He caught a glimpse of grey fur and wondered when the direwolf had snuck into his cell and how it had been so quiet. "You insult yourself, Kingslayer," the boy told him as the wolf came into view, walking up to stand beside him, staring Jaime down with its molten gold eyes. "You've been defeated by a boy. You're held captive by a boy." His hand fell to the beast's back, his fingers fisting in the animal's grey fur. "Perhaps you will be killed by a boy."

Jaime swallowed nervously, his eyes never leaving the wolf's. "Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the High Lords of Westeros," Robb continued. "That King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true King nor a true Baratheon. That he is your bastard son."

"If that's true then Stannis is the rightful King," Jaime told him, trying to make him doubt. "How _convenient_ for him."

"My father learned the truth and you had him executed," Robb continued as if Jaime had not spoken.

"I was _your_ prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head," Jaime pointed out.

"Your son killed him so that the world wouldn't learn who fathered him," Robb spoke over him. "And _you_ \- you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the Queen."

That hit a bit close to home, Jaime did not like it. The wolf growled. "Do you have proof?" Jaime asked, trying to force his voice to sound taunting. "Or would you like to trade gossip like a couple fishwives?"

"Your niece certainly seems to believe it," Robb pointed out, smirking. He knew that he had Jaime beat. Jaime did not need to deny or admit anything. The very fact that Lenora, the child he had raised, had turned her back on him was all the proof the Northern King needed. "I plan to send one of your cousins down to King's Landing with my peace terms," he informed Jaime.

"You think my father is going to negotiate with you?" Jaime asked him, "even if you have me and Lenora as your prisoners?" He shook his head, "You don't know Tywin Lannister very well."

"No," Robb told him, shaking his head, "but he's starting to know me."

"Three victories do not make you a conquerer."

"Better than three defeats," Robb told him, getting the last word.

Jaime stared at him as the man released his hold on the wolf's fur and turned from the cell, walking away. The wolf lunged toward him, growling and snapping his teeth. Not for the first time Jaime wondered how Robb Stark controlled the wolf because he did not bite. With one last snarl the wolf disappeared from the cell, as quietly and quickly as he had come.

The only sound in the dungeon was the sound of the jailer closing and locking the cell door.

* * *

Author's Note:  
And that, my friends, is the end of the first season/first book. Nineteen chapters, 100,000 words. But here we are ... you guys, me, and the King in the North.  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, let me know in that fun little empty box just down there!  
Thank you to all the wonderful friends who reviewed on the last chapter. You guys are fantastic!

DannyBlack70: I loved Lenora's reaction to Jaime. The first edit she was just angry and bitter, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it was wrong. Jaime had raised her basically; she loved him, looked up to him. She wouldn't just be angry, she would be suffering a loss, and for such a horrible reason. It wouldn't just be anger that she would feel and I'm really glad that came across.

Vulcran: I talked about it at the beginning of chapter sixteen, at least in depth, so if you want to read my long winded explanation you are more than welcome to. But in short, no, Lenora will not inherit the throne. But if she were to have a son, he would be able to claim the throne.

ZabuzasGirl: Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

Raging Raven: Calculating bitches are some of my favorite characters to write. Sweet, innocent people are boring. That's why I started writing Game of Thrones fanfiction, because very few of the characters are completely likable. Same with Lenora. I'm glad you enjoy it.

HPuni101: I'm glad you liked the chapter and I hope you liked this chapter too! It was a fun one to write.

RHatch89: Thank you! Hope you liked this one as well. We're moving on to fun things!

That's all I've got for now!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	20. Chapter Twenty: Steel, Bronze, and Iron

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (the reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon ... nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I get a disturbing amount of enjoyment from writing in Cersei's point of view._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty: A Crown of Steel, Bronze, and Iron_

 _Cersei_

Her brother was held captive by Robb Stark.

Her daughter was held captive by Robb Stark.

Neither of them had been returned to her. Neither of them were even remotely close to being returned to her. She had no idea if she would ever see her brother or her eldest daughter again. And what did her father do for her?

Send the Imp to King's Landing to play the part of Hand of the King.

Her fist clenched around the letter she was holding, Tyrion had arrived at the Small Council meeting, brandishing that paper as if it would save him from her. She had reminded him that Ned Stark had a piece of paper too, and it had done very little to protect him from her and her son.

Tyrion had snorted at her warning, he had spent too many years in her shadow to be afraid of her now.

Oh, but Gods, she was afraid of him.

"How I have yearned for the sound of your sweet voice," Tyrion had sighed to her once he had dismissed the other Lords of the Small Council to speak to his sister alone. He was mocking her.

She ignored his joke, "Has father lost his mind?" she snapped at him. "Or did you forge this letter?" Her eyes scanned the letter once more before she glared at her brother, "Why would he inflict _you_ on me? I wanted him to come himself. I am Joffrey's regent, and I sent him a royal _command_!"

Her anger did little to Tyrion. She watched him as he waddled across the room and poured himself a goblet of wine before taking a seat at the table. He did not ask her if he could have a drink, he did not ask her if he could take a seat, he did not offer the same to her. Her teeth clenched in anger, he was deliberately disrespecting her. "And he ignored you," he pointed out, biting back a smile. It was then that Cersei realized that he was enjoying this. "He has quite a large army, he can do that. Nor is he the first. Is he?"

Cersei's mind flashed to all those years when Jaime had ignored her orders. When she had asked, begged, ordered, threatened, bribed him to come see her. And he ignored her, the few times he came to her it was always on his terms, on his time, and he never touched her, not after Tommen was born. No, Tywin Lannister was not the first to ignore her. Nor did his inaction hurt her as much as Jaime's had.

She threatened to name the letter a forgery. She threatened to have him thrown in the dungeons. Her threats did nothing The little monster laughed at her and asked her why she would throw him in the dungeon when he had come all the way to King's Landing to help her.

"I do not require _your_ help," she bit out angrily. "It was our father's presence that I commanded. It was his help I wanted. Him, not you."

"Yes," Tyrion had agreed with a nod. His voice was quiet. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, "but it's Jaime you really want."

Cersei bit back a gasp. She stared at her brother, her eyes narrowed and hard, she felt her cheeks heat up with the hint of a blush. He couldn't know, she was sure of it. Stannis, curse him to the Seven Hells, had sent ravens to all the Great Lords of Westeros, but Tyrion had been a prisoner, and then he had been marching with their father, and then he had been traveling to King's Landing. He could not have seen one of those letters. She tried to get her face under control, hoping that he had not been able to read the emotions that had played through her mind, "Jaime - " she started, her voice cracking a bit around her brother's name.

" - Is my brother no less than yours," Tyrion interrupted before she could finish her thought. "Give me your support and I shall have him freed and returned to us unharmed."

"And my daughter?" Cersei asked, her tone as hard as stone. "Will she be brought back to me as well? Unharmed?"

She watched as Tyrion clenched his jaw. She followed the way he swung his short arms behind him and in front of him. She saw him fiddle his fat little fingers. He had an answer about Lenora, one that he did not want to give her.

"What of my daughter?" Cersei asked again, through clenched teeth. "Will you get her back from Robb Stark as well?"

"That one is a bit harder," Tyrion told her, his voice softer than she would have expected. Almost apologetic. "I am told that she has been married to Robb Stark. Shortly after Jaime was taken captive."

Cersei's hands began to tremble and she found herself moving toward the table, seating herself next to her brother. "Married to him?" she asked.

Tyrion nodded, "And bedded, I am afraid." He was quiet for a moment, "It is unfortunate that when we get her back she will be a traitor's widow, but at least her honor and dignity will be intact. This really is the best scenario for her."

"Best scenario?" Cersei echoed. She laughed, a bitter humorless sound. "Married to a traitor? Bedded by a traitor? She is a Princess of the realm. And my daughter. She should be here in King's Landing. With me."

"Wedded and bedded by a traitor is better than being made his whore," Tyrion pointed out. The little monster was smart enough to stand from his seat and move away from his sister before he said that. By the time his words had sunken in he was out of reach of her claw-like fingers that would have reached out for his neck.

Her teeth clenched and she inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to calm herself down. Tyrion waited, silently watching her over the rim of his wine goblet. Just out of her reach. "How?" Cersei finally asked once she felt she was calm enough to continue the conversation. "How do you think we will get them back? The Stark boy and his mother are not like to forget that we beheaded Lord Eddard."

"True," Tyrion told her with a nod. "The boy was already less than gracious the last time I saw him. And at that point you had not even imprisoned his father. I would not put it past him to murder Jaime and Lenora the moment he thinks that we are closing in on him. Just to get his vengeance before his death."

"No," Cersei told him shaking her head. "He wouldn't."

"Maybe not Len," Tyrion changed his mind. "He seems to care for her, truly. But he has no love for our brother." He thought about it for a moment, taking a long sip of his wine. "No," he told her, shaking his head. "I do not believe that he would harm Len."

"But you do not _know_ ," Cersei argued. She heaved a large sigh, trying to calm down again. "How?" she repeated her question.

"You love your children," Tyrion told her, as he moved back to the table, sitting down in the seat at the head, diagonal to where she sat. "That is your one redeeming quality, that and your cheekbones. The Starks love their children as well. And we have two of them."

"One," Cersei bit out. As much as she hated Tyrion, he had one redeeming quality as well. He loved their brother. And he loved Lenora. He may not have loved Cersei, but she believed that he truly would do everything he could to rescue her daughter and their brother. And it would not do to have him speaking on behalf of the King without the pertinent facts.

Tyrion rolled his eyes at her, and when he spoke it was with barely controlled anger, "One?" he asked, glaring at her.

Cersei couldn't meet his eye and for the first time since Tyrion had entered the small council chamber she was happy that her father was not there. If Tyrion was disappointed in her she could only imagine how her father would react. "Arya, the little monster. She disappeared. I've given it out that we have both of them, but it's a lie. I sent Meryn Trant to take her the day that Robert died, but she disappeared and no one has seen her since."

"Disappeared?" Tyrion sneered at her. "What? In a puff of smoke?" He pursed his lips and clenched his jaw before he forced a sarcastic smile onto his face. "We had three Starks to trade," he told her, holding up three of his fingers. "Three Starks for one Lannister and one Baratheon. You chopped one's head off," he lowered one of his fingers. "And allowed another to escape." Another finger went down. He was holding up just his index finger now, "Sansa Stark for the Kingslayer and the _only_ trueborn child of you and Robert Baratheon - those aren't good odds."

Cersei's head snapped up at his words. He had hinted at her and Jaime. He had teased. He had flirted with the idea. But now the little beast had come out and said it, he knew that only Lenora was Robert's.

"Father must be so disappointed in you," Tyrion continued, his voice quiet and sly.

Cersei took a moment to compose herself, Tyrion was probably her only hope to get her brother and her daughter back, she could not have him killed, no matter how much she might have wanted to. "How much does he know?" she asked him through clenched teeth.

"He knows that your son's short reign has been a long parade of follies and disasters. That suggest that someone is giving Joffrey some very bad counsel."

Cersei looked at her brother carefully, she could not work out if he was insulting her or the other members of the small council. She bristled slightly, finally deciding that it was probably both. "Joff has had no lack of good counsel. He's always been strong-willed. Now that he's King, he believes he should do as he pleases, not as he's bid."

It was not a defense, she knew, but it was all she had.

Tyrion nodded, accepting her excuse for what it was. "Crowns do queer things to the heads beneath them," he murmured. "Perhaps the Seven Kingdoms would have been better off if Ned Stark had taken the throne. At least he would not have been swayed so easily." He paused for a moment, "This business with Eddard Stark ... Joffrey's work?"

Cersei grimaced, but nodded. "He was instructed to pardon Stark, to allow him to take the Black. The man would have been out of our way forever and we might have made peace with that son of his, but Joff took it upon himself to give the mob a better show. What was I to do? He called for Lord Eddard's head in front of half the city. And Janos Slynt and Ser Ilyn went ahead without asking my permission. The High septon claims we profaned Baelor's Sept with blood, after lying to him about our intent."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, "The boy needs to be controlled," he told his sister. He stood from his chair and started to walk toward the door of the chamber. "Perhaps you should have worked harder at that than trying to fuck our brother," he told her, opening the door and allowing it to slam shut behind him.

Cersei bit back a scream as she threw his empty goblet at the closed door. No matter how much Lenora and Jaime loved him she would kill Tyrion. As soon as he got her brother and daughter returned to her she would kill him.

She had been young when she had decided that, but she remembered the promise she had made herself to this day.

 _"Will the King and I have children?" she had asked._

 _"Oh, aye," the ugly witch had answered her. "Six-and-ten for him, three for you, and one for the two. One shall have a crown of steel, bronze, and iron. The other three: gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."_

If she had been one of the small folk that prophecy would have been frightening enough. But Cersei was the daughter of a high lord of Westeros, she understood High Valyrian.

 _Valonqar_ meant _little brother_.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was standing on the balcony that was connected to her and Robb's quarters when he found her. The Blackfish, they called him, Lord Hoster Tully's brother, though in his younger years Catelyn's father had disowned his brother for disobeying him. Ser Brynden Tully had been a knight in the Vale ever since - that is until his niece, Catelyn Stark had asked him to march south with her and her son.

She was leaning against the railing, staring up the comet as it slowly made its way across the clear blue sky above her. Its tail was a bright red. She was so engrossed in the comet that at first she did not even notice the Blackfish's approach. He called out to her three times before she finally turned around.

"Oh," she greeted once she finally turned her gaze from the comet to the older knight standing in front of her. "Ser Brynden, I am so sorry, what can I do for you?"

"Please, Your Grace, call me Blackfish," the knight requested. "Gods know everyone else does."

Lenora flinched slightly at his greeting. She still wasn't used to it. She had once been Lady Lenora Baratheon, a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. And then, after she had married Robb she was Lenora Stark, the new Lady of Winterfell. She barely had time to get used to that when they had named Robb _King in the North_. Now she, as his wife, was _Your Grace_ , Lenora Stark, _Queen in the North_.

The Blackfish had sharp eyes, he caught her flinch, "Not used to it yet, Your Grace?" he asked her, referring to the name, though he gestured to the crown that sat upon her head.

It was much simpler than the crown that sat on her brother's head in King's Landing. And she could only imagine what her uncle Renly's crown looked like. It was a smaller, more feminine version of Robb's. The old crown that had once belonged to the Kings of Winter had been lost three hundred years ago, but Lord Tully's smith had done his work very well. Catelyn had told her that it looked exactly like the stories she had heard.

She reached up and plucked the crown off the top of her head. She held it for a moment, just staring at it. It was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. There was no gold, no silver, no gemstones - those were for the Southern Kings. Bronze and iron were the metals that belonged to the North and to winter, strong and hard to fight the cold, long nights.

"I had never thought to wear a crown on my head," she told the knight with a soft, rueful smile as she lifted the crown back on top of her head. For something as small and simple as it was it felt heavy. "Joffrey's head was always the one meant for a crown."

The knight stepped closer to her, his hands folded behind his back. "From what I hear your brother's head was not to wear a crown either. Seems to me, you were the one meant to rule."

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "You sound like my uncles Jaime and Tyrion," she told him, she looked away when she said this, afraid that she might see a look on the knight's face that told her it was an insult to be compared to her uncles. "I was probably the best prepared to rule, but I was never meant to."

She wanted to change the subject, though she was unsure of how to do that without seeming rude. The Blackfish understood her though. He nodded up at the sky, his gaze landing on the comet above their heads, "What do you make of it?" he asked her.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know," she told him. "I know what they would be saying in King's Landing. It's my brother's nameday, they will be saying that the comet is for him. They will say that it signifies that he will win some great victory over," she paused not sure if the army that surrounded Riverrun was a _your_ or _our_ army. "Over all that," she settled for, nodding down toward the courtyard below them. "At Casterly Rock they will say that the tail is Lannister red. That it isn't Joff who will win the victory, but my grandfather. This morning I heard a knight say that it was Tully red, that it prophesied a victory for Robb - but he's a Stark, not a Tully, no matter how much he looks like one."

She paused, looking back up at the comet for a moment. "My septa when I was a child used to tell stories about the Targaryen dragons. She said that the last time that a comet flew over Westeros was when dragons soared in the sky. Stars don't fall for men, they fall for dragons. But the dragons are all dead and I'm not sure if there is enough magic left in this world to bring them back."

The Blackfish nodded, thoughtfully, "So you do not think that it is for your brother. Or your Grandfather. It's not for Robb or dragons. So what is it for, Your Grace?" he asked.

Lenora stared up at it for almost a minute before she finally answered, "It's the color of blood," she told him finally. "It means nothing more than that. Men _will_ die, too many of them. No one will write them songs, no one will remember their names, no one will weep for them. They will die and the world will go on without them."

"Not all of them," the Blackfish told her, his voice was soft. Lenora wondered if he meant to be comforting. "Your husband plans on seeing the two of you through this war."

Lenora smiled at him, "Do you know what they say in Braavos?" she asked him. " _Valar morghulis_ \- High Valyrian for _all men must die_."

The Blackfish smiled at her and nodded, "But you are not a man, Lenora."

"And I do not fear death," Lenora told him. "At least not mine."

"King Robb means to end this war with as little bloodshed as possible," the knight told her. "He is meeting your cousin, Cleos Frey, right now to explain his peace terms to him. He'll send him to King's Landing tomorrow morning. Would you like to go down to listen? I could escort you."

Lenora shook her head, "I know what his terms are," she told his uncle. "He discussed them with me last night: he wants his sisters returned safely to Winterfell and Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey broken, with that he will release my cousins Willem Lannister and Tion Frey; he wants Lord Eddard's bones and those of his guard and household returned to the North; he wants _Ice_ returned to his hand here in Riverrun; he wants my grandfather to cease all fighting immediately and to release all of the knights and bannermen he has held captive since the battle at the Green Fork, once this is done he will release all Lannister men - save Jaime who will remain his hostage to ensure my grandfather's good behavior; and finally he demands that my mother and my brother renounce all claims to dominion over the North, House Stark will reign from the Gift to the Neck as well as the lands watered by the River Trident and its vassal streams between the Golden Tooth to the west and the Mountains of the Moon to the east."

She paused for a moment, trying to think if she had missed any of his terms, she was sure that she hadn't. She nodded, signaling that she was done.

"And what do you think of these terms, Your Grace?" the Blackfish asked her.

A proper Lady, a proper wife would have said that it was not her place to comment on her Lord Husband's decisions, at least not in public. But Lenora was no proper Lady. Or a proper wife. "She will never accept those terms," she told him, shaking her head. "Nowhere in there does it say anything about my uncle Jaime ever being returned to her. Nowhere does it say anything about me being given even the choice to return to her. She would send every man, woman, and child in King's Landing to their death before she agreed to give up so much for so very little."

The Blackfish stared at her for a moment before he nodded, "King Robert and his disloyal Queen did not raise a fool," he told her. "I will give them that."

Lenora shook her head, "My uncles Jaime and Tyrion did not raise a fool," she corrected, her tone bitter as she spoke Jaime's name. She had not laid eyes on him since the day she had learned about him and her mother. She imagined that he was being held prisoner somewhere in the castle of Riverrun, though she had no idea where and was unsure if she would go see him even if she did. "My mother and father had very little to do with it, if I'm being honest."

...

She was polishing her sword in the room Robb used for his solar when he returned that afternoon from his session with her cousin Cleos. She could hear them before they entered the room: Edmure Tully, defending the fact that he had allowed the River Lords to return to defend their own separate lands; Robb chuckling about how Grey Wind had terrified the Frey cousin; and Catelyn, encouraging caution. She could not hear the direwolf, but she was sure that he was near. He very rarely left Robb's side, and when he did it was usually because he was with her.

"More bloodshed will not bring your father back to us, or Lord Rickard's sons," Catelyn cautioned her son. "An offer had to be made - though a wiser man might have offered sweeter terms."

"Any sweeter and I would have gagged," Robb argued as he opened the door, smiling when he caught sight of Lenora.

"Cersei Lannister will _never_ consent to trade your sisters for a pair of cousins," Catelyn continued, she had not caught sight of Lenora yet, that much she was sure of, otherwise the older woman would not have said what she said next. "It's her brother she'll want, and _your_ wife. As you well know."

Robb chuckled and moved closer to Lenora, he held his hand out to her. Lenora arched one of her eyebrows at him, but she put her sword down and gave him her hand, allowing him to pull her out of her seat. "I will not release Nora, not even if she asked," Robb told his mother, pausing for a moment to press a kiss against her cheek. "And I can't release the Kingslayer, even if I wanted to. My Lords would never abide it."

"Your Lords made you their King," Catelyn argued.

"And they can _unmake_ him just as easily," Lenora told her as she moved away from Robb so that she could put her sword away. She had gained some trust with him, he no longer believed that she would kill him in his sleep and he had allowed her to have her sword once more, though she was not allowed to take it from their chambers. "You are right, Lady Catelyn, my mother will not agree to those terms. But Robb could not have offered her any more than what he did." She turned to look between Edmure, Robb, and Catelyn, "How did Lord Karstark take it?"

"Badly," Robb told her. "I have to speak to him."

"You better," Lenora told him. "If you lose him you lose half your host and you look weak because you lost one of your Northmen." Edmure stiffened at her statement, but Lenora paid him no mind. Robb's uncle was unsure of what to make of her, he was polite enough, but she knew that he did not like the amount of freedom the Robb granted her. He would rather her be a prisoner like her uncle than his Queen.

There were days where Lenora felt much the same way, if she were being truthful about it.

"If your crown and your wife are the price we must pay to have Arya and Sansa returned safe, we should pay it willingly," Catelyn told her son, making no apology to Lenora for being so willing to get rid of her. Lenora couldn't blame her, much as it hurt her feelings, a Lannister's daughter was little to compare to her own daughters, a cheap imitation. "Half your Lords would like to murder Lannister in his cell. The other half would be only too happy to rape your Queen."

"I'd like to see them try," Lenora defended herself as she moved toward her trunk to put her sword away. Robb swatted at her playfully. Catelyn ignored both of them.

"If he should die, or if something should happen to Lenora, while they are in your care, men will say - "

"That he deserved it," Robb cut in, clearly ignoring his mother's warning that something might happen to Lenora.

"And your sisters?" Catelyn asked, her voice sharp. "Will they deserve their deaths as well? I promise you, if any harm comes to her brother or her daughter, Cersei will pay us back, blood for blood - "

"Lannister won't die," Robb told her. "No one is allowed to see him save me and Lenora, not that she seems to have much interest in seeing him. He is fed. He has water to drink. He is given clean straw, I imagine. But I will not release him, even for Sansa and Arya." He shook his head. "I might have released him for Father, but ..."

"But girls are not important enough?" Catelyn asked him, her voice bitter and cruel.

Robb's blue eyes shot to Lenora and she felt a blush rise on her cheeks at his answer. "Some are." Before Catelyn could bristle at the insinuation that Lenora was more important to her son than his sisters Robb changed the subject. "I will do everything I can for the girls. If Cersei is smart she will accept my terms, if not I will make her rue the day she refused me." That was the end of the conversation, his word was final. "Mother, are you certain that you will not head home to Winterfell?" he asked her. "You would be much further from the fighting and Bran and Rickon need you. Theon could escort you as far as Seagard, you could find a ship there and be back home before the moon turns."

"Why is Theon going to Seagard?" Lenora asked, biting her lip when Edmure turned to glare at her, clearly upset that she would even question her husband.

Robb did not seem to mind though, "Theon is going to speak to his father on my behalf," Robb told her. "I mean to make us allies. I will give him a crown and name him King of the Iron Islands if he gives me ships and men to sail them during this war."

Catelyn shook her head, "I will say again, I would sooner you sent someone else to Pyke, and kept Theon close to you."

Lenora nodded. "I would sooner not go to Pyke at all," she added to Catelyn's argument.

"Why not?" Robb asked, looking between the two women.

"You'll have Balon Greyjoy's help sooner if you keep his son hostage," Catelyn told him.

"He was your father's ward for a reason," Lenora told him. "Balon Greyjoy fought against your father, and mine. He rebelled." Robb raised his eyebrows at her as if to ask her why he should care about that. She sighed, "You don't listen half as well as you did before you were named King," she told him before she explained further. "The words of House Greyjoy are _We do not Sow_. They're pirates, they reap. If they want something, they don't wait for it to be given to them, they take it. They pay what they call the _Iron Price_ for things. If you think that Balon Greyjoy will allow you to _make_ him King of the Iron Islands you are wrong. He has behaved because you hold his only living son, give Theon back to him and he just might _take_ more than you are willing to give him."

Robb looked between the two women and smiled, swooping down to press a kiss against first Catelyn's cheek and then Lenora's lips. "Men fight wars and women worry," he told them with a shake of his head. "I am sending Theon. He is not his father's man, but mine. Now, stop your worrying." He called to Grey Wind, "I am going to go for a ride," he told them. "I will hear no more worrying from the two of you. Lenora, would you like to accompany me?"

Lenora smiled at him and shook her head, "Your _man_ Theon has promised to teach me to shoot a bow in the Godswood, that's where I will be."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Joffrey_

He couldn't understand what was so special about his sister. She was a girl, that's all she was. Just a damn girl. He could understand why his mother wanted Jaime back. His uncle could win battles and lead men. But what good was Lenora? If she returned to King's Landing she would just be another woman at court, one who probably felt like she could tell him what to do. And then, as her king, he'd have to find a new husband for her. She was more trouble than she was worth, really.

And if those vile rumors he had heard were true she would be competition. He had heard some of the stewards at the Red Keep saying that his mother and his uncle Jaime had ... well it was a lie. But if people believed it then they might look to Lenora. The bitch couldn't rule the Seven Kingdoms, she was a girl, but someone would want to marry her. Someone would get her pregnant and then try for find people to support the child. Any sons that Lenora had would be threats to Joffrey.

It did not matter that it was a disgusting lie. What mattered is whether people believed it. Robert Baratheon was Joffrey's father, he was sure of that. But the last thing he needed was Lenora walking around the castle looking like him while Joffrey looked so much like his mother.

She could stay with the wolves in the North, he decided. She could marry Robb Stark if he insisted. She could have all the little wolf pups she wanted as long as they stayed the hell away from King's Landing.

He had heard one of the men talking about them, his father's bastards. Joffrey had never been blind. Or stupid. His father had fucked other women, women that were not his mother. And they had given him baseborn children. He did not judge his father for that, most Lords in the Seven Kingdoms had at least one bastard. Even the honorable Ned Stark had one. But what the man had said next had given him pause.

"King Robert fathered sixteen bastards," the man said. "Their mothers were copper and honey, chestnut and butter, but they all had one thing in common. All the babes were dark as ravens. Dark like the Princess Lenora. But King Joffrey, the Prince Tommen, and the Princess Myrcella all golden like their lion mother. One has to question that."

Joffrey had ordered the man's tongue cut out. His uncle Tyrion had told him that he was a fool. He had told him that a man does not cut out someone's tongue because they told a lie; a man cuts out someone's tongue because they are afraid of what they're saying.

Joffrey rolled his eyes, "Well I have to do something, Uncle," he sneered. "Someone has to do _something_. I am the King and these disgusting lies could be used to undermine my rule. You haven't done anything to stop them."

"We have," Tyrion told him, his voice slow and quiet as if he were talking to a child. It made Joffrey angrier to hear that tone. "Lord Baelish will have some of his," he paused for a moment, trying to think of the right word for them, "his women spread a rumor of our own. We mean to have people believe that your aunt, the Lady Selyse cuckolded your uncle Stannis and that his daughter, your cousin Shireen, belongs to that ridiculous fool of theirs."

Joffrey chuckled, his hand coming up to hide his mouth. "The fool?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "That's a good one, Uncle, truly. The fool." He chuckled again, though there was no humor to it. "No one will believe that!" he thundered, turning on the Imp. "That does not help me with my throne." He shook his head and stormed away from his uncle.

He called for the Hound and ordered his guard to bring him Janos Slynt, the Captain of the City Watch. If his uncle and his mother and his grandfather were not going to do anything to stop the rumors then _he_ would.

Joffrey ordered Slynt to send his City Watch through Kings Landing, he wanted them to round up every one of Robert's bastards that they could get their hands on and murder them. The biggest piece of evidence that these disgusting rumors were the truth were the bastard children that looked more like Robert than Joffrey did. If they were dead, they couldn't be compared to Joffrey.

But he wasn't done yet, he needed someone else to help him, someone who had no scruples. Once he was finished with Janos Slynt he sent a steward to find Petyr Baelish. He had a job for Littlefinger as well.

One that didn't involve his whores.

* * *

Author's Note:

Seriously, I had too much fun writing in Cersei's point of view. The only thing that lessened my enjoyment is how much I like Tyrion, so it was a bit hard to write about him in Cersei's voice.  
I hope that I did her justice.  
I also hope that you guys liked this chapter!  
If you did, let me know in that wonderful box down there!  
If you didn't, then why are you here?  
BIG thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. You guys are my heros:

DannyBlack70: I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. As to your question that was a complete brain fart on my part. In my head, the justification was that with me making Robb older than he is in the books, the GoT timeline doesn't work, so I gave him some years at Riverrun, though I could have also just made the rebellion last longer. And I meant Robert's Rebellion, but I was thinking Iron Throne which then led my mind to Iron Islands and my fingers got away from my brain and I didn't edit very well. So I guess an accidental AU was born. Not an intentional one.

Vulcran: I'm glad. I like the history of it too! History was always my favorite subject in school.

HPuni101: I'm not even mad when you guys can tell that I enjoyed writing something. My old creative writing professor would tell me that too much of my voice is coming through in the story if you guys can tell, but I don't care. As long as you guys are enjoying reading it then it's fine by me. As for the ending ... it's a bit AU. (I won't tell you which bit though!)

RHatch89: Me too. It got even better in this chapter, but just wait for the next one!

That's all I've got for now.  
Go fill that review box with some love!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One: No One Else

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon ... nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and sometimes I answer the questions people ask in their reviews._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-One: No One Else_

 _Tyrion_

He missed his niece, now that he was in King's Landing more than ever. He couldn't trust anyone in the Red Keep, he knew that much. But he would have been able to trust Lenora. She would have even helped him. Instead he was left trying to find a way to save her and he had nothing to trade for her save Sansa Stark. He was sure that Catelyn would willingly give Lenora back to him, Jaime too, if it meant that he sent Sansa home to Winterfell, but her son was a different story.

Her son was not stupid when it came to the ways of war. He would not trade his most valuable hostage for his sisters, and Tyrion did not even have both. Just one. And truth be told, the Stark boy seemed quite taken with Lenora. Tyrion could still remember the way Robb had stood in front of her, as if to protect her from Tyrion the last time he had seen her at Winterfell. It had been laughable then, that the Stark boy had thought she needed protection from her uncle, but it touched his heart now.

King's Landing was getting more unsafe for those with royal blood in their veins every day. Each day more small folk crowded into the city, taking refuge from the war in the North. But they did not find safety in the city. Instead they found crowds, starvation, fear, and anger. Women were raped on the streets, men were killed for a crust of stale bread. Cersei did not see it because she stayed within the walls of the castle and the keep. Joffrey was too busy _ruling_ to leave the Red Keep and Myrcella and Tommen were too young to go anywhere unaccompanied.

But Lenora was a different story. She would have wandered. She had always wandered. Even when she was a young girl she was always disappearing in search of one adventure or another. She was safer away from the city, not that Tyrion wanted to voice that opinion to his sister. She was safer out of the city and even if she went looking for adventures in the North he was sure that he could trust Robb Stark to keep her safe.

Cersei was not as smart as she thought she was, she was being shortsighted. She didn't need Lenora back in King's Landing. What she needed was to get her other children out of the city. Renly was amassing men in High Garden, he already had the strength of both the Tyrells and Storms End. Stannis had named himself King as well and named three of her children bastards. The best case scenario was that one Baratheon brother marched on King's Landing, then the other.

The worst was that they came at the same time: Stannis by sea, Renly by land.

If she truly loved her children she would get them out of the capital, sooner rather than later. He had a plan for that, and a way to figure out who on the Small Council he could trust. Kill two birds with one stone as it were.

First he told Grand Maester Pycelle that he meant to send Myrcella to Dorne and once they got Lenora back he meant to marry her off to some Lord in King's Landing. Cersei would lose one daughter, but get another back.

Next, to Petyr Baelish he offered Myrcella to Robert Arryn of the Vale and Lenora to Ser Loras Tyrell if Baelish could get himself down to Highgarden and convince Lord Tyrell that an alliance with the Lannisters would be more beneficial than one with Renly.

And then to Varys he said he planned on sending _Tommen_ to Dorne to be a ward of the Martells. Lenora would be married off to Theon Greyjoy in an attempt to persuade Balon Greyjoy and his son of helping them destroy Robb Stark's army from within.

Three Lords of the Small Council. Three stories. Three insistences that they do not speak of the plans with the Queen Regent.

 _One. Two. Three._

If none of them talked to Cersei then he would have his pick of what to do with the children and where to send them. But if one of them did, then he would also know who he could not trust.

He would have patted himself on the back for it, he really would have. If only his hand could reach.

He had been busy since arriving in King's Landing. He had met with all the metal workers to start them on making his chain. He had met with the Pyromancers about their Wildfire. The Gods knew that he hoped he would not have to use it, but if Stannis sailed on King's Landing he planned to protect the city with everything he had.

Bronn was waiting for him when he left the Pyromancers. "What are you doing here?" Tyrion asked him.

"Delivering your messages," Bronn told him, his voice bored. "Ironhand wants you urgently at the Gate of the Gods. He won't say why. And you've been summoned to Maegor's too."

Tyrion nodded, he could only imagine what his sister wanted with him. One of the Lords on the Small Council must have told her his plans, maybe even more than one. She would be angry with him. But no angrier than if he let her wait a bit longer. Ser Jacelyn would not have requested him at the Gate of the Gods unless it was important. "I'd best see what Bywater wants," he told Bronn as he started to head toward the Gate. "Inform my sister that I will attend her on my return."

"She won't like that," Bronn told him, laughter coloring his voice.

"Good," Tyrion told him with a chuckle. "The wait will make her angry, and anger makes her stupid. I much prefer her angry and stupid to composed and cunning."

There had once been a market square just inside the Gate of the Gods. If they hadn't been in the middle of a war the square would have been filled with farmers selling their vegetables, servants buying for their masters, orphan children begging for food. But now, it was almost deserted. Ser Jacelyn met him at that gate and raised his iron hand in a salute before informing him that his cousin Ser Cleos Frey had just arrived from Riverrun under a peace banner. He had a letter from Robb Stark.

The poor man was confined to a small windowless guardroom in the gatehouse. He looked as though he was going to cry with happiness when Tyrion walked into the room. He stood quickly, giving Tyrion more respect that he had ever received from his Frey cousin in the past. "Tyrion, you are a most welcome sight," he told him. His voice was so sincere that Tyrion almost believed him. "Has Cersei come with you?" Cleos asked him, looking over his shoulder for the absent Queen Regent.

"My sister is occupied," Tyrion told him, dismissing Ser Jacelyn and moving toward the table that Cleos had been sitting at. "Are these Stark's peace terms?" he asked, picking up the parchment from the table.

Cleos looked as though he meant to grab the letter from his hand. "I was told to bring the offer to the Queen Regent," he told him.

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he started reading the letter, "And instead you delivered it to the Hand of the King," he told his cousin. "How are you, Cousin?" he asked Cleos, still reading. "You look tired. You should rest."

Cleos nodded, retaking his previous seat, "It is bad in the Riverlands, Tyrion," Cleos told him. Tyrion clenched his jaw, he did not like the way Cleos continued to use his first name, he thought because he was married to a Lannister it put them on equal footing. It did not. "Around the Gods Eye and along the Kingsroad especially. The River Lords are burning their own crops to try and starve us, and your father's foragers are torching every village they take and putting the smallfolk to the sword."

"That is how war goes," Tyrion told him, rolling his eyes. "It's why I thank the Gods every morning that I was born a Lannister.

"Even with the peace banner, we were attacked. More than once. Wolves in mail, hungry to savage anyone weaker than themselves. Gods alone know what side they started on, but they're on their own side now. Lost three men and at least twice as many are wounded."

"And what news of Robb Stark?" Tyrion asked him, looking up from the peace terms in his hand. "He certainly does not ask for much, just half the kingdom, the release of our captives, hostages for him, his sisters, his father's bones, and his father's great sword. I'm surprised that he did not ask for the King's head as well."

"I believe he means to take that," Cleos told him, his tone dark. He was quiet for a moment, thinking of what would be most useful to say. "The boy sits idle at Riverrun. I think he fears to meet your father in the field."

Tyrion snorted at that. "The boy has won every battle he's fought. And he took my brother Jaime captive after the Battle of the Whispering Wood. Flattering my father will do you no good here, especially when it is a lie."

Cleos nodded, silent again. But the next time he spoke it was with more facts and less flattery. "His strength grows less each day. The River Lords have departed, each to defend his own lands."

Tyrion nodded. "And what of Lenora? And Jaime?" he asked Cleos. "Did you see my niece while you were at Riverrun? Did you see my brother?"

"I did not see Ser Jaime," Cleos told him, looking down in disappointment. "The Young Wolf does not let anyone see him. But I did see Princess Lenora, though she did not speak to me. She seems to be well cared for, he has married her and his Bannermen have named her their Queen in the North. She may not be the happiest, but she is safe."

Tyrion nodded, rolling up the parchment in his hand, "These peace terms will not do," he told his cousin. "We will not trade the Stark girls for Tion and Willem," he inclined his head toward Cleos, silently apologizing for refusing not to make the trade for his cousin's younger brother. "Perhaps if he had offered Jaime and Lenora up for the girls." He shook his head, "No, we will have to propose our own exchange of captives. I will consult with Cersei and the Council. Once I have done that we will send you back to Riverrun with _our_ terms."

Cleos did not look thrilled at that prospect, "My Lord," he started, finally giving Tyrion the respect he deserved as Hand of the King. "I do not believe Robb Stark will yield easily. It is Lady Catelyn who wants peace. Her son wants war."

"Lady Catelyn does not want peace," Tyrion told him, shaking his head. "She wants her daughters. And her boy wants revenge for what my nephew did to Ned Stark. These terms will not give us peace."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

She was in the Godswood, his little warrior, practicing with the bow that Theon had left for her. They had a strange relationship, Lenora and Theon. She was suspicious of him and she most certainly did not trust him, but they were almost friends. They rode together occasionally, they had jokes, Theon taught Lenora how to use the bow, and Lenora would playfully roll her eyes and help Theon tell his battle stories by interjecting with the truth more often than the man would have liked.

When Theon left for the Iron Islands he had given Lenora his own bow, playfully asking her to keep it safe for him until he returned.

She had been practicing with it every day since.

She was concentrating so much on her target that she did not notice his approach. He leaned against one of the trees and watched her.

Her stance was good. Her feet were hips distance apart, a steady base. He smiled softly at her, from the ground to her waist she looked good, but she was stiff.

He found it funny, Jaime Lannister had taught Lenora to fight with sword in a practical manner. She knew how to fight, if she ever found herself on a battlefield with a sword in her hand she would be able to take care of herself. Theon, on the other hand, had taught her to shoot a bow and arrow at a target. If she were ever caught in battle with a bow she would be killed before she got the chance to find her _proper_ stance.

He must have chuckled out loud because she turned around, finally hearing him. "Are you just going to watch?" she asked, her voice playfully stubborn. "Or are you going to help me?"

He wondered if she had ever really been as blind to his presence as he had thought she was. He watched her as she loosed the arrow, it sailed through the air, straight and true and hit dead center on her target. "You seem to be doing just fine on your own," he told her, moving closer to her. "Have you ever met a weapon that you do not excel at?"

"I'm not very good with a morning star," Lenora told him as she walked away from him so that she could collect her arrows from the target. She sighed, "I know I'm doing something wrong," she told Robb as she started to walk back to him. "It feels weird, this bow. A sword doesn't feel like this."

"You've had a sword for many years," Robb told her as he walked around her in a circle. "Well go on," he told her, gesturing to the bow. "Show me your stance again."

Lenora rolled her eyes at him, but did as he told her. "This is different," she told him, shaking her head. "My sword, even the first time I practiced with it - even when I stole my uncle's sword, it did not feel as strange. As foreign."

Robb nodded. "I've seen you with a sword in your hand, Love," he told her. "You're relaxed. Look at you now, you're too tense." He came to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back. His hands on her shoulders, "Relax."

Lenora took a deep inhale, holding the breath for a moment, before slowly breathing out. Her body relaxed on the exhale, Robb smiled when he felt her shoulders soften under his hands. "Bend your knees," he whispered in her ear. He could not see her knees because of her skirts, but he could imagine them. "When you have them locked you are as like to pass out as to hit your intended target."

She nodded, fidgeting for a moment before becoming still. She smiled up at him, "This feels familiar," she whispered.

Robb nodded, "Same concept as sword play, really," he told her. He slid his hand down her left arm, "Relax your grip," he told her, smiling at the tense hold she had on the bow. He slid his fingers between hers, gently pulling her fingers off the bow. "Lightly hold the bow," he told her. "Ser Rodrik, at Winterfell, once told me you should hold a bow like you would hold a woman. Light and gentle so as not to bruise her."

He was so close to her that he thought he could feel the heat rising from the blush on her cheeks. "Let's see how you nock the arrow."

She nodded and after a moment started to move. She turned the bow horizontal so that the arrow rest was facing upwards. She placed an arrow in the rest, pushing the nock of the arrow onto the string and then turned the bow vertical again. She did it all very fast, he would give her that. Theon had taught her that very well. But if she ever wanted to be truly good she would need to learn to nock an arrow without turning the bow. "Pull the string back?" she asked him.

Robb nodded silently, knowing that she would be able to feel his answer. The corners of her lips turned up in a smile. She placed the three middle fingers of her right hand on the string. Robb shook his head. "Index finger above the arrow, middle and ring below. The string should go no further than the top crease of your fingers."

Lenora smiled at that, "My uncle Stannis has a knight," she told him. "They call him the Onion Knight because he smuggled onions into Storm's End during my father's rebellion." She shrugged her shoulders. "Because Stannis takes his honor very seriously he knighted the smuggler for saving Storm's End, but not before he removed his fingers at the top crease for being a smuggler."

"Your uncle is strange," Robb told her as she started to draw the bow back. "You're pulling wrong," he told her. "Not with your arms, your back." It was something he would have missed if he hadn't been standing so close to her, if he hadn't been pressed against her back.

"Theon told me that too," Lenora told him, relaxing the string. "But he never told me why."

"Why?" Robb asked. "Because your back is bigger than your arm. Let it do the work."

"Okay," she told him, "I'll try again." She pulled the arrow back again, this time Robb felt the muscles on her back move, straining slightly with the effort. Lenora had never been weak, but all the riding they had done since they left Winterfell had made her even stronger.

"Good," Robb told her. Her index finger was under her chin, the string touching her nose and lips. Her elbow was slightly raised. His left arm slid around her waist, holding her still, his right hand went to her elbow, pushing down gently until it was level with the rest of her arm. "Better."

She pursed her lips, she wasn't angry though, her eyes were shining silver, a color he hadn't seen in them for several weeks. She was trying not to smile. She closed her left eye, using only her dominant right eye to sight her target.

"Easy does it," Robb whispered.

She relaxed her grip on the string, allowing her fingertips to slide back without clinging to the bowstring. The arrow flew through the air and Robb's hand on her hip became a restraining grip as she started to turn away. "Maintain the body position until your arrow has hit its mark," he told her. "It's about the intention of it."

As soon as the arrow hit the target he let go of her hip. He didn't move away from her though and he was rewarded by having her lean back against his chest, relaxing into him. "How did that feel?" he murmured.

"Better," Lenora told him with a giggle. "A lot better. Though I imagine part of that had to do with how close you were to me." That made him smile. She turned her head to look up at him, "Is this how Ser Rodrik taught you to shoot an arrow?" she asked him.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head with a chuckle. "I would imagine that it would be an awkward situation if this was how Rodrik taught young boys to shoot bows." He paused for a moment, his smile turning into a wolflike smirk, "Though, it is how his daughter taught me."

"His daughter?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows and looking at his with wide, bewildered eyes. "And did you know this daughter of his ... well?"

"Well enough," Robb told her, not quite meeting her eyes. He leaned in as if to kiss her, but she leaned away from him with a giggle. She tried to take a step back, but Robb's hands shot out, landing on her hips to keep her in place.

She sighed, but did not fight him; instead she dropped Theon's bow to the ground, her hands came to rest on his chest. "And did you know any other women _well enough_?" she asked him.

Robb chuckled and threw his head back, "Let's see here. There was Beth Cassel, and Jeyne Poole. Ros in Wintertown. And -"

"Enough!" Lenora interrupted with a yell, throwing her own head back and laughing. "You're lucky I am not in love with you Robb Stark or I would be jealous."

"I believe you're jealous, even now," Robb told her with a wide grin. The grin softened into smile, "And you, My Lady?"

"Are you adding me to your list?" Lenora asked him, looking away with a blush on her cheeks, "Or asking me who is on mine?"

"Oh you're at the top of my list," he told her with a smile. "You have no need to worry about that."

Lenora smiled at that, her blush darkening even more. "There was no one else," she told him, her voice quiet. He hadn't needed to hear that from her, it was obvious to him that she had been untouched before she came to him. It was nice to hear all the same though. She wouldn't meet his eyes, "Just you."

Robb watched her, quiet for a moment, "I wish that I could say that it was only you," he told her. "It will be only you from here until my last day."

Lenora smiled and shook her head, "You do not have to apologize," she told him, her voice gentle and soft. "You're a young man, and a handsome one. Of course you knew women before me. And you'll know women after me, I'm sure. Though, if I find out about them I will cut off your cock. Don't think I won't."

Robb shook his head, ignoring her threat, though he was sure that she meant it. "I swear to you," he told her. "I made a vow."

"And my father made a vow to my mother," Lenora told him. "A lot of good his vow did for them." She paused, turning her gaze back to him, clenching her jaw, "Your father swore a vow to your mother and you have Jon for a half brother."

Robb's hands tensed on her hips and Lenora flinched away from him, as if she were afraid that he would strike her. He forced his hands to relax and his face to soften. "You speak the truth," he told her through clenched teeth. "I may not want to hear it, but you speak the truth. I would not harm you for that." He studied her for a moment, "You thought I was going to hit you," he told her, his voice quiet. "Why?"

Lenora shook her head, forcing a smile onto her lips.

"Why Nora?" he asked her, his voice more forceful than before. "Has someone hit you? Your father? Your uncles? Your brother?"

Lenora shook her head. "No," she told him. "But my mother always spoke her mind, she always pushed my father." She looked away from him, her eyes stormy, "And he hit her."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

She was waiting for him in her solar, standing by the window. From where she stood she could see Myrcella, playing in the garden below Maegor's Holdfast. She had several of the young girls that served as her ladies with her. They seemed to be playing a game of Maidens and Monsters. She smiled ruefully at the sight below. Myrcella was giggling, this was the first time she had heard her daughter giggle since the war started, since the young princess realized that Lenora was trapped in the North with the enemy.

But now, now she was finally smiling, laughing and Tyrion meant to send her away.

She had sent for Tyrion almost an hour ago and the little monster still had not come to see her. He had sent his sellsword to tell her that he would see her once he had time. Oh, how she had railed at his messenger. She was the Queen Regent, he was just the substitute Hand of the King. He had no right to ignore her summons. He had no right to make her wait. The sellsword had just smiled at her, as if her words had absolutely no effect on him. He grabbed her goblet of wine off the table in front of her and finished it in one swallow before he left the room, humming to himself.

And this was who Tyrion had named the new Captain of the City Watch. She was still fuming about that.

But now, watching Myrcella in the garden it was impossible to be upset about the damn City Watch. All she could think about was how her brother meant to send her child away from her. He hadn't even asked her permission, he hadn't even discussed it with her. And Lenora! He planned on getting her back just to give her away again. Cersei shook her head. She had allowed Robert to give their daughter away once, she was not going to allow another man to give her away again.

No matter what their father said.

Tyrion should not have made her wait, it was stupid of him. The longer she waited the angrier she got. By the time the door to her solar opened and he strolled in unannounced she could have killed him. She would have done so happily too.

"What a disgusting little worm you are," she sneered at him without turning from the window.

"What a sweet greeting, dear Sister," Tyrion told her, his voice sarcastic.

"You monster," she continued as if he had not spoken. "Myrcella is my youngest daughter, the only one I have left to me. Do you really think I will allow you to sell her like some common whore?" She turned to glare at her brother and walked closer to him, wanting him to feel just how angry she was. "And Lenora? You haven't even gotten her back yet and you already plan to send her away?"

Something lit in Tyrion's eyes. Cersei didn't know what it was that made her brother so excited but that glint in his eyes made her angrier. He was treating her daughters' lives like they were a game. "I'm not treating either of them like common whores," Tyrion told her, walking further into the room. "They are princesses. Some would say this is what they were born for. If Robert were still around her would have started making marriage plans for Myrcella already. Lenora was only five when he planned her betrothal to Robb Stark. It's time for Myrcella to play her part. Or did you plan to marry her to Tommen?"

Cersei could not decide what to be angrier at. The Imp had been making sly remarks about brothers and sisters, her and Jaime, since he had come back. They were disgusting jokes and low even for him. But for him to imply that Myrcella and Tommen ... that was worse. He put his hands behind his back and waddled across the room, pacing. "I would have suggested that you planned to marry Lenora to Joffrey, but I think you love her too much for that. Pity that you don't care for Sansa Stark, despite how much the girl tries to be like your own daughter."

He stopped at the table by the window and picked up a cup, pouring some wine in it. Cersei waited until he had filled his cup and taken a step away from the table before her hand lashed out and she knocked the cup from his hand, spilling the wine on the floor. "Brother or no, I should have your tongue cut out for that," she told him.

Tyrion looked bored at her threat, "I believe there has been more than enough tongue cuttings for one month," he told her. "It seems to be the King's punishment of choice. Though it does nothing to keep the whispers at bay."

" _I_ am Joffrey's regent. _I_ am the girls' mother. Not you. And I say that Myrcella will not be shipped off to Dorne the way I was shipped to Robert Baratheon." There was that light in Tyrion's eyes again. He was playing some game and she didn't even know the rules.

Tyrion pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the wine from his fingers with a sigh. "Dorne is the safest place for her," he told her, slow and gentle as if he was speaking to a child.

"The Martells hate us," Cersei argued.

"That's why we need to seduce them," Tyrion told her. "We'll need their support in the war. They hate us for what happened Prince Doran's sister, but that is only one generation back. They have warred with Storm's End and Highgarden for many generations. Renly has taken Dorne's support for granted, I mean to steal it from him. Myrcella is ten, Trystane Martell twelve. I have proposed they wed after her fourteenth nameday. Until such time, she would stay at Sunspear, under Prince Doran's protection."

"A hostage," Cersei told him, her voice cracking as she turned away from Tyrion to move back toward the window to watch her daughter play.

"An honored guest," Tyrion corrected, waddling after her to stand by the window as well.

"A prisoner."

"But safe," Tyrion countered. "Safer than she will be in King's Landing. Do you want her to be raped? Butchered? If Stannis or Renly sack the city do you think they will treat her kindly? She is not Lenora, she does not have their blood in her veins. They would be gentle with Lenora, marry her off to some Lord with a small amount of land, far from King's Landing. But Myrcella? She is not their blood. She is not Robert's child. They will mount her pretty head on a spike right next to yours. You know it's true."

Cersei hated it, but she knew he was right, she could feel tears springing to her eyes as she sat down on the sill of the window and nodded. She was done fighting over Myrcella, she hated it, but he was right.

Her fight was not completely done yet though. "And what of Lenora?" she asked him, her voice quiet. "My source knew exactly what you planned to do with Myrcella, but all he said about Lenora was that you planned on marrying her to a Southern Lord once you got her back. Which Lord?"

"I haven't quite decided yet," Tyrion told her with a shrug of his shoulders. "Whichever one proves himself most worthy. Lord Baelish has been working tirelessly for the King as of late, though we would have to give him a better title and lands before he would be worthy of her -"

"You will not give her to Littlefinger," Cersei growled at him, all her submission disappearing in an instant. "I would not trust that man with a dog. I would never give my daughter to him."

"Very well," Tyrion told her, as if he actually cared about how she felt about these things. "Then perhaps I will marry her to one of Father's Bannermen. Len always loved the Rock more than King's Landing. I cannot get her back to the castle she grew up in, but perhaps I can get her back to the West."

"Most of Father's Bannermen are older than me," Cersei argued. "Lenora was already forced to marry the Stark boy, now you would have her marry an old man?"

"One of their son's then," Tyrion told her with a wave of his hand.

Cersei stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "No," she told him, shaking her head. "I don't believe you. You care too much about Lenora, so much more than you care about Myrcella, you would not be so cavalier with her future. You have something else up your sleeve when it comes to her. What is it?"

Tyrion shook his head. He had a plan, she could tell, but he did not wish to share it with her. Cersei watched him for a moment before she sighed, too tired to fight anymore. "I should have been born a man," she told Tyrion. "I would have no need of any of you then."

"Jaime might have been disappointed though," Tyrion joked, staring at his sleeve, there were wine stains on the fabric.

"None of this would have been allowed to happen, if I were a man," Cersei told him, ignoring his jape at her. "My daughters would stay with me and would only be married when I decided. Jaime would not have been captured by that _boy_. And father would not be hiding in Harrenhal, he would be protecting King's Landing like I ordered him to do."

"He's fighting a war," Tyrion told her as he moved away from the window to pour more wine into his cup, moving far enough away from her that she would not be able to knock this cup from his hand. "I know very little about making war, but I imagine that it's more difficult when sitting in one place."

"He's sitting in Harrenhal right now!" Cersei argued, gesturing around the room as if Tyrion would be able to see their father there. "Hiding. They're both hiding. Father sits in one castle, and Robb Stark sits in another, and no one _does_ anything. Except for you, of course, you waddle around King's Landing selling my children."

"There is sitting and there is sitting," Tyrion riddled at her. Cersei raised her eyebrows. "Each one waits for the other to move, but the lion is still, poised, his tail twitching; while the fawn is frozen by fear, bowels turned to jelly. No matter which way he bounds, the lion will have him and he knows it."

"And you're certain that Father is the lion?" Cersei asked him.

"Of course," Tyrion told her with a grin. "It's on all our banners." Cersei was not amused, the look on her face must have been easy enough for her brother to read because he sighed. "If Robb Stark was not afraid of losing why would he have sent us his peace terms?" he asked her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a scroll of parchment, handing it over to her.

"Peace terms?" Cersei asked, quickly unrolling the parchment.

"Unacceptable though they are, they're something."

"Why do you have them?" Cersei asked as her eyes scanned over the terms. "They should have been brought straight to me. I am the Queen Regent."

"What else is a Hand for, if not to _hand_ you things?" Tyrion asked her.

"Too funny," Cersei told him, shaking her head. She looked up from the terms. "He makes no mention of freeing Jaime." Tyrion nodded. "Or Lenora."

"They've been married," Tyrion told his sister. "Much as Joffrey is unlikely to give up the play thing he has in Sansa; Robb Stark is, perhaps more unlikely, to give up his wife."

"And why is that?" Cersei asked him, raising her eyebrows.

"Because he loves her," Tyrion told her. "Surely you saw that while you were at Winterfell. She isn't a hostage or something to negotiate with. She is his wife. And he loves her."

Cersei scoffed at that. Love was for the weak. But something in Tyrion's voice caught her attention. "Oh I see," she whispered, "the reason you have no plans for what to do with Lenora after you rescue her is because you have no plans to rescue her. You plan to leave her with the Stark boy."

"Just until we beat him," Tyrion told her, unashamed. "She's safer there, with him, than most places in Westeros.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Hello readers! How are you? I hope that life has treated you well since the last update yesterday.  
And if not, then I hope that this chapter may be enough to make up for it. I do, sincerely hope that you enjoyed it. And I hope that you know how much I appreciate you stopping by to read this story. It's encouraging.  
I appreciate the reviews even more! So HUGE thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. You're saints, truly.

 _DannyBlack70_ : Cersei is one of my favorites! Which is why I wrote about her again in this chapter. She's just so fantastic in a horribly unlikeable way. And I love her for it. I don't think that Lenora is going to kidnap Theon, that part might stay relatively cannon, though it'll break my heart to do it.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Not an immediate update, but two in twenty-four hours isn't bad.

 _HPuni101_ : Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed the Cersei and Tyrion scene. I love the two of them together, it's kind of pure magic. And I'm glad that Joffrey's part wasn't bad either. I wasn't completely comfortable writing in Joffrey's voice which is why is part was so short, but I needed it to drive the story a bit and I was just hoping it wasn't too terrible.

 _RHatch89_ : Me too! Lenora is such a strong character and she's only going to realize that more and more as the story progresses and I can't wait for it. Unfortunately she's not going to interact with Renly at the very least. It's explained a little more in the next chapter, but with her being Robert's only true child and her future children being true heirs to the Iron Throne Robb's really careful with her. It would be stupid to send her across the country where someone, even if it is her uncle, might capture her to keep her from giving him any children.

 _Raging Raven_ : Your review is why I have that disclaimer at the top about occasionally answering questions. So many people have asked about the Red Wedding and I've been pretty cagey about it. I'm not going to totally give it away, because then why would you read it, but ... There is going to be a Red Wedding. I'm just not going to tell you who will die.  
But if Robb were to die, you are right. Lenora would survive. She'd come out strong. And I am so glad that you see the similarities to Cersei. Lenora is likable and she spent many years away from Cersei, but she's still her daughter. She's going to have some of those traits, only softened by her years with Tyrion and Jaime.  
And I'm thrilled that you think this story is more interesting than the "typical OCs" out there. That's my end goal really.

That's all I've got for now guys! Go show that review box some love. If you have a question ... ask. (I might answer.)  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two: What Do You Get?

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you. The reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon ... nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane ... I give and I take (sometimes in the same chapter)._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-two: What do you get?_

 _Robb_

She giggled as he pulled out of her. He smiled, her laughter was infectious and there had been many days where he had not heard it. He liked her laughter and he would do what he could to keep her happy and laughing for as long as he could. "Where are you going?" she asked him, her voice quiet and almost sleepy as she rolled over in the bed, laying on her stomach and watching him over her shoulder.

Robb started getting dressed, as he pulled his pants up and laced them he looked over his shoulder at the woman laying in his bed. She was a tempting sight. Her skin was warm and golden from the sun. Her dark hair fell down her back in wild, untamed curls. From where he stood he could see the dimples on her lower back, he smiled at the memory of dipping his tongue into those indentations not that long ago. There was a small constellation of freckles across her right shoulder that he had never noticed before.

"I was going to see my grandfather," he told her, moving closer to the bed. "Then I thought I'd check in the maester to see if there have been any ravens today." His mother had left a week ago for Highgarden to meet with Renly on his behalf. He knew she wouldn't reach Renly for another few days, but maybe she had picked up some news on the road.

"You were going to?" Lenora asked, her tone light and teasing as her silver eyes flitted over his chest. "Changed your mind, did you?" She was smirking at him.

Robb chuckled before he grabbed his shirt off the end of the bed. "No," he teased her, waving the shirt at her. "I just needed this."

Lenora groaned and rolled over onto her back, stretching her arms over her head, her back arching slightly. "Stay a bit longer?" she asked him, almost begging, though not quite. "It's so nice in here. You can almost forget that there's a war out there."

Robb chuckled and shook his head, "I'm a King," he told her, his voice gentle. "I'm not allowed to forget that there's a war out there. It's my job to win it. It's hard and it's messy. But it will be worth it."

Lenora sat up in the bed, covering herself up with the bedsheets. "Would you ever let me go to battle?" she asked him. Her voice was quiet, timid even. She knew what his answer would be, but she asked regardless.

Robb sighed, "We've discussed this, Nora," he told her, sitting down in the chair in front of his war table. "It's not that I don't trust you. I truly believe that you would not kill me or any of my men. I trust that you would not run away. But trusting you and trusting the world _with_ you are two different things. I don't trust that a Lannister bannerman wouldn't capture you and take you from me. I don't trust that some lowborn foot solider on either side of the battle wouldn't rape you just because he's curious of what a highborn lady is like. I don't trust that you would be returned to me after the battle in one piece." He shook his head. "The battlefield is no place for a woman, Lenora, even one as well trained as you."

Lenora stood up from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her body completely and walked toward him. "You say that war is dangerous," she told him, her silver eyes begging him to reconsider his answer. "You say that it is hard work. That it's bloody business and a job. And you are correct, war is not a game. But, from where I stand, in my tiny corner of the world, it looks a hell of a lot like adventure."

Robb looked up at her sharply, his eyes scanning her face. She was standing beside his table, her arms wrapped around herself, holding on tight as if she was holding herself together. Her eyes were not as light as they had been earlier. Brushed steel instead of silver. She was looking out, over the balcony, past the castle walls, toward the camp that was currently set up just outside the walls of Riverrun. He could see it in her eyes, a restlessness. She didn't want to kill, but she wanted to fight. She wanted to be useful. This was as much her war as it was his, marrying him hadn't changed that.

"Something could happen to you," he told her, his voice soft, begging her to see it from his perspective.

"And then you would lose your most valuable prisoner?" Lenora taunted without looking away from the camp.

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head. "I would lose my wife." He watched her, realizing that he had to give her something. He could not ask her to stay at Riverrun when he marched on her grandfather. And he could not drag her from camp to camp and order her to sit in their tent and wait for him to come back. He sighed, "You've been spending time with the maester?" he asked her. "Since coming to Riverrun, you've been spending your days with him."

Lenora nodded, "There's very little else for me to do," she told him with a shrug. "Your grandfather's steward has given me free reign of Riverrun's library, but a girl can only read so much. And the maester has more wounded men than he can handle." She shrugged her shoulders again, finally looking away from the camp so that she could stare down at her feet instead. "He's just taught me a few things: how to dress wounds, stitching, when to administer milk of the poppy and how much. That sort of thing."

Robb nodded, "I won't give you a sword," he told her, his voice gentle. "I won't put you on a battlefield and ask you to kill men." She looked disappointed, she bit her lip to keep from arguing with him. "But," he continued, "you want to help, you want to be part of the effort. I understand that. Would helping the Silent Sisters after the battle suffice?"

Lenora looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. She hadn't expected him to give her anything. And this was more than she had expected. "Truly?" she asked him, taking a step closer to him. "You mean it?"

Robb nodded, "You have my word, Nora."

She smiled at him, grateful. Robb started to stand up from his seat, ready to go to his grandfather, but she stopped him with a gentle, restraining hand on his shoulder. "Wait," she whispered, moving around him toward his table. "Before you go I have something to tell you."

"What is it?" Robb asked. She looked so nervous, as if she was afraid he would be angry with her. He sighed, "Oh, Nora, what did you do?" he asked her, assuming that she had done something that he would think was wrong.

She didn't answer him right away. Instead she moved around him, not necessarily away from him, just to his other side. She absentmindedly picked up two of the carved wooden pieces, marking where various troops were on his war table. She held them up for him to see, the Stark direwolf in her right and the Tully trout in her left. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a trout?" she asked him, looking at the two wooden pieces in her hands.

Robb chuckled, "A dead fish and a still hungry wolf."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "Be serious, Robb," she commanded. "What do you get?"

Robb stared at her, unsure of where she was going with this. But if he looked at the trout as a representative of his mother and the wolf as his father then there was only one answer. "A wolf, I suppose."

Lenora nodded, "Five wolf pups to be exact," she told him. She put the trout back where she had found it, but she placed the wolf down on the table between them. She reached out and grabbed one of the stags that represented one of her uncles and a lion for some of the Lannister troops. "And what do you get when you cross a lion and a stag?" she asked.

"A dead stag and a less hungry lion?" Robb asked. Lenora glared at him, silently telling him that she wanted a real answer. He sighed, reaching around her to grab some wooden pieces. He placed four pieces in front of her in a line. A stag and three lions. He glanced up at her to see how she would react to that.

She smiled ruefully down at the four pieces, he wondered if this was when she was going to tell him that she believed the letter her uncle Stannis had sent out. They hadn't talked about it, but he was sure that she did. Otherwise she would go to see the Kingslayer, but she didn't. Not in the last two months, not since the night they were first together.

She reached out for the stag piece, her hand knocking over the three lions that symbolized her younger siblings. She held the stag for a moment, her thumb rubbing the carved antlers. Then silently she reached out to pick up the wolf piece that was sitting between them. "And," she whispered, drawing out the word as she handed him the two pieces. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a stag?" she asked.

Robb stared down at the pieces in his hands, sure that the answer to her questions was obvious, but he couldn't think of it. _A dead stag and wolf_ , he thought. All he could think about was that day before the King arrived at Winterfell when his father and his brothers had found the dead stag, and not far off, the direwolf with the antler run through her throat. But Lenora could not mean that, she hadn't seen it.

His next thought was of his father and hers. Both dead now. _A dead stag and a wolf_ , he thought again. Did she mean that they would be the death of each other? He didn't want to think so.

When he didn't answer right away Lenora sighed, "Or, rather, a doe."

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "A lovesick wolf and a less than impressed doe?"

That one actually gained a laugh from Lenora. A quiet one. A short one. She held up a finger, silently telling him to stay where he was before she walked away from him. She walked to her cloak and pulled something out of one of the inside pockets. She walked over to him, she took the direwolf and the stag from his hands and traded them for the small object in her hand before she asked again. "What do you get when you mix a wolf with a stag?"

Robb looked down at the object in his hand. A small, tiny even, beautifully carved wolf. A _pup_. He felt his jaw drop as he turned to look up at Lenora. She had wrapped her arms tightly around herself again, she held so tightly that her shoulders shook with the effort. She looked as though she would break into a thousand pieces if he so much as touched her. His fist closed around the small wolf as he turned to look at her, his eyebrows knit together. "Nora?" he whispered, quietly, hesitantly asking her for confirmation. He may have been slow to guess what she was hinting, but he was not stupid. The little figurine in his hand could only mean one thing.

Her hands dropped from where they held on to her upper arms, instead they lowered to cradle her still flat stomach. Robb thought back to the last month or so; Lenora did not ride as often, she drank less wine, instead of practicing sword play with the knights of Riverrun she practiced with Theon's bow. It had not hit him until now that she had been resting, taking things easy. He stood up from his chair, knocked it to the ground in his haste to get to her. She flinched as his hands fell to her upper arms. "How long?" he asked her, his voice cracking a bit in his desperation. "How long have you known?"

"I missed my moon blood last month," Lenora told him, a blush rising on her cheeks. "I went to the Maester the day you sent Theon to go treat with his father. He did a test and," she paused, looking away from Robb, her blush darkening. "And he says that I am with child. Your child." She turned back to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes dark grey and cautious. "Are you angry?" she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

Robb stared at her, all wide eyes and an open mouth. He could not believe that she worried that he was angry at her. He lowered his hands from her upper arms to her waist. A smile spread across his lips as he picked her up and spun her in a tight circle. She gasped at first, but her hands fell to his shoulders to keep her steady and she threw her head back, giggling. He set her down carefully on her feet, "Why would I be angry with you?" he asked her, leaning down to press a kiss against her forehead.

"What cause would I have?" he asked, dropping his lips down to her right cheek.

"What have you done to harm me?" he kissed her left cheek.

"What sin have you committed?" his lips landed on the tip of her nose.

"What reason do I have to be anything besides the happiest man in the Seven Kingdoms?" he lowered his lips to hover above hers, not quite touching, but close. "Can you answer me that, my sweet, fertile little wife?"

She smiled up at him before she rocked up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. She kissed him fiercely, her lips parting and her tongue slipping into his mouth. She lifted her hands to his cheeks, as her arms lifted her sheet fell, exposing her naked body to him again.

She was breathless when he pushed her away, only an arm's length so that he still had his hands on her while he looked at her. She did not look any different. Her stomach was still flat, her breasts the same size. Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed.

He looked up at her, and gestured toward her stomach, "Can I?" he asked.

Lenora smiled at him and reached out. She gently grabbed his hand and placed it on her abdomen. Robb left it there for a moment before he gasped, "I think I felt it move!"

She laughed at him, shaking her head, "It's too early for all that," she told him. "Don't be daft."

"Daft," Robb agreed, shaking his head, still looking down at his hand splayed over her flat stomach. He looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowed, "And you wanted me to let you on a battlefield!" he scolded her. "Even if I had considered it, I would expressly forbid it now. You honestly meant to go to battle while you are carrying our child?"

Lenora smiled softly at him and shrugged her shoulders, "I wouldn't have," she assured him. "I just wanted to know if you would let me."

Robb grinned down at her and shook his head before he pressed a hard kiss against her lips. "You are a tricky one aren't you?" he asked her, laughing happily as he pulled her back toward the bed. "Have you told anyone?" he asked her.

She laughed, "And who would I tell? Ser Willum? The Greatjon? Lord Bolton, maybe?" she shook her head at that. "Maybe I should send a raven to King's Landing and tell my brother. He would love that, wouldn't he?"

Robb was quiet for a moment, chewing his bottom lip as he thought. "I could allow you to send a raven," he told her, his voice gentle. "To your mother. I would have to read it first, of course, but if you wanted to tell her ..." he let his offer fade, waiting to see what she would say.

She shook her head, "My mother would tell me to drink Tansy tea and get rid of it," she told him. "I don't want to tell her. It's my father I want to tell. And since I cannot tell him, then I'd rather keep it between the two of us, if we could.

Robb chuckled, "Your wish is my command, My Lady, if you want to keep it quiet then that's what we will do."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

The way the guards quieted at the end of the hallway told him that someone important was coming to see him. The _Your Graces_ told him that it was either Robb or Lenora. The _you won't like the look of him_ told him that it was Len. They wouldn't warn Robb that Jaime didn't look good. They would, however, feel the need to warn Lenora off, to protect her lady-like sensitivities.

She moved slowly. He heard her stop at several other cells on her way down to his. She must have recognized other men. The more valuable prisoners were kept here. The Lords' sons and Lannister Bannermen. She would have grown up with some of them, spent most of her life with almost all of them, trained with many of them.

He couldn't hear the exact words she was saying, but he could hear her soft, gentle tone. She was soothing them. Probably bringing them water, maybe some food, possibly seeing to some of their smaller wounds. It was smart what she was doing; letting them see her, reminding them that she was there. If any of them were ransomed back to their families they would go back to Tywin and tell them that she was being well cared for. It was something Cersei would have done when she was younger. Though something told him that Lenora was doing it for less selfish reasons.

Finally she came to stand in front of his cell. She stared at him for a moment, through the bars, before she nodded silently to the guard who stood beside her. The man moved forward and unlocked the cell door, letting it swing open. Lenora's eyes never left Jaime, but she spoke to the guard, "I'll need a bucket of clean, warm water," she told the guard. "And some mulled wine."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the guard told her. He handed her the torch he was carrying and walked away. Lenora walked into his cell, her nose wrinkling slightly at the smell. She had the grace and the control to let no other sign of disgust show on her face. She stuck her head back out the door, "And a razor and soap," she called out to the guard.

She moved around the outer edge of the cell, her right hand grazing the wall until she found a wall mount for the torch. Once the torch was in place she walked closer to Jaime, kneeling down on the ground beside him. She was quiet as she looked at him, tilting her head first one way and then the other, squinting her eyes as she studied him. She bit her lip and reached out her hand for his head.

He flinched away from her. Not because he was afraid she would do something that hurt him, but because he was covered in his own shit and his own lice. She was his niece, she was a princess, and as far as the Northmen were concerned she was their Queen. She should not be subjected to his filth.

She clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. Then, stubborn as ever, she reached her hand out again and this time she ran her fingers through his hair, pursing her lips as she saw the lice jump away from her fingers in the torch light. She didn't want to feel bad for him, but he could see it in her grey eyes, his current conditions hurt her.

"Oh, Uncle Jaime," she sighed as the guard brought her the items she had requested. "What have they done to you?" She reached down and ripped a strip of fabric off the bottom of her dress. Jaime made a noise of disapproval. The dress she was wearing was too fine to waste on the likes of him. But Lenora simply shot him a look, silently telling him to keep quiet.

She bunched the fabric up in her hand and dipped it in the bucket of water the guard had brought to her silently. Her left hand held his chin in place while she used the right to wash the dirt, mud, and shit off of his face and neck. The strip of fabric did not stay clean for long and within a few minutes Lenora was ripping another scrap from the bottom of her dress. Jaime tried to stop her but she just shook her head, "I'm a Queen now, Uncle Jaime, hadn't you heard? I'm sure that I outrank you."

Jaime wanted to speak to her, but he was afraid he would chase her away. The last thing he wanted to do was to cut his time with her short. So instead of arguing with her he just nodded and shifted forward so that he was closer to her. He watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, memorizing every freckle, as she quietly finished cleaning his face.

Once she was done she sat back on her heels, squinting as she looked at him. "The beard does not look that bad on you," she mused, but she pursed her lips. "It'd be easier for you to get rid of the lice if we shaved your head and face though."

Jaime shook his head, "You don't know me if you think that I will allow my niece to shave my beard, Len, I can do that on my own."

She smiled at him, "And you've lost your mind if you think that these guards will allow me to put a blade in your hand."

"Do they think that I'd use it to slit your throat?" Jaime asked her.

"They wouldn't put it past you," Lenora told him as she dipped the soap in the bucket of water and brought it up to his face, soaping up his beard. "You wouldn't, would you?"

Jaime was hurt at that, he wanted to think that Lenora knew him well enough to know that he would never hurt her. But she was watching him with cautious eyes as she started to shave at his beard. His hands were shackled together so they moved as one when he reached up to grab her wrist, stilling her movement and forcing her to look up from his cheeks to his eyes. "Your family name might have changed, where you live might have changed, you might hate me right now, but nothing will change how I feel about you, Lenora," he told her.

"Nothing?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Nothing."

She was still for a moment before she nodded, "That's good to know," she whispered as she shook her wrist free from his grip and began to work on his face again. She was silent until she had finished his right cheek. As she started on his left cheek she spoke again, "We're marching soon. Robb does not know the exact day yet, but probably by the turn of the moon."

"And will I be coming with you?" Jaime asked.

Lenora shook her head, "No, he trusts his uncle not to trade you to Grandfather. He plans to leave you here at Riverrun."

"But he'll bring you?" Jaime asked, "To march on your grandfather? You're willing to do that? To march on your own family?"

Lenora's eyes darkened, he had hit a nerve. "It's not like that," she whispered.

"What is it like then?" Jaime asked her. "Tell me Len. I don't blame you, necessarily, he forced you to marry him and it puts you in an odd situation where you have to choose between your family and feeling safe with your husband. But, you do not have to go so willingly."

Lenora shook her head, "He's kind to me," she told him, by way of defense. "Much kinder than I probably deserve considering what Mother and Joff did to his father. And what Joff is probably doing to Sansa. He would never hurt me to get to my family, he's more honorable than that."

"He's kind to you," Jaime sneered, "and that's all it takes to be an honorable man is it?"

Lenora glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows, "At least he doesn't fuck his sister," she bit out.

"Ouch," Jaime drawled out. "That one hurt, Len." Lenora watched him for a moment before she silently shook her head and raised herself up on her knees so that she could start shaving the hair on the top of Jaime's head. "Is that what it is then?" Jaime asked her after a moment. "This is all to get back at me and your mother?"

"Do you think I'm five years old?" Lenora snapped. She shook her head. "This isn't to get back at you and Mother. I don't hate you. I don't wish for your deaths or your ruin. This is about what is right. And what isn't. It wasn't right when you attacked Ned Stark and his men. It wasn't right when Mother imprisoned him for discovering the truth about the two of you. It wasn't right when Joffrey beheaded him." She shook her head, "All they want is their freedom. Robb doesn't want to see Mother's head on a spike, all he wants is to go home to Winterfell with his sisters and without the Lannister army following him."

"And what do you want?" Jaime asked her.

Lenora's jaw clenched, "I want to live in a world where I don't know what I know now," she told him after thinking about it for a moment. "I want to live in a world where my mother did not make a cuckold of her husband with her twin brother. A world where my three younger siblings weren't born of incest, but were trueborn. I want to be able to look at you without wanting to slap you across the face. I want to be able to respect you again." She paused and looked away from him, it was only when she reached up to brush some tears off of her cheek that Jaime realized that she was crying. "I want to live in a world where my family is not at war with my other family."

"The Starks are not your family," Jaime warned her. "They might have been, or at least had the potential to be, but not anymore."

Lenora put the razor down on the floor, well out of his reach. One of her hands fell down to rest on her stomach, she didn't seem to notice, it was an absentminded gesture, but Jaime noticed it. "They are my family, Uncle Jaime," she told him. "There's no going back from that now."

Jaime leaned back, studying the young woman in front of him. "Oh," he breathed quietly. "I see it now."

"See what?" Lenora asked.

"You're carrying his child." Her hand quickly dropped from her stomach and she shook her head, quickly trying to deny it, but it was too late. He shook his head, "Of course you are," he whispered. "Your mother had that same look about her when she realized she was carrying you. She softened, those rough edges of hers rounded out. She glowed. Her smile was less calculating and more content. And she did that," he nodded toward her hand. "Even before she started showing her hand was always resting on her belly, protecting you." He paused and reached out both of his hands toward her, attempting to cup her cheek. Lenora jerked her head away from him at the last moment. "I see so much of her in you."

Lenora shook her head. "I don't want it," she whispered quietly.

Jaime chuckled at that, she was as stubborn as ever, a trait he liked to think that she had inherited from him. "I see so much of myself in you," he whispered.

Lenora shook her head, though her lips turned up a bit at the edges, "I imagine that Joff, Myrcella, and Tommen have a bit more of you in them than I do, Uncle Jaime."

Jaime shook his head, she was trying to bait him. "Lenora," he whispered, he tilted his head to the side, watching her face. "You must know. That despite everything. You are more ... like a daughter to me, than any of the others."

"Well Joff and Tommen are boys, so it would be hard for them to be like daughters to you. Though ... Joff is pretty enough." She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. She was still angry at him, but he could tell that his words meant a lot to her. She leaned in, quickly pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I don't know when I will see you again."

"Or _if_?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows.

" _When_." Lenora stressed. "I don't know when I will see you again, but I hope the next time we meet we will not be enemies."

Jaime shook his head, "I told you once, I will tell you again. We could never be enemies, Len."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Ser Willum asked as he and Lenora walked through the Godswood the next afternoon. Lenora turned her head and looked at the knight with her eyebrows raised, wondering what he meant. "When you went down to the dungeons," he specified. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lenora smiled softly, she had thought she had managed to slip down to the dungeons without too much notice, but it seemed that even Ser Willum who had been off guard duty had learned of her visit to the prisoners. "Is this war so boring that you men have nothing to do, but discuss where a little girl wanders during her free time?" she asked.

Ser Willum chuckled at that. "No, Your Grace, the war's not too boring. But when the niece of the Kingslayer has not been to see him in months and finally decides to go talk to him, well, men find that interesting. Did he tell you any pretty stories? Make excuses for his unnatural acts with your mother? Turn your head against us?"

Lenora shook her head, "I find that it is hard for men to tell pretty stories when they are covered in their own shit," she told the knight, staring at him with narrowed eyes. She was sure that the knight had no control over how her uncle was kept, but all the same she found herself disappointed. Her uncle Jaime's conditions were horrible and inexcusable. She had railed at Robb about them the night before, but Robb had not been moved. He told her that his men would sooner have his head on a spike than see Jaime Lannister in any sort of comfort. Especially Lord Karstark.

"As for excuses, I would not accept them months ago, he knew better than to try to sell me on them now." She paused, a smile resting on her lips, "As for turning my head against you, who says that it was ever for you to begin with."

Ser Willum nodded, a wide smile making its way onto his mouth - wider than Lenora's. "I don't think it's your head that our King is worried will turn against us. I think it's your heart that he worries about. Stupid really."

"Stupid?" Lenora asked him, turning to look at the man walking beside her. "Stupid to think that I might choose to support the family I grew up with over the man I only just recently married?"

"You've been married to him for close to four moons now," Ser Willum told her, "seems to me that you haven't _just recently_ done anything, Your Grace."

Lenora threw her head back and laughed. If she had been in King's Landing no one would have dared talk to her like that. But here, in the North, these hard Northern men took liberties that Southern men would have only dreamed of. It was refreshing. "All the same, Ser Willum, what motivation could I have to support Robb Stark over the family that raised me if given the chance?"

Ser Willum shrugged his shoulders, he bent down and picked a flower from the ground, turning slightly to so that he could present the flower to Lenora. "Because you love him," he told her, his tone almost bored. "And the King loves you."

Lenora lifted the flower up to her nose and smelled it, glancing at the knight beside her over the petals, "And what?" she asked him. "What has given you that idea?"

"The way you look at him, Your Grace," he told her, placing his hand gently on her back, just between her shoulder blades and gently guiding her further down the path they were walking. "The way he looks at you. I have been on this earth a while - I know what a girl looks like when she's in love. I know what a man looks like when he's in love. I don't believe being a King or a Queen changes the look much."

Lenora studied him, "You see more than you let on, Ser Willum."

The man nodded, "Aye, Your Grace," he told her. "I do." His hand was still on her upper back, he was still pushing her to move faster than the leisurely pace they had started their walk with. He was in a hurry to head back to the castle, though Lenora could not think of why. She squinted her eyes at him and watched. He had pushed her slightly in front of him now, blocking some of her with his body, his right hand rested on the hilt of his sword though the weapon was still sheathed. His brown eyes were tight as they darted from left to right, his head tilted slightly so that he could catch a glimpse of the woods behind them. It wasn't just her and Robb that he watched. He _did_ see more than he let on, and whatever he saw in the woods made him nervous.

"What do you see?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.

Ser Willum shook his head, he wasn't going to answer her, but Lenora leveled him with a glare, one fierce enough that the knight sighed. "There's someone following us, Your Grace," he told her, his voice less than a whisper, she could barely hear it over the leaves rustling above their heads and she was standing right next to him. If she could barely hear him whoever was following them was even less likely to be able to. She started to turn her head to look over her shoulder, but she felt Ser Willum tense beside her. "Don't look, My Queen."

She nodded, "Who is it?" she asked, her voice low. "Friend or foe?"

"I do not know," the knight whispered back. "I have never seen the man before."

"How long has he been following?"

The knight shrugged, "I only noticed him a short while ago," he told her. "Though, that means nothing, he could have been following the entire walk and I am only just now noticing."

"Then how do you know that he is following?"

"He ducks behind trees," Ser Willum told her. "He takes every turn that we do. He follows."

"What should we do?" Lenora asked him.

" _You_ , Your Grace, will continue walking to the castle," he ordered her, his hand turning into a fist around the handle of his sword. "You will walk fast, do not tarry, do not wait for me. I will come for you when it's over."

Lenora shook her head, "I will help you fight," she told him, "if that's what it comes to."

Ser Willum smiled at her and shook his own head, "My apologies, Your Grace, but I only have one sword. And I have too much honor to let a woman use it to defend me. Especially the woman I am sworn to protect."

"Honor is the death of most men," Lenora told him, thinking about Ned Stark in particular.

"Aye," Ser Willum told her, unsheathing his sword. "But not this one, not today." He patted her gently on the back, "Now go," he ordered.

Lenora sighed, but did as she was bid. She did not get far before she heard the clash of steel. Any thoughts that Ser Willum had been overly cautious flew from her mind. The man the knight saw had indeed been following them, and it seemed that the stranger had less than friendly intentions.

She paused for a moment, just a moment and then she turned and quickly walked back toward Ser Willum. He may have only had one sword, but Lenora was not going to let him fight alone.

It was stupid, she realized - grabbing the small tree limb from the ground. What good would a glorified stick do against a sword, but she had to try.

The stranger was dressed well, he had the silver trout, but he was no man of Riverrun. Lenora had spent enough time walking through the castle, she knew the men, if only by their faces. She had not seen this face before. He lunged forward, striking at Ser Willum's face, the knight tried to block the sword, but he did not move fast enough, the sword blade sliced him from his right temple to his left jaw. He had been far enough away that the cut was shallow, but it still bled something fierce.

He moved forward quickly, swinging his sword at the man, using his free arm to wipe the blood that was dripping off his face. Out of the corner of his eye he must have seen her because as he continued to fight the stranger he spoke out, "I told you to go back to the castle, My Lady," he told her, his voice stern. He didn't call her _Grace_ , he was hoping that the stranger did not know that she was the Queen. She was much less valuable as a Lady then a Queen.

The man looked up and chuckled, "She's a Queen, I hear," he told Ser Willum, easily sidestepping on of the knight's advances. "You know it. I know it. Calling her Lady isn't going to keep her alive any more than that stick in her hand."

Lenora felt as if her feet were glued to the ground and her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth. She should have run to the castle, she should have screamed for help. But she couldn't move, she couldn't scream. This was the fourth time in her life that someone was trying to kill her and she felt just as helpless as she had been when she was a babe, poisoned in her crib.

The men fought for several minutes; thrashing and lunging, hacking and grunting. Steel clashed against steel and slashed through skin. They were evenly matched until the man stepped forward, swinging his sword and disarming Ser Willum.

Lenora would have grabbed the sword, but it flew behind the stranger, landing too far away from her. Now Ser Willum was standing between her and her would-be killer with nothing to defend them. "Lenora," the knight told her without looking at her. His voice was calm, but Lenora knew the man had to be extremely worried to address her without the proper formalities. This is why she listened to him when he told her to run.

She turned, still clutching her stick as she gathered her skirt in her hands and ran as quickly as she could back toward the castle. She could hear the man's footsteps behind her. He was running faster than her, not having skirts to deal with. She turned to look over her shoulder, he was gaining on her, soon enough she would be within reach of his sword.

She turned to face forward again, looking down to make sure that she wouldn't trip over any tree branches and started screaming. She knew that no one in the castle would be able to hear her, but maybe, if she was lucky, Grey Wind might. And if the giant direwolf wasn't with her, he was with Robb.

"Shut up," she heard the man growl before something collided with the small of her back. The pain was so intense, that it was blinding. Her scream died on her lips as she inhaled, trying to process the pain and keep moving. But her legs were not cooperating. She started to fall, letting go of her stick to throw her arms out in front of her to catch her and keep her face from slamming to the ground.

She groaned, turning her head to look over her shoulder, he had thrown a rock at her, she could see it, laying on the ground not that far away from where she had fallen. The man was still running toward her. If her legs did not want to work she would pull herself toward the castle. She groaned again as she reached her arms forward, digging her fingernails in the dirt and bending her elbows, slowly and painfully dragging her body forward. Gaining no more than a foot for all the effort she put into it.

She was going to die, she knew it. And from the look on the man's face it was going to be a slow and painful death. He would not be gentle with her.

She reached her arms forward again, bending the elbows and pulling herself forward another foot. She reached forward a third time, tears filling her eyes at the pain. She couldn't stand up to face him, but she would not just lay there on the ground, waiting for him to run her through with his sword.

He was laughing as he gained on her. Laughing as he raised his sword. Laughing as the direwolf appeared, almost out of nowhere and leapt over her, his teeth barred as he snapped at the man's throat.

Lenora would have laughed at that. Would have rejoiced as the wolf separated the man's head from his body. But she didn't have it in her to laugh. She didn't even have it in her to turn and look behind her. She could barely breathe, barley move. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open.

She reached her arms forward a fourth time, but before she could pull herself any further away from the bloody attack that was still going on behind her, her eyes closed.

The darkness was almost comforting.

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Author's Note:  
Because nothing in the Seven Kingdoms can be happy for long, you know?  
That's all I've really got to say about that.  
I hope that you guys liked this chapter, even if it wasn't the happiest.  
You should stop by that review box down there and let me know what you thought!  
To the review heroes from yesterday, I thank you!

 _HPuni101_ : You're more than welcome for another "great" chapter. I hope that you enjoyed this one as much as you enjoyed yesterdays!

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : The prophesy ... one of my favorite parts about that chapter. As for your question: if you noticed as Queen in the North Lenora's current crown is made out of two different types of metal. Two ... not three. But the prophesy mentions three. You are a smart one, no one else picked up on that! Or at least, no one else asked about it. So yes, I would say that it is safe to assume that Lenora will be crowned at least once more, though I won't say with who.

That's all I've got for now. Perhaps we will meet back here tomorrow.  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three: Blame

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and when I'm sick I'm such a baby that my husband's mother comes to take care of me._

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 _Chapter Twenty-three: Blame_

 _Catelyn_

The ride to Renly's camp had been hard and fast. It had been many years since Catelyn had seen Stannis and Renly Baratheon, but she still remembered them. She _knew_ them. Once Stannis made his move from Dragonstone he would wage war on Renly. A smarter man would have marched on King's Landing and taken the Iron Throne; then, once his throne was secure, he would have taken on the pretender of a younger brother.

But Stannis was too proud for that. And he been slighted one too many times when it came to Renly. Catelyn could still remember how Lord Stannis' face had darkened after Robert won the Iron Throne and place Renly at Storm's End. Stannis had held Storm's End for the entire war, he had kept it out of the Targaryen's hands even when it meant his people starving. And Robert had repaid his brother's strength and effort by giving their family's seat to Renly, who had not fought for it, not bled for it, and was still just a boy.

Stannis had left Storm's End because his brother, the King, had commanded him to. He had gone to Dragonstone because his brother, the King, had commanded him to.

And now that his brother, the King, was dead and Joffrey Baratheon was believed to be the bastard son of Cersei and Jaime Lannister, Stannis planned to take his spot on the Iron Throne as the right of birth allowed him.

But his stubbornness, his pride would not allow him to do this until he had beaten Renly and scattered his army.

 _This_ was the reason that Catelyn and her escort rode so quickly toward High Garden. She hoped to get to Renly before Stannis did. She hoped to persuade him to give up his claim to the throne. And if she couldn't do that she hoped to persuade him to march on Tyrion Lannister with her son instead of fighting a doomed battle against his brother.

She did not look forward to meeting with Renly. She had warned her son, it had been years since she had last seen Renly Baratheon. He had been a boy when she had married Ned and she had not seen him since. She wanted to stay with her father, the maester was convinced that his time was small and the last thing she wanted to do was ride south to treat with Renly when her father needed her at Riverrun.

But Robb would not change his mind. He, himself, could not go to Renly. Her father was too sick. The Blackfish too useful. It would bee too dangerous and foolish to send Lenora, Renly might just keep her at his camp. He could not send Edmure because he needed his uncle to hold Riverrun when they marched. He could not send a simple soldier, or even a knight. It would be an insult to Renly to not send someone of value. He had briefly brought up the idea of sending the Greatjon south to speak with Renly on his behalf, but his mother had quickly told him no to that idea.

And fallen straight into his trap, she had only realized when her son had smirked at her. He was his father's son. He knew the Greatjon would be the wrong man to send to Renly. He had never intended to send the Lord south. He had only needed his mother to think that he would if she refused him.

So here she was, traveling toward the Upper Mander. They were not entirely sure where they would find Renly's camp, but from the last report they had heard he had not traveled far from Highgarden where the majority of his host came from. She was traveling in a small group: twenty of Robb's best men, all from Winterfell, and five northern lordlings. Not his most important Bannermen, but men who's names and high birth would add weight to what she had to say when she met with Renly.

They were still a half a day's ride from Highgarden when they were taken. Catelyn's scout, Robin Flint had galloped back to them from where he had been ranging far ahead. He told them of a man, a pair of far eyes, watching from the roof of a windmill. By the time their party reached the windmill the man was gone, but waiting for them were twenty of Renly's outriders. They were mailed and mounted, each of them armed, and led by a grizzled greybeard of a knight with bluejays on his surcoat.

When he saw their banners he left his men behind and trotted up to her alone. "My Lady," he called, still a safe, respectful distance away from her. "I am Ser Colen of Greenpools, as it please you. These are dangerous lands you cross."

"Our business is urgent," she answered to him, her voice soft and gentle, but she hoped that it would leave little room for argument. "I come as envoy from my son, Robb Stark, the King in the North, to treat with Renly Baratheon, the King in the South."

"King Renly is the crowned and anointed lord of _all_ the Seven Kingdoms, My Lady," Ser Colen told her, though his voice was courteous and he did not bristle near as much as his men did when she called her son King in the North. "His Grace is encamped with his host near Bitterbridge, where the roseroad crosses the Mander."

So he had traveled further from Highgarden that Catelyn had thought they would. Though Bitterbridge was probably the median point between Storm's End and Highgarden, the two kingdoms that had declared for Renly most readily.

"It shall be my great honor to escort you to him," Ser Colen continued The knight raised his hand and within a moment his men formed a double column, quickly flanking Catelyn and her escort on both sides.

Catelyn watched them silently. _Escort or captor?_ She couldn't help but wonder. Then her mind wandered to Lenora. She imagined that this was much how Lenora had felt since she had ridden from Winterfell with Robb and his men. They were married now, she was his chosen Queen and his men seemed to respect her. But there were days when the young woman would get quiet, when her smile did not quite reach her grey eyes, when she watched the men around her and Catelyn was sure that she was running through the odds of a successful escape.

But much like Lenora, she had little choice in the matter. She could do nothing, but trust Ser Colen and Lord Renly and believe that no harm would come to her or her men while she was being escorted through the countryside.

They could see the smoke from the cookfires an hour before they saw the river.

They could hear the sounds of the camp: the yelling voices of men, the clash of steel, the winey of horses - a half hour before the saw the river.

They could smell the camp fifteen minutes before they saw the river.

But neither the smoke from the fires, the noise, or the smell could prepare them for the sight of the camp when they finally came in sight of the river. Thousands of cookfires were lit. The forest had to have been felled to make the tall staffs that held the banners. The horse lines seemed to stretch out for leagues. There were more tents than fires, it seemed, the pavilions of the knights and high lords sprouting from the grass like colorful, silken mushrooms. There were men with spears, men with swords, knights in their mailed shirts and armor, arches fletching arrows, teamsters driving wagons, pages running messages, squires honing swords. Robb's camp, at the height of his support, before Edmure sent the River Lords home - each to defend their own lands, paled in comparison to this.

Almost all the great houses and high lords of the south had come to Renly's call. Everywhere she looked Catelyn's eyes found the golden rose of Highgarden. But there was also the fox-and-flowers of House Florent, Fossoway apples of both red and green, Lord Tarly's striding huntsman, oak leaves for Oakheart, cranes for Crane, a cloud of black and orange butterflies for Mullendores.

That didn't even include across the Mander where the Storm Lords had raised their own banners. Renly's Bannerman from Storm's End. There was Bryce Caron's nightingales, Penrose quills, Lord Estermont's Sea turtle. Those were just the ones she recognized. There was, she estimated, close to one hundred standards that she did not know, borne by the small lords sworn to the bannermen, hedge knights, and freeriders. A large host of men who came to make Renly King of the Seven Kingdoms in fact, as well as in name.

On the highest staff, towering over all the others, flew Renly's standard. A shimmering gold banner, with the crowned black stag, prancing upon it.

As they rode into the camp Hallis Mollen trotted close to her, "My Lady," he asked her, his voice quiet. "What is that?"

She did not need to ask him what he meant, she could hear it too above the normal, expected noises of a war camp. Shouts, horses screaming, the clash of steel, and ... "Cheering," she answered, raising her eyebrows at the Winterfell man and wondering why they were hearing this sound. They were riding up a gentle slope toward a line of brightly colored pavilions at the top. Once they passed between the pavilions, she saw.

Below them, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers, a melee was in progress.

Catelyn shook her head and pursed her lips. She had meant to ride south and treat with a man who called himself King. Instead she found a boy, still, playing at war.

Ser Colen had requested that Catelyn leave her men at the top of the ridge near the pavilion. It was a request in name only, Catelyn recognized an order when she heard one, but she obeyed all the same.

The knight dismounted from his own horse, handing the reigns to one of his men, before he reached out for the reigns of Catelyn's horse. He silently and gently led her through the crowd of lords and ladies and knights - all to focused on the end of the melee in front of them to be too curious about the new arrival. But Catelyn watched them, marking the ones she knew by name and the ones she only knew by sigil.

There in the middle of the large, happy crowd, watching and laughing with his young, beautiful queen by his side, sat a ghost in a golden crown.

Catelyn gasped, when her gaze landed on Renly. It was no small wonder, now, why so many lords flocked to support him. He looked like Robert, young and ready to take the Iron Throne all over again. He was handsome, as Robert had been handsome before too much wine and women had fattened him. He was tall and broad shouldered with that same dark brown, almost black hair. And those silver eyes that sparkled out of the face of Catelyn's own, new daughter by law.

His crown, a slender circlet made of gold and shaped into many stag antlers suited him well. He wore a crowned stage, worked in by golden thread on his dark green, velvet tunic - the Baratheon sigil in Highgarden's colors.

His young bride was from Highgarden too.

Their marriage the glue that held this large southern alliance together.

Out on the melee field, another man lost his seat to a knight in a rainbow-striped cloak, and the King shouted approval with the rest. "Loras!" he yelled. "Loras! Highgarden!" Margaery Tyrell, Renly's Queen and sister to the Knight of the Flowers, stood and clapped her hands together excitedly.

Catelyn turned to watch the end of the fight. There were two men left, Loras Tyrell and a knight who wore dark, cobalt blue armor and carried a morning star. The two knights danced around the open space, hacking and slashing at each other. And for a moment it looked as though the Knight of the Flowers would win the melee. He swung his battle axe hard and true, splitting the blue knight's wood shield in half. The force of his swing carried him past the blue knight, his back turned as the taller night in blue, fell to his knees. But he was not ready to give up yet, he swung the morning star in his right hand with so much force that he lost his grip on the weapon. It hit Loras Tyrell in the back of his knees and the young knight started to fall.

He turned toward the now weaponless blue knight, battle axe at the ready, but the unknown knight had one more trick up his sleeve. He lunged forward, arms wrapping around the Knight of the Flowers and dropping him to the ground. His left hand flicked open Loras Tyrell's visor as his right drew a long dirk out from his side, holding it to the young knight's face.

The crowd's angry cries were so loud that Catelyn could not hear Loras Tyrell, only his lips as she saw him say, _Yield. I yield._

Margaery, who had been standing up for the last part of the melee, sat down, an almost self-conscious blush coloring her cheeks.

"Well fought," Renly commended. "Approach."

No one cheered, if they weren't crying _Boo_ at the blue knight they were silent. Catelyn climbed off her horse and turned to the knight beside her, "Ser Colen?" she asked him, catching his attention. "Who is that man and why do they dislike him so?"

Ser Colen frowned, "Because he is no man, My Lady," he told her. "That is Brienne of Tarth. Daughter to Lord Selwyn the Evenstar."

" _Daughter_?" Catelyn parroted back, surprised.

She watched as the blue knight knelt in front of her king. Renly smiled and nodded, "Rise," he ordered. "Remove your helm."

The knight stood and when the blue helmet had been removed Catelyn saw that Ser Colen had told her the truth. There in front of Renly stood the most unfortunate woman she had ever seen. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled and knotted. Her blue eyes large and very blue, and innocent like a young girl's. Her features were course, her teeth prominent and crooked, her lips so plump they looked swollen, her mouth too wide. Freckles speckled her cheeks. Her nose had been broken, more than once.

Catelyn felt pity swell in her chest at the sight of the woman. She had never thought of her own Arya as ugly, but there was something in the proud, almost defiant way, Brienne of Tarth looked around her at the men who would not cheer her victory that reminded Catelyn of her own small, wild daughter.

Renly's smile widened, though Margaery looked upset. "You are all your father promised and more, My Lady," Renly congratulated her. "I have seen Ser Loras bested once or twice before, but never in that fashion." Much to the Knight of the Flower's shame he named her the champion of the melee at Bitterbridge, the last standing of sixteen knights. "You may ask of me any boon that you desire. If it lies in my power, it is yours."

"Your Grace," Brienne answered, almost too afraid to look at Renly's face, it seemed. "I ask the honor of a place among your Rainbow Guard. I would be on of your seven and pledge my life to yours. To go where you go, ride at your side, and keep you safe from all hurt and harm."

Renly studied her for a long minute, and for that time Catelyn tensed, for some unknown reason she was sure that he was about to dash the poor young woman's hopes and tell her no. Instead he nodded, "Done," he told her with a smile. "Brienne of the Rainbow Guard."

He started to clap his hands and slowly some of the onlookers joined in, though none of them seemed particularly enthusiastic about it.

Ser Colen pushed through the remainder of the crowd as they clapped, leading Catelyn until they stood before Renly and his young Queen. "Your Grace," Ser Colen started. "I have the honor to bring you the Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as envoy by her son, Robb, Lord of Winterfell."

"Lord of Winterfell _and_ King in the North, Ser," Catelyn corrected him as she moved to stand beside him. She would not require Ser Colen to speak for her anymore.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He sat by her side, watching her. She was asleep, had been for three straight days. The maester had been pouring controlled amounts of milk of the poppy down her throat to keep her that way. He had told Robb that she would heal faster, easier even, if she could sleep through it.

Robb didn't like it though. He didn't like how small she looked in the bed. He didn't like how pale she looked against the furs. He didn't like how breakable she seemed, especially now that he knew that she could, in fact, be broken.

He hated the way his arms ached for her during the few hours of sleep that he allowed himself each night. He would wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out for her before he remembered that she was in their bed and he was on a cot alone. He hated the maester could not tell him if she would be whole when she woke up or if she would be like Bran. He hated that he was beginning to wonder if he would ever see her silver eyes again.

His bannermen had been sympathetic the first day. They had been patient with him the second day. But now on the third day they were beginning to whisper. It was time they started marching. If Robb intended to keep his army he would have to leave Riverrun soon. His men needed a fight. And the longer he stayed at his grandfather's castle the more people would whisper that he was afraid to face Tywin Lannister in the field again.

But he had yelled when the Greatjon had suggested leaving Lenora at Riverrun when they left. He would not leave his wife here to suffer alone. He would not allow her to wake up alone and confused. He would wait, as long as it took, until she opened her eyes again. And then he would stay at Riverrun until she was ready to leave.

He had left her side, only for a short while, to pray in the Godswood that she would wake up. That she would wake up whole. That he wouldn't break her heart when he told her the news. When he came back from the Godswood it seemed the Gods would answer his prayers, at least in part. The first prayer would be answered, the maester told him that he had stopped giving her milk of the poppy - she would wake up once it wore off. He would have to wait on the other prayers.

He sat by her now, still as a statue, his eyes scanning her face. Watching for any sign that she was waking up. But her face remained still. As he looked at her he couldn't help but think of it.

He had been planning with his bannermen, Grey Wind at his feet. Lenora had gone to the Godswood with Ser Willum, and Robb's mind had wandered to her on more than one occasion throughout the meeting. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling. She had been to see the Kingslayer the day before. He hadn't had much of a chance to ask her about what had happened. She had been tightlipped about it, except to yell at him for her uncle's conditions. He worried that whatever Jaime had said to her would turn her against him. They had been doing so well.

Because his mind was wandering so much, toward the Godswood and Lenora he did not miss when Grey Wind picked up his head, his ears perked. He had heard something, Robb wondered what it was. The wolf did not take long to stand up, his teeth barred, a soft growl escaping his from the back of his throat. Robb ignored his men, turning to watch as the wolf moved away from him and toward the door. He stopped for just a moment, turning to look at Robb and whining softly. He wanted Robb to follow him. That could only mean one thing.

 _Lenora._

By the time he found her he had missed the fight. Ser Willum was dead, his throat slit. The attacker was dead, his intestines torn out by the wolf. Lenora was laying on her stomach on the ground, a large rock laying near her, a bleeding gash on her forehead. For a moment he worried that she was dead too, but as he knelt beside her, rolling her over so that her head rested in his lap he noticed the slight rise and fall of her chest.

Not dead, just unconscious.

That had been one of the most frightening moments of his life. When he thought she was dead. One of the worst moments of his life had been when the maester told him their child was dead.

And she, who had been kept asleep since the attack, she didn't know.

He was watching her face so closely that there was no way he could have missed the flutter of her eyelids. It was the first movement he had seen in three days. But it was enough, she was waking up. He stood up from his seat, his hands landing on the mattress on either side of her head, framing her face as he leaned over her. "Lenora," he whispered, hoping that his voice would be an anchor to her, something to pull her back. "Nora," he tried again. "Come back to me. Please, Love, come back to me."

He was begging her. Though he felt no shame. He'd drop to his knees and spend a thousand days begging her to come back to him if that's what it took.

Her eyes fluttered again, she was listening to him, or trying to. "Yes," he told her, nodding. "That's it, sweet girl. That's it. Come back to me, Love." Her fists clenched the blankets beneath them. Her face started to change, slowly first and then faster, contorting into a look of fear. She groaned.

"Yes!" Robb almost yelled, lifting one of his hands so that he could cup her cheek. "Yes," he said again. Though he quickly dropped his hand when she flinched away from his touch. His jaw clenched, she was in pain and afraid. It was a matter of minutes, that felt like hours when before her eyes finally opened.

Dark and stormy as ever.

But wide, and fearful. Robb couldn't help the relieved smile that spread across his lips as her eyes finally opened. The smile did not stay for long, her shoulders tensed, her head moved from side to side. She was looking for something, though it seemed that she wasn't seeing anything. Too afraid.

He reached out and caught her chin between his thumb and his index finger, holding her still. She gasped, afraid, and one of her arms flew up, fist clenched, to hit him. He chuckled as he caught her wrist and leaned forward so that she could see him. "Hello, you," he whispered once her eyes finally landed on him and stayed there. "I'm so glad you're awake," he told her, leaning down to press a hard kiss against her lips. "You have no idea."

Lenora did not kiss him back, though she smiled at him softly when he pulled away from her. Just for a moment. Then she looked around. "What happened?" she asked him, her eyes still wide. "The forest? Ser Willum? What happened?"

"Shh," Robb told her softly. He let go of her cheek, his hand sliding down her neck to her shoulder. He lifted his other hand, to brush her dark brown, almost black hair out of her eyes. "Shh," he said again, leaving his hand there at her hairline, his thumb gently brushing the soft skin of her forehead. "Take some time," he told her. "How do you feel?"

Lenora closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and assessing her body. "Sore," she told him once she had opened her eyes again.

Robb nodded, "I'm sure you do," he told her, his voice gentle. "And your legs? Can you feel your legs?"

Lenora stared at him for a moment, a new fear darkening her eyes. "My legs?" she asked him, struggling to sit up so that she could look down at her legs. "What happened to me?"

Robb was there in a moment, his arms slipping around her back so that he could help her sit up straight. He watched at her, wondering how much he should tell her. What he should leave out. "You were hit," he told her, his voice gentle and soft. "As you ran. In your low back. The maester was worried that you would wake up paralyzed." He paused, ducking his head so that it was closer to his level. "Can you feel your legs?" he asked again.

Lenora stared down at her legs, Robb followed her gaze, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when she bent first one knee and then the other under the furs.

The Gods had answered his second prayer.

"Is Ser Willum badly hurt?" Lenora asked him, turning away from her legs to look at Robb. "I shouldn't have left him, but he told me to run."

Robb smiled ruefully, "You did the right thing, my love," he told her. "He would have wanted you to get away safely. That was his job."

Lenora's eyebrows furrowed, she had caught on to his word choice. _Would have_ and _was_. She knew what it meant, but she asked anyway. "What happened to Ser Willum?" she asked.

Robb looked down, then he sat won on the bed beside her, gently nudging her to move over. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. "Dead," he told her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I am so sorry, Nora."

She nodded her head once, "It was his job," she told him, her voice cold and hard. She was slipping back into the role she had been trained for her entire life, Princess. Or now, Queen.

Her hands fell to her stomach and Robb's jaw clenched, he knew what was coming next. "I was hit with a rock?" she asked him, looking down at her hand.

"Yes," he told her.

"Where?"

"Your low back," he told her again.

She nodded. "The baby?" she asked him, finally. She turned her head to look at him, her jaw clenched. "And what happened to our child?" she asked.

Robb pulled her closer, as close as he could get her. He pressed a hard kiss to the side of her head, staying there for a moment so that he could smell her hair. Stalling, so that he could live there, for at least one more moment where at least one of them did not completely know the truth. "You will have others," he told her softly.

She breathed in, a sharp quick intake of breath. When she breathed out it was shaky, her shoulders shook, her head dipped, and a tear fell onto one of Robb's arms.

He didn't know what to tell her. He knew all the things he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't think of the words. He wasn't sure which ones she'd want to hear, if any. He pressed another kiss against her head. "I don't blame you," he told her, his voice gentle.

Lenora nodded, though she did not lift her gaze from her lap.

Robb tried again. "This is not the end," he whispered. "You and I will have other child -"

"Don't," she interrupted him, her eyes closing tightly, her jaw quivering with the effort not to cry. "Please don't," she tried again, her voice softer this time. "I can't hear it. Not now."

...

She allowed herself one day to cry. And another day to mourn. But after those two days she was back at his side. She moved like a shadow - silent and swift. She spoke very little and when she did it was quiet. She flinched at loud noises, skirted the walls as she walked through the halls of Riverrun, wouldn't meet any of his Bannermen's eyes. She didn't smile. But she was there. She was awake. She was whole. She was his.

The Gods had answered all of his prayers, save one.

She was heartbroken.

She would not talk to him, not about that. He did not know the depth of her heartache, no one at Riverrun could. Perhaps his mother, but he had sent her away to Renly. His only hope was that one day her heartbreak would fade.

He wished that she would open up to him, to tell him how she felt and what he could do to help her. He bounced back and forth between giving her space to be alone and paying too much attention to her. No matter what he did it was not right, though.

Her eyes would fill with tears and her lip would tremble, as if she was fighting tears, when he came to her aver leaving her alone for a substantial amount of time. She would snap at him and order him to stop gawking at her when he paid her too much attention. He didn't know what was worse, her tears or her anger.

No, he knew which one was worse.

Her tears.

She was riding beside him now, her hands clenched tight around Casterly's reins. They had been riding since early morning, Robb no longer able to ignore his Bannermen when they told him that they needed to march on Tywin Lannister. She was uncomfortable and in pain. He could see it in the grim look on her face, the clench of her jaw, the tight set of her shoulders. Usually she moved with Casterly, seemed just as comfortable on the horse as she would have been in a carriage. But not today. Today she sat stiff, she wiggled in her saddle, trying to get comfortable, she flinched every time Casterly's hooves hit the ground particularly hard.

She hadn't looked at him since they had left Riverrun. Not so much as a glance. Which is why it surprised him when she spoke to him. "You'd ride better if you kept your eyes in front of you instead of on me."

There was a smirk resting on her lips, a ghost of one if he was being honest, but it was more than he had seen since the attack. "I wasn't watching you," he told her.

"You're watching me now," she told him, her voice quiet. That ghost of a smirk widened a bit, looking more like a smile.

Robb's pursed his lips, trying to keep his own smile off of his face He deliberately turned his face forward, his eyes scanning the land in front of him. "Should we stop now?" he asked her without looking at her. "How do you feel? Are you sore? Should we rest?"

He could hear her rolling her eyes when she spoke. "You are worse than my mother," she told him. "I can only imagine what it will be like when -" She stopped talking, cutting herself off.

"When what?" he asked her, his voice quiet.

She looked away from him, her jaw clenching. "I was going to say when our child is born."

Robb reached out, grabbing at the reins of her horse, planning to make her stop, but Lenora shook her head and gently nudged Casterly a step away, just out of his reach. "Don't" she told him, her voice quiet. "I still can't."

Robb sighed, "Will you ever let me touch you again?" he asked her, hating himself with how sullen he sounded. He didn't want to blame her, this wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that she flinched away every time he reached out to her. It wasn't her fault that she tensed whenever his fingers brushed against her skin. She barely looked at him and when she did her gaze was guarded.

But none of it was her fault. He could not blame her. But he also could not hide how much it hurt him.

Sansa had once followed him around Winterfell for an entire day, telling him stories of knights and their fair maidens. He was supposed to be gentle and soft with her. He was supposed to protect her. He had failed at that. She had every right to blame him, but he hoped that she would not blame him forever.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

It hurt to look at him. It hurt when he touched her. It hurt when he was gentle and kind to her. It hurt when he left her alone. She didn't know what she wanted. She wanted him, but it hurt to want him. She hated him, and loved him for it. She wanted him to take her, to try to make another child with her, and she wanted him to never touch her again.

She had never felt a pain like this. She had never felt confusion like this.

Her mother had told her on multiple occasions to love no one but her children. Lenora had always believed that her mother was ridiculous in this belief. Jaime had told her that she shouldn't listen to a word her mother said. Two different pieces of advice. From two people that she had loved, and once respected.

But now, in this moment she could see why her mother had told her to guard her heart. The more people you loved, the more you stretched your heart and spread your love out the easier it was to hurt.

She hadn't known this child, had never felt it stir within her. Did not know if it would have grown to be a son with Robb's curly auburn hair or a little silver eyed princess. She didn't know what they would name it. But since finding out about her child she had allowed herself to dream. She had allowed herself to hope. She had allowed herself to live, for just a short amount of time, in an almost fairytale setting.

And now, she had lost it. It had been stolen from her. When she looked at Robb all she could see was an image of him holding their child. When he touched her she could only imagine what it would be like to run her fingers over the soft, sweet-smelling skin of their child. Every time he spoke to her she could hear their child giggling. When he left her alone she realized just how alone she was. When he refused to leave her side all she could think about was how it was just the two of them.

He said he didn't blame her.

But she blamed herself.

He was still watching her. His question still unanswered, _Will you ever let me touch you again?_ Lenora turned to look at him and sighed, "Why would you want to, Your Grace?" she asked him.

He stared at her as if she had sprouted two heads. "Why wouldn't I want to?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows. "You are still," he paused, searching for the right word. " _You_ ," he settled for. "You are still you. And I am still me. Nothing will change the way I feel for you. Nothing."

Lenora watched him, uncomfortable with his outburst. She cleared his throat and turned away from him. "So where are we going?" she asked him. "Where are you carting me off to this time, Robb?" She turned back to him and smiled softly, hoping he understood that this was all she could offer to him at this time.

Nothing more.

She watched his jaw clench for a moment, but then it softened. "Oxcross," he told her. "Your cousin Ser Stafford Lannister is amassing a force of Lannister soldiers there. If we mean to march on your grandfather at Harrenhal we must first, decimate this host."

Lenora closed her eyes, flinching. "Could you not do that?" she snapped at him.

"Do what?" Robb asked her, studying her with his eyebrows furrowed. He honestly did not know what had bothered her.

"Rub it in that these are my family we're marching against," Lenora told him, her eyes narrowing as she watched him. " _My_ cousin. _My_ grandfather. _My_ uncle. Your men blame me for their actions, I can't stand you doing too."

This time when Robb reached out for Casterly's reins she did not move away. He grabbed a hold of her reins and pulled her horse closer to him, causing both horses to stop moving. "I don't," he told her, his voice firm so that she would understand how much he meant what he was saying. "I don't blame you for what they do. I don't blame you for what happened in the Godswood. No one blames you. No one."

Lenora was quiet for a moment, "I blame myself," she whispered.

* * *

Author's Note:

So I have the flu. It probably started to hit me on Monday or Tuesday, but I ignored it until Wednesday night. It was really bad on Wednesday night. Yesterday I woke up and came downstairs, prepared to write and update.  
Instead I fell asleep on the couch while watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy. I slept all day, so deeply that I completely missed my mother-in-law coming to check on me. She took care of our dog, brought me gingerale, and made homemade chicken noodle soup and I didn't even notice.  
I woke up when my husband came home from work. He fed me this surprise soup and put me to bed.  
I still feel like crap today, but hopefully I won't have any marathon nap sessions. And if I do? Well, at least I updated first, right?  
Anyway, after that insight into my personal life I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter!  
Thank you in advance to those wonderful people who will review! As for those of you that reviewed on the last chapter: keep it up. I love to hear from you!

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you!

 _Vulcran_ : Maybe they will ... but I won't tell. (At least not yet.)

 _RHatch89_ : The reasoning behind that decision is that Westeros has never been ruled by just a queen. Look at the Battle of the Bastards episode. Daenerys acknowledges that Westeros has never had a queen. She could take the throne because she has dragons. Lenora doesn't have dragons. Lenora is Robert's only trueborn child, but that does not make her his heir. The line of succession would skip right over her and go straight to Stannis. (Unless of course Robert had named her his heir before he died ... but he thought Joffrey was his so he had no reason to do that.)

 _HPuni101_ : Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : So many questions! I'm going to try to answer some of them, but I don't want to give away too many spoilers.  
1\. She might be crowned when Jon is named King in the North.  
2\. I'm going to leave Aegon out of this one. There's so much in this universe to play with, but this story is already on point to be the longest story I've written for this site. I've got to pick and choose what to use.  
3\. Unfortunately, as evidenced in this chapter ... she did. (It's just not time for her to be pregnant yet. )  
4\. If Robb dies, I might save the wolf. I probably will. I'm a sucker for direwolves and George R.R. Martin has already killed too many of them in my opinion.

That's all I've got for now, my dears. Have a fantastic day! Hopefully I will kick this flu soon and be back 100% soon!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four: Something Changed

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and mean reviews hurt.  
_ _Look, I am cool with cussing, hell I cuss like a sailor. But there is a difference between "Fuck yeah, that's awesome!" and "Fuck you!" The anonymous review I got yesterday was definitely of the "Fuck you" variety.  
_ _The person was mad at me because this story wasn't labeled as "OC" (my mistake, I thought I had, it has since been fixed). They were angry because they couldn't filter it out by asking not to see OC stories. So instead of taking the split second it would have taken to skip over this story (which is obviously an OC story by its description) they took the time to go into the story, select the last posted chapter, and post an angry, cuss-filled review about it.  
_ _They called me "chicken-shit" even though they were the one hiding behind "Guest" and "Anonymous Review." Well ... you're chicken shit, asshole.  
_ _I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to whine. I'm just going ask ... please be polite guys.  
_ _That's all._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-four: Something Changed_

 _Renly_

Lady Catelyn Stark was more spirited than Renly remembered her being the last time he had met her. Though many years had passed since then and he had been nothing more than a boy, he supposed that she could have always had this much avidity and just not revealed it to him. It was more likely though, he thought, that this new sense of purpose was born of the loss of her Lord husband.

Ned Stark was a good man, Renly would give him that - stubborn, stoic, and proper, but a good man. Renly harbored no ill will toward the man, even though he had refused to back Renly's claim to the throne based on something as stupid as birth right. The small folk of the Seven Kingdoms did not care for Stannis, they did not love him and they would not have him for a King. Even Ned's own son would not declare for Stannis, calling himself King in the North instead.

For a moment Renly thought to inform Lady Stark that her beloved husband would not have lost his head if he had only backed Renly's claim to the throne. But one look at the older woman's haggard face and he decided against it. She had seen too much sorrow of late to learn that her husband's death could have been prevented. It would be cruel to tell her that now.

Instead he gave her a tent and welcomed her at his table for supper for several nights in a row before he made his play. He wanted her to see the sheer wealth aligning himself with Highgarden had provided him. He wanted her to know the sheer force of his host. He wanted her to admit that her husband had been wrong not to back his claim. He waited until she had finished eating her meal on the fourth night of her stay before he called down the table to her and asked her to accompany him on a walk.

His rainbow guard began to stir in their seats, but he waved them off. Lady Stark had already put him in his place more than once at their first meeting at the melee, he did not need his guard to watch her do it again.

They walked quietly around the camp for a bit before he turned to her. "Well, Lady Catelyn," he started, letting his hands fall behind him to clasp at the small of his back, "you have come to treat with me on your son's behalf. We might as well get it over with. I have a war to fight, after all."

The older woman's jaw clenched at that, "Of that, I am well aware," she told him, biting out each word, her voice stern. "My son has been fighting a war these past few months, as I am sure you know."

"And yet he has not marched on Harrenhal yet," Renly pointed out. "And the Kingslayer still lives."

"And you have marched nowhere," Catelyn argued.

She had come to the right Baratheon, Renly realized with a chuckle. If she had spoken to Stannis in such a way she would have found herself thrown in a dungeon, her husband's friendship with Robert be damned. "You do have the way of it," he told her with another chuckle. "But as I am sure your son has found out war takes time. I've just now assembled the might of my force and now we must make plans."

"Make plans?" Catelyn asked, her tone incredulous. "What plans are there to make? Surely you must know that you need to march on the Lannisters. They are your biggest threat."

"No, My Lady," Renly told her, shaking his head. "Stannis is my biggest threat. No one will truly back my claim while there is another Baratheon also laying claim to the Iron Throne. First I must march against and beat my brother. Then I will march against the Lannisters."

"That is assuming that my son does not defeat them first," Catelyn interjected.

Renly shook his head, he may have been younger than Catelyn, just a boy when Robert and Ned marched against the Mad King, but she had no right to treat him like a child. "Your son could never do that," he told her. "He simply does not have the numbers." She looked like she wanted to argue with him so Renly continued before she could. "I am told that your son crossed the Neck with twenty thousand men," he told her. "Now that the Lords of the Trident are with him, perhaps he commands forty thousand."

He was being generous with that assumption, and if the look on her face was anything to go by he was being more generous than he had intended to be. But, despite the sheepish look on her face she nodded, silently allowing him to believe whatever he chose.

He gestured to the camp around them, to all the cookfires that were burning on both sides of the river. "I have twice that number here," he told her. "And this is only part of my strength. Mace Tyrell remains at Highgarden with another ten thousand, plus a strong garrison at Storm's End. Soon enough the Dornishmen will join me with all their power and once I have beaten Stannis I will claim the might of Dragonstone and the Lords of the Narrow Sea." He shook his head, almost mocking. "Your son sent you to treat with me because he cannot defeat the Lannister armies on his own. There is no need to pretend otherwise."

"I came to treat with you in hopes that you would see reason," Catelyn insisted. "My son has been named King in the North, everything north of the Trident will back him. He wants to return to Winterfell and rule the North as the old Kings of Winter once did. He has no desire to win the Iron Throne. But, he recognizes that the throne does not belong to Joffrey Baratheon -"

Renly bristled at that, "Joffrey is no true Baratheon," he bit out.

Catelyn inclined her head, "The throne does not belong to him, whatever you choose to name him. It belongs to Stannis by right. Put down your swords, take off your crown, and join forces with your brother. Then we can all march against the Lannisters and see a _true_ Baratheon on the throne."

Renly laughed at her and shook his head, "Let us be blunt, My Lady," he told her, still laughing. "Stannis would make for a horrible king. Appalling, truly. Men respect Stannis, they fear him, they listen to him. But only a few have ever, or will ever, love him."

"He is still your elder brother. If either of you can be said to have a right to the Iron Throne it must be your brother."

Renly shrugged, a practiced nonchalance that he had taught himself during his time in King's Landing. "Tell me," he invited, "what right did Robert ever have to the Iron Throne?" He shook his head, his older brother had never had any true claim either, and yet, the smallfolk had welcomed Robert, just as they would welcome Renly, he was sure of it, "Robert won the Seven Kingdoms with his warhammer. And your husband by his side."

Once more he gestured toward the camp around them. "This is my warhammer," he told her. "This is my claim, as good as Robert's ever was. If your son supports me as his father supported Robert he will find me as good a King and as good a friend as Robert was to Ned. I will not be ungenerous. I will gladly confirm him in all his lands, titles, and honors. He can rule winterfell as he pleases. I may even allow his disgraceful marriage to my niece to stand," Catelyn bristled at that comment, but Renly continued as if he had not noticed. "He can even go on calling himself King in the North if he likes, so long as he bends the knee and does me homage as his overlord. _King_ is only a word, but fealty, loyalty, service - those I must have."

"And if he will not give them to you, My Lord?" Catelyn asked, her voice implacable.

"I mean to be king, My Lady," he told her. "And not of a broken kingdom. I cannot say it more plain than that. Three hundred years ago a Stark King knelt to Aegon the Dragon, when he saw he could not hope to prevail. That was wisdom. Your son must be wise as well."

Catelyn shook her head. "My son and his men do not mean to bend the knee to another southern king. The Targaryen's were able to hold the North because they had dragons. And then once the dragons died the North had forgotten what it felt like to be free. And then Ned pledged the North to your brother, because he loved him." She shook her head again. "But my son does not love you. And the North remembers. They will not be put down easily." She looked around the cookfires that surrounded them, "So unless you have a dragon at your camp, I would not count on my son swearing you anything."

"The Iron Throne will be mine," Renly told her again, struggling for just a moment to keep his voice courteous. He respected the woman walking beside him, loved her for his brother's sake, but she was trying his patience.

"And my son wants it not," Catelyn told him, once again. "He has no intentions to take the Iron Throne."

"No?" Renly asked her, raising his eyebrows. "So it is just a happy coincidence then, that he took for his wife the one woman in all the Seven Kingdoms who can birth him sons who would have a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than even I or Stannis? You say he wants nothing to do with the Iron Throne, but he wedded and bedded the key to it."

"That marriage was arranged by your brother, the King," Catelyn pointed out, squaring her shoulders and preparing for battle. "Robb did nothing more than what both his and Lenora's fathers wanted for them."

"That was before my brother died," Renly told her, his tone harsher than he meant. "That was before it was revealed that Lenora was the only trueborn child out of that union. When it was believed that Joffrey was the true heir Lenora was of little to no importance. Now we know better. Her marriage would have been a matter for the King to decide on. It was, and still is, my right to arrange her marriage as I see fit. He stole that from me and is lucky that I am even considering allowing the marriage to stand. That will not be the case if he does not swear fealty to me and my cause."

Catelyn shook her head, "I have told you that my son will not bend the knee to you, My Lord," she told him. "And he will not give up his wife either."

Renly could feel his shoulders tense, he had hoped that the older woman would see reason, that she would realize that her son's claim to being King of anything was a foolish one. But it seemed that she was just as stubborn, stupidly so, as her husband. He was about to tell her as much, when one of his squires came running up to them, yelling for the King at the top of his lungs. "I am here," he told the squire, turning to glare at the young man. "What is it?"

"Your Grace," his squire exclaimed, his breath ragged. "A rider, from Storm's End. They are besieged, Your Grace. Ser Cortnay defied them, but ..."

"Impossible," Renly argued, glancing at Catelyn for confirmation even though he had been disagreeing with the Lady. "I would have been told if Lord Tywin left Harrenhal."

"These are no Lannisters, my liege. It's Lord Stannis at your gates."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

It felt good to have a sword in her hand again. Even if it was just a wooden practice sword. And even if the man she was practicing with was worse at sword play than her brother, Joffrey. He was too obvious with his movements, too slow with his attacks. It wouldn't take him long in the next battle to find his death. But the squire, only a bit older than herself, had been the only one willing to practice with her and as she had learned in King's Landing at a young age beggars could not be choosey.

She sighed, stepping away from the young man, "Don't groan before you lunge," she told the man. "It's easier to counter when I know the attack is coming."

"Aye," the man nodded, "but you don't know from where."

Lenora sighed again, she wondered if this is what her uncle had felt when he had started teaching her how to fight. "What's your name?" she asked him, if she was going to keep practicing with him she should probably call him something besides _squire_.

"Donovar, Your Grace," he told her, ducking his head into a slight bow. "Donovar Norridge."

Lenora nodded, "Donovar," she told him, "you groan before you lunge, and I know an attack is coming. Your eyes dart left and you think that you're tricking me when you lunge right. But all you are really doing is telling me which way to step so that I am out of your way." She shook her head, "I'm doing more stepping out your way than I am sword fighting."

Donovar chuckled and shook his head, "You know, Your Grace, they say it is stupid to think that you are the smartest person in the room."

"Aye," Lenora told him with a nod. "My uncles have told me that on several occasions. Though, there is one exception to that. You should never think you are the smartest person in the room _unless_ you are the smartest one." She lifted her sword and pointed at him, "Now, let's do this again. Though, perhaps, without the groaning."

Donovar smiled and shook his head, but he lifted his sword as well. And this time when he lunged he did so without the groan, though he still looked right before he lunged left. Lenora shook her head and threw up her wooden sword, sending him veering off to the side.

The next attack came from the right. Instead of countering this one Lenora stepped out of the way and on quick, light, dancer's feet she moved around him, twirling around to press the point of her play sword into the small of the man's back. "You're such a Westerosi," she murmured over the laughter of their audience.

"So are you, Your Grace," Donovar argued as he turned around to face her.

But Lenora was gone. As he had turned toward her she had moved right, once again at his back, she flicked her wrist and the flat side of her practice sword slapped the back of the squire's thighs. "But faster than you," she whispered as she danced away from him again.

She was grateful that she had packed a pair of breeches and shirt, her movements would not have been so light, so easy with a skirt billowing around her ankles. The men had laughed as they watched her move through the camp that morning in her pants, but no one was laughing now, at least not at her.

They laughed at Donovar and his complete inability to keep up with their _Little Queen_. That was what the common foot soldiers had taken to calling her now. Lenora had been surprised to admit how little she minded the nickname.

Donovar moved to face her again, too quickly, he wasn't paying attention. "Watch it," Lenora warned him even as her leg shot out to trip the man. The men around them laughed, she was humiliating him, she knew it. But this was how he would learn. When her uncle had trained her as a young girl he had been gentle on her, not easy. And so, she in turn, would not be easy on this man. He fell to the ground and she shook her head, "Watch your feet," she told him, as she reached her hand down to help him stand again. "Don't fall. My uncle always told me that a man who falls is a man who dies."

"You tripped me," Donovar pointed out. "How am I not supposed to fall when you trip me?"

"Be lighter on your feet," Lenora told him with a shrug as she dropped his hand and stepped away from him. His leg shot out, trying to trip her, she skipped over his foot and out of reach. "Smartest person in the room," she teased him as she turned back to look at him. She was gloating, Jaime had always told her not to gloat and now she realized why. As she walked away from Donovar one of the men watching them extended his leg, tripping her. He chuckled, though he was the only one laughing.

The rest of the men that had circled around her and the squire fell silent. It was one thing for Donovar to accidentally hurt her, they were sparring. But for someone who did not have her permission - Lenora could feel them tense, their collective worry. She smiled and shook her head as she stood up from the ground, "I stand corrected," she told the men with a smile. "I may not be the smartest person in the room after all." She smiled and felt the men around her relax. They were lucky, she knew, if this had been her brother, Joff would have had their heads.

"Of course not, Your Grace," one of the men called out. "We're not in a room. Otherwise, I am sure you would be."

She smiled at the man and nodded, "Just so," she told him before she turned back to Donovar. "One more time, shall we?" she asked the squire.

He nodded and extended his sword arm out to her, silently inviting her to be the first to attack. She smiled at him as she moved closer, circling him - almost cat like. She feinted right, lunged left, and then at the last moment ducked underneath the man's outstretched sword arm, dragging the point of her wooden sword across his stomach. The men around them cheered, aware that if they had been fighting with live steel that would have gutted her opponent.

He spun quickly and this time when Lenora extended her leg to trip him he jumped over it. She nodded, "You're learning," she praised him.

He started moving forward, swiping his sword at her. She countered each of his steps forward with one of her own backwards steps. It would seem that she was on the run, though as she changed directions, still walking backwards it became obvious that she was leading the squire, rather than running from him. Wood thunked against wood and splinters flew as their practice swords met each other time and again.

He had sped up his attacks, using up more of his energy, Lenora smiled. Jaime had once told her that as long as you were in control, being on the defense could be a way to rest during a sword fight. Donovar was breathing heavily as he swung his sword, right and left, hacking and jabbing. And Lenora simply had to bring her sword up to meet his. Slower movements, more control and less energy.

Once he was tired, his breathing ragged, she smirked at him. She moved forward, lifting her left arm and stepping left at the last moment. At first the man seemed to think that she had sidestepped him again, but then she lowered her left arm, trapping his hand and the hilt of his sword between her arm and her body. She turned slightly, twisting his wrist and moving away, bringing the sword with her. If this had been live steel that move would have been messier than it was, she would have been injured, though not horribly so. She reached her left hand up, grabbing the hilt of the sword, pulling it out from under her arm. She threw the sword up in the air and caught it again, adjusting her grip on it before she extended her arm, taking a step forward, the tip of the wooden sword resting just under the squire's chin.

She smiled at him, "I might not be the smartest person in the room," she told him as she dropped the sword and handed it back to the squire. "But I am the smartest woman here."

"You're the only woman here, Nora," she heard Robb chuckle from behind her. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder, wondering when he had arrived. She thought back to Winterfell, when she had first arrived. She had been so aware of his presence that he could not lift a hand without her knowing it. But now he could sneak up on her and she didn't even notice.

Between their fights and when she had lost their child, she lost that too.

"Not the only one," she told him, nodding toward the camp. There were two types of women who followed an army during war times: the Silent Sisters and whores. There were plenty of both at the camp now.

"Aye," she heard someone else agree. She turned to look past Robb and saw Lord Bolton standing behind his shoulder. She tensed slightly, her grip tightening on the handle of her wooden sword. The man's pale blue eyes landed on her hand and she forced her fingers to relax. The man made her uncomfortable, but she didn't need him to know that. "But I imagine that you are the only one who can wield a sword like that."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "Well, they can't all have Jaime Lannister for an uncle." She turned away from the two men and handed her practice sword to Donovar. "Though, this would have been a much more entertaining fight if I had been allowed live steel."

"This war would be much more interesting if you were allowed on the field," Robb joked.

Lenora did not look at him, he had been trying to bait her since they left Riverrun. She barely talked to him now, and when she did she never quite met his eye. "And who would make that decision, Your Grace?" she asked him, her tone sharper than she had intended.

Robb chuckled though, he had always loved her ferocity. Nothing would change that now. "Me, I suppose," he told her.

"You suppose?" she asked him, still not turning to look at him. "You are the King in the North are you not? Who else would make the decision?"

"My Lords Bannermen," Robb started, but Lenora interrupted him.

"Are here to advise you," Lenora told him, her voice hard. She was doing this in public, something a proper wife would never do. But Robb had known who he was marrying when he had taken her as his wife. He should have seen this coming. It was her hope that he would give her what she wanted just to keep her from further berating him in front of his men.

But it was Roose Bolton who spoke next, "You give her too much freedom, Your Grace," he told Robb, his voice quiet and silky. Dangerous.

"She is my wife," Robb pointed out, turning his head toward his bannerman. "She is allowed her freedom."

"She is a Lannister," Bolton told him.

"She _was_ a Baratheon. She _is_ a Stark. She never was a Lannister."

Lenora's hair flew as she turned her head to watch the two men. It had been a long time since she had heard Robb speak with a voice that harsh and cold. It was steel. It was intended to leave no room for argument. She wondered how many times Robb and Lord Bolton had had this conversation already.

"If she were my wife," Lord Bolton started, shaking his head.

"Then you could deal with her as you saw fit," Robb interrupted. "As it is, she is my wife."

Bolton's jaw clenched and Lenora turned away slightly, watching the man out of the corner of her eye. She had always sensed that Roose Bolton was dangerous, but she had never felt personally threatened by him before. She reminded herself to thank the Gods later that night that she was, in fact, Robb's wife.

He, at least, did not frighten her.

She heard his footsteps approach her and she turned to see him standing in front of her. A grin spread across his lips as he allowed his gaze to drop from her face, down her body and back up. His gaze traveled down her body again, slower, more intense - fire burning in his blue eyes. Lenora shivered; she was dressed, perhaps more covered than she ever was in a dress, but something about the way Robb looked at her made her feel as if she was standing in front of him completely bare. He could see everything, all her secrets, all her desires - everything that made her who she was.

Her chest felt tight, but she took a deep breath anyway, acutely aware of the way his gaze fell to her breasts, watching them rise and fall with each breath she took. The wind stirred, moving through his auburn curls. His eyes were so intense, so blue that the normal name for the color did not do them justice. His lips, she knew they were soft, oh how she knew that, spread into a gentle smile as he watched her, watching him.

This man was a King. This man led an army of men who respected him and believed in him. This man had fought three battles against the greatest strategic soldier the Seven Kingdoms had seen in years and he had won all three. This man was strong and he was brave. He was smart and kind. This man loved her.

And, she realized, she loved him.

His eyebrows knit together as he watched her. He reached out, meaning to cup her cheek in his hand, Lenora flinched away from him, only for a moment. He sighed, about to drop his hand when she allowed her cheek to rest in his palm, leaning into him. "I wish I knew what was going on in that head of yours," he whispered, somehow completely ignoring all the men that were still standing around them.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "It's not nearly as interesting when it's no longer a mystery," she told him.

"I doubt that," Robb told her, his lips tugging into an even wider smile than before. "I doubt that very much."

Lenora smiled at him, "What brought you here, Your Grace?" she asked him, her eyes darting to the men around them. Most of the soldiers seemed to be pretending not to watch them, trying to make themselves look busy. Roose Bolton, however, stood behind Robb, watching the two of them outright with narrowed eyes.

He smiled, "I heard cheering," he told her with a shrug. "Had I known that the niece of Jaime Lannister was giving fighting lessons I might have arrived sooner."

Lenora pursed her lips, trying not to smile. It had not gone unnoticed that he had called her uncle by his name and not _Kingslayer_. Her eyes darted over his shoulder at Roose Bolton, the older man's jaw clenched, he had noticed as well. "You probably should have," she told him, her voice soft and teasing, "you could do with a lesson or two."

Robb smiled at her, "Come," he told her, holding out his hand to her. "We will be supping soon." Lenora nodded, slipping her hand into Robb's and allowing him to lead her away. A very ladylike action for a woman dressed as a man.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

Something had changed in Lenora in that single moment. Robb could feel it though he could not name the change. But that single moment, in front of his men when she had let him touch her, however innocent the touch had been, for the first time since her attack something changed. He wanted to ask her about it, to question her. But he was afraid that putting words to the change would cause the girl to close up, to shut him out again.

So he kept quiet during supper. He allowed Lenora to remain dressed in her shirt and her breeches, he chuckled when the Greatjon told her that she looked more at home in pants than a skirt. He laughed when Lenora told the Greatjon that she might be willing to trade with him: her skirts for his armor.

She smiled at him while they ate.

She reached out for his hand as the servants began to clear the table in front of them.

She squeezed his hand when he told her to go to their tent, that he would find her after he spoke to his bannermen.

And when he arrived at their tent after dark he saw that she had left him a trail of her clothes. Leading him toward the back of the tent where she sat in a bath, blushing up at him.

"Waiting for me?" he asked her, unable to hide the smile on his lips or in his tone.

She smiled at him, "My lady's maid has already had to refill the bath twice to make sure it would still be warm when you arrived," she told him. It sounded like she was scolding him, but the smile remained on her lips as she moved forward in the bath, making room for him to settle in behind her.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, even as he began to undress. She had barely been able to touch him since she was attacked at Riverrun. As much as he wanted to join her, as much as he wanted to touch her, he didn't want to rush her.

Lenora smiled at him, her blush darkening as he began to undo the laces on his pants. "Even if I weren't, you certainly seem sure of what you want."

His hands instantly stilled and he shook his head, moving a step away from the bathtub. "The last thing I want to do is rush you. To make you feel uncomfortable." He shook his head. "I will not hurt you."

She smiled at him, soft and gentle and gestured for him to walk closer to her. Once he was within reach she began to finish untying the laces on his pants. "You have been so patient with me these last few weeks," she told him, her voice as soft as velvet. Her fingertips slid under the waistband of his pants and her hands slid around his back. She flexed her fingers, her nails digging into the skin of his backside and causing Robb's hips to buck toward her before she pushed the pants down, allowing the thick fabric to puddle at his feet. "More patient than any husband would be. Please," she started. "Please let me show you how grateful I am for that."

Robb shook his head, he was so desperate for her that he had hardened just at her words. But he wasn't going to make her do this. "You don't owe me anything," he told her.

Lenora rolled her eyes at him, surprisingly irritated. "I didn't say anything about owing you," she told him, ducking her head in an attempt to hide her blush. "I spoke of wanting you."

That was what he needed to hear. That was what he had needed from her. He practically tripped over himself in his effort to get into the tub as quickly as possible.

She smiled, looking away from him. Still so shy, even after everything that they had been through. Robb chuckled as he settled himself around her, she sat between his legs, her back pressed against his chest, her damp, dark hair thrown over one of her shoulders.

He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders, just across her collarbone, holding her to him as he leaned forward, reaching out to the table to the left of the tub where her bath oils sat. He uncorked the closest one to her and smiled as the smell of lavender hit him. He always loved when she used this one and her hair smelled of lavender. He poured some of the oil into his hand and began to work it through her hair. He started at the top of her head, taking his time and making sure that each strand of hair was oiled as he worked his way down through her waist length hair. Lenora moaned and leaned even closer to him, pressing herself against him as closely as she could. "You're better at this than Lord Cerwyn's daughter," she told him after a few minutes as he reached the bottom of her hair.

"Am I?" he asked, allowing the strands to slip through his fingers and land in the water. He moved his hands from her hair to her neck, just behind her ears. And then slowly his hands drifted down to her shoulders, down the outside of her arms, his fingers brushed against the swell of her breasts, she shuddered under his hands.

She nodded, her eyes closing and the corners of her lips tugging into a smile as his hands left her arms to slowly, cautiously slide across the wet, slippery skin of her breasts. He drew large, lazy circles on her skin, each one getting smaller. Each one closing in tighter on her nipples. She arched into his touch and he smiled, shaking his head at her impatience. This was the first time he had really touched her in weeks. He was not going to rush it, he was not going to waste it. He was going to savor her. Every inch of her.

She moaned as his fingers finally touched her nipples, gently pinching them between his thumbs and his index fingers. "She definitely doesn't do that," she whispered, once more arching her back, pressing her breasts closer to his fingers, her whole body taut, silently begging him for more.

He chuckled at her, low and dark. His left hand remained at her breast while his right hand began to slide down her stomach. His jaw clenched when he realized that if she had not lost their child her stomach would no longer be flat, there would have been a bump by now. Before she could read his mind he dropped his lips down to her neck kissing her soft skin as his right hand continued sliding down, beneath the water.

"I should hope not," he told her, his lips moving against her skin. He allowed his lips to slide down her neck - kissing, licking, nipping along the way. Until they landed on her shoulder. "No one should do that, except for me." As he said that he allowed his finger to press against her, that little bunch of nerves that made her body sing for him the last time he had made love to her. She moaned, not at all playing the part of lady, but too far gone to care. Her hips bucked against his hand and her eyes snapped open, silver and bright in the candlelight.

She bit her lip, trying to keep another moan down, but Robb shook his head, he bit down gently on her shoulder. "Don't hide from me," he told her once he lifted his mouth from her skin. "I want to hear you. Sing for me, Nora."

She craned her head to look at him and very deliberately released her lower lip from her teeth. He smiled at her and allowed his finger to circle her, dipping inside of her for the briefest moment before pulling out and returning to the bundle of nerves above. Her eyes closed and her teeth scraped agains her lower lip, she wanted to bite her lip for a fraction of a second before she remembered his command. She released her lip and when she moaned it was his name on her lips, low and soft and full of desire.

For him.

She may not have loved him, but she wanted him. And that was enough for him for now.

He dropped his finger again, dipping it inside of her and slowly began to work his finger in and out. He smiled at her. Her eyes were closed, but every time his finger began to withdraw from inside of her, her hips bucked, chasing him, trying to keep him there for just a moment longer. He began to pick up his pace, added another finger, smiled to himself when that drew another moan from her lips. He felt her tense and tighten around his fingers and he knew, that she was close to her release. He brought his thumb up to circle her mound, and leaned closer to her, nibbling on her ear. "Let go for me, Love," he told her, his voice deep and ragged. "Let go."

And she did.

Once she was finished she turned her head, hiding in his shoulder. Her breath was fast, uneven, her breasts rose and fell beneath the water at an irregular pace. Robb bit his lip, the sight of her was making it hard for him to breathe His hips lifted involuntarily, without meaning to he pressed himself against her, hinting at more.

She turned her head back to look at him and lazily opened her eyes, "Don't worry," she promised him, her voice a whisper. "I haven't forgotten you."

He tried to tell her no, that he didn't care. This was for her. But she was already turning in his arms. Her legs found their way around his hips, her arms settled around his shoulders. She smiled at him, almost peacefully, as she lifted herself up. One of her hands reached between them, wrapping around him and holding him steady as she slowly, lowered herself down on him. It didn't take her long to adjust to him, within moments she was rocking her hips against him, water sloshing out of the tub.

"I won't," he began to tell her, moaning himself as she rocked her hips again. "I won't last," he told her. It had been too long since he had touched her, the build up too slow, her pleasure too much. She smiled at him and slowly, deliberately rolled her hips. "Nora," he moaned out.

She threw her head back and rolled her hips again, "Say it again," she told him, her voice a soft, quiet contradiction to the feelings she was building inside of him. "Say my name again," she commanded.

He smiled up at her, "Nora."

She smiled at him, her hips moving at a faster pace now. She leaned closer to him, pressing a deep, slow kiss against his lips. She pulled away after a moment, not far, just enough to speak. And when she spoke her lips brushed against his with every word. "I love you," she whispered, just a breath really.

"What?" Robb asked her, sure that he hadn't heard her correctly.

She shook her head and laughed.

Robb shook his head too, his hands shooting out to grab onto her hips, his fingernails digging into her skin. "What did you say?" he gasped out, each word was like its own sentence. Punctuated by his breath. "Because, if you said what I hope you said ... I need to hear it again."

Lenora pressed her lips against his, another kiss. A hard one this time. "I," she said, pressing her lips against his again, rolling her hips. "Love," another kiss, another roll of her hips. "You," a third kiss, a third hip roll, a tightening around him.

It was all he needed, his hands tightened on her hips on the third roll and he slammed her down on top of him, groaning as he drove himself as deeply inside of her as he could, spilling himself inside of her. "I love you too, Nora."

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Author's Note:

Well, as far as reviews go ... I think I said my peace up top. I want to thank a moment to extend my complete gratitude to all you wonderful souls who have kept your reviews polite. You've all been super supportive and that makes me happy.  
So thank you.  
I hope that you enjoyed this latest chapter. Lenora came to a pretty big realization today. It was nice. What did you think? Drop a little review in the box down there to let me know!

 _HPuni101_ : Thank you! Still feeling a bit miserable, but I don't have a fever today (knock on some wood) so that's already a HUGE step in the right direction. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : I promise you, if I kill Robb there will be a child. If only because I love the picture in my head of a smaller version of Robb with Lenora's silver eyes and stubborn attitude. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

That's all I've got for now, friends.  
Chloe Jane.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five: Wild Like a Wolf

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and Lyanna Mormont is my hero. (That's not a hint ... she does not show up in this chapter. It's just an observation.)_

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 _Chapter Twenty-Five: Wild Like a Wolf_

 _Robb_

The Gods had sent the Stark children their direwolves. Lenora had told him that once. He had scoffed at her and told her that he was sure that the Gods had nothing to do with it. But she had shaken her head and smiled at him, as if she thought he was an idiot. She was convinced that Grey Wind was a gift, from the Old Gods, her new ones did not deal with direwolves, and he was not going to change her mind on the matter.

And on the night of the battle of Oxcross Robb had to admit that he was starting to believe her. Stafford Lannister was massing a new Lannister force at Oxcross, just a few days' ride from Lannisport. He was training them, the force, while large, had very few trained soldiers from what his spies had told him. Stafford must have felt that he was safe in the Westerlands, _Lannister lands_ , because he did not even bother to set up sentries. It was the man's first mistake.

There were so many castles at the border to the Westerlands that Ser Stafford must have assumed that he would hear word from the residents if Robb's host moved on them. That was his second mistake. Though, Robb was sure that even the Lannisters were not aware of the path his army took through the woods surrounding Oxcross. The path was so narrow that his men had to ride in a single file line. Whoever had made it, had long forgotten it.

The path that Grey Wind found for him.

Lenora had smiled as they moved through the woods, quietly at night. In whispers Robb had explained how Grey Wind had led him to this path. Her smile widened as she turned to look at him, "I told you," she whispered back to him. "He was a gift from your Gods."

When they arrived just outside of Oxcross he had expected a fight from her. He had expected her to once again ask him to let her join the fight. But she had surprised him. She pressed a kiss against his cheek and moved to kneel beside Grey Wind, whispering something in the giant wolf's ear before she stood and moved toward where the Silent Sisters were setting up their supplies. He had told her that she was not allowed to fight, but that he would allow her to help the Silent Sisters and she was not going argue with him.

He was glad that she didn't ask again, thankful even. He might have said yes. He didn't want her out of his sight. He didn't want to leave her side. Ever since she had told him that she loved him, he had not been able to get enough of her. He was _sure_ that she would be safe with the Silent Sisters, but he _knew_ that she would be safe at his side.

He took a deep breath as his cavalry began to assemble, he needed to get her out of his mind. He would be no good to his men if he fought distracted. But Gods, was it hard to get her out of his head.

He and his uncle, the Blackfish, had worked out a plan for this battle on the road. They would attack at night. It was the turn of the moon, the darkest night of the month and storming. The Lannister men would never see them coming. He sent a small group of men ahead of his host to sneak into the Lannister camp after dark and cut the lines of the horses. They weren't to set the horses free, or take any of them, that would make the Lannister men suspicious. They were just to cut the lines and then meet Robb's army back just past the edges of the camp.

Stafford Lannister had amassed this force so quickly, most of the men were not soldiers. They were men with no family names, no houses or sigils. Even if Robb's men were seen moving around the camp the Lannister men would not know they weren't Lannisters themselves. This technique would not work with Tywin's forces, they were too well trained. But it would be successful here.

Robb and his cavalry waited, quiet and still on the outer edges of the camp, just beyond a line of trees. And when the men he had sent to deal with the horses returned, Robb looked down at Grey Wind who stood beside his horse and nodded.

The wolf should not have known what to do. If the direwolf were any other creature he would not have done just as Robb wanted him to do. But, as he had done many times before it seemed as if he were able to read Robb's mind. One of the men even whispered that the wolf nodded to Robb before it took off, silently moving through the trees and into the camp.

Robb couldn't see him anymore, but he could imagine him. He could imagine the giant, grey wolf moving silently past the soldiers. He would be stealthy, no man would hear him or see him. But they might feel him. They might feel his yellow eyes on them, turn just a second too late and swear that someone or something was watching them.

Then men would not see his wolf, but the horses would. They would be able to smell him. And they would become nervous. A nervous horse that is tied up to its post is dangerous enough. But a nervous horse who is untethered, well, he was counting on them to destroy the Lannister camp.

He could hear the horses now, whinnying and stamping their feet. Within minutes the sound of nervous horses became the sound of terrified horses. They cried and they screamed and they began to run.

Men's shouts joined the din, trying to control the horses, trying to save their tents, trying to figure out what had caused the horses to run. And both above and below, all that noise he could hear Grey Wind's growl as the wolf moved through the camp, attacking man and horse alike.

Robb tightened his grip on his reigns and turned, nodding toward his men. He smiled grimly at their cries of _King in the North_ as they charged forward into the camp.

Robb rode at the front of the host, something he had learned from his father. If he wanted to inspire his men then he needed to go to where the fighting was thickest. Every time. They rode through the tents, following men as they scurried for their weapons, hacking at them from their horses as the men screamed for help, for mercy, for their mothers.

The wolf and the terrified horses had made quick work of the camp. The men fled. Some were torn apart by Grey Wind, some were trampled by horses. Many were cut down with swords. But to call Oxcross a battle seemed a lie to him. Not that he would voice that thought in front of his men. They had been itching for a fight since Riverrun. They needed Oxcross to be a battle.

But these weren't soldiers, most of them weren't even men, but boys. Robb did not need to send his cavalry in to fight the Lannister force, he could have left it all to Grey Wind, in truth. The wolf would have finished the fight in just as much time.

As it was, the fight was done by sunrise. He attacked during the hour of the wolf and within just a few hours it was over. The men were dirty, though most of it seemed to be mud from the wet field rather than from blood. He had not seen Lenora since the beginning of the battle. As soon as the remaining Lannister men had surrendered the Silent Sisters moved onto the field. She would be with them. He meant to find her now. He was walking through the camp when Roose Bolton approached him. "Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours," the older man bragged.

Around them Robb's Northmen were stripping the corpses, taking whatever they could: boots, clothes, gold. Lady Mormont had already rounded up whatever livestock she could find and had begun to drive them towards the Riverlands to make up for the cattle the River Lords had lost with the Lannister raids. Whatever Lannister men had survived without capture had begun a quick retreat, falling back to Lannisport. Robb's army would follow them soon, but first they had to deal with this mess.

And it was a mess.

He reached up and wiped at his forehead, his hand coming away bloody. A gash at his hairline that he hadn't noticed until now. He shook his head, briefly thinking of Lenora and how badly she had wanted to join his men in battle. She was good with a sword, Jaime Lannister had trained her well. But her uncle had never told her the truth of a battle. He wondered where she was in the field, he wondered what she thought of his _adventure_ now.

"But even with that," Roose continued. "We will have nowhere to keep all the prisoners you took. We should sell back the highborns, ransom them. And then we should question and kill the rest."

Robb shook his head, "I will not execute prisoners, My Lord," he told him. This was not the first time that he and Roose Bolton had had this conversation. He doubted that it would be the last.

"Question them first," Roose instructed. "Perhaps some of the officers were privy to Lord Tywin's plans." Robb scoffed at that, turning his head to Roose and raising his eyebrows. Lord Tywin was smarter than that. If any of the men at Oxcross knew his plans it would have been the ones that successfully managed to flee. The ones that were now on their way back to Lannisport. Not the ones that Robb had captured. Roose smiled at him as if he could read the young king's mind and nodded. "In my family we say: a naked man has few secrets, a _flayed_ man has none."

Robb's intake of breath was sharp, "I am well aware of your family's views on flaying men, Lord Bolton," he told the older man, his eyes darting to one of Bolton' banners that still stood on the edge of the camp, the red man on a black field. "But my father outlawed flaying in the North."

"We're not in the North, Your Grace," Bolton told him, as if that made a difference.

Robb stopped walking, he glanced around him, waiting for Roose to come back to him, his eyes lighted on the snowflakes that were dancing in the air, lazily making their way down to the ground to melt in the blood and the mud of the battle. "They say I brought the North with me when I marched south," he told his bannerman once Roose had turned back to him. "So whether we are north of Moat Cailin or not, _my_ Northmen will not torture or execute prisoners."

Roose sighed, "The high road is very pretty," he told him, slow and low as if he were talking to a child. Robb's jaw clenched. "But you will have a hard time marching your army down it."

"The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own," Robb reminded him. "I would not give them anymore reason to hurt my sisters."

The look on Roose's face told him that as far as his bannerman was concerned, Robb was putting too much importance on the lives of his sisters. Perhaps Roose Bolton was not the only one who thought so. But the girls were innocent and Robb was not going to put them in danger just to make his bannermen happy. He was about to tell Lord Bolton that when a wounded soldier caught his attention. A Lannister man.

The man was laying on the ground, his pants were stained with his own mess, his stomach torn open. He was sure that it was Grey Wind's work. It wasn't the man or the injury that caught his attention. It was what he was saying. The man moved as quickly as he was able to cover his stomach with his arm, he tried to sit up, but he fell. "Lannister! Casterly Rock!" the soldier yelled out.

Robb turned his head, his eyes wildly scanning the horizon, looking to see if Lannister reinforcements, almost hoping there would be. His blood was still up, the same went for his men.

But there were no Lannister reinforcements, just Lenora moving through the dead and the dying, helping where she could. She was beautiful, his wife. Her dark hair was braided, hanging down her back in one thick braid. A few strands around her face had escaped the braid and the wind blew them across her forehead. Her dress was ruined, covered in mud and blood, his lips turned up at the corners, if she was going to continue working with the Silent Sisters she was going to have to find an apron and sleeves to protect her from the soldiers' blood. It could bring disease and that was the last thing he wanted for her.

He heard Bolton scoff beside him and he turned away from Lenora and the soldier, just briefly, raising his eyebrows to his bannerman, silently asking him what he found so laughable. "Even the common foot soldiers claim her for their own," Bolton murmured, his light blue eyes narrowing as he watched Lenora. "Whatever you say about her being a Baratheon. The Lannister men _will_ rally behind her if given the chance."

Robb turned back to look at Lenora. She had knelt beside the Lannister man. "Hello," she greeted the man, almost kindly though no smile graced her lips. "Do you mind if I have a look at you?" she gestured toward the man's stomach.

The man shook his head, quickly wrapping his other hand around his stomach as well. "No, My Lady," he told her, begging her. "It is too gruesome. A lady should never have to see something like this."

Lenora shook her head, her hands reaching for the man's arms. Her grasp looked gentle, but it must have been strong because slowly she started to pull the man's arms away from his wounded stomach. "I expect that I will see much worse before the end of this war, Ser," she told him.

The man shook his head again. "I am no Ser," he told her. "I am no knight. But you, you are my princess. I cannot ask you to do this."

Roose spoke up from behind Robb, "Surely there are some of _our_ men who could use your attention, Your Grace."

For the first time Lenora looked up from the man in front of her. Her grey eyes barely landed on Robb before they moved to Roose. " _Your_ men are not _my_ men, Lord Bolton."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She should not have said that. She knew it the moment the words escaped her lips, but she was just so angry with him. He had been bragging since the fighting ended of how few Northmen had died in the battle. She had heard him when she was tending to one of _his_ men. This man needed her, had called out to her. There was no doubt in her mind from the amount of blood that was now staining the soldier's sleeves that he would die. She would not let him die alone.

She turned back to the man in front of her and took a deep breath, forcing the muscles of her face to relax so that he wouldn't think she was angry with him. "You're speaking nonsense," she told him, finally managing to peel his arms away from his stomach. Once she was able to pull his arms away from him she took a deep, shuddering breath. She had not been ready for the sight that greeted her. She felt tears start to fill her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. She needed to be strong. This man in front of her needed her to be strong.

He was covered with his own shit and piss. It looked like Grey Wind had attacked him and when the wolf sunk his teeth into the man's stomach his bowels had released. She had heard this could happen, but she had never seen it. Not even from the wildlings that had attacked her and Bran. She took another deep breath, through her mouth so that she wouldn't be able to smell the mess and focused her eyes on his stomach.

She could see inside of it. The wolf had torn through the man's skin and intestines. The skin was jagged, there was so much blood, and even while breathing in and out through her mouth she could smell the bile from his stomach, the food that had been digesting and rotting inside of him. He was going to die, she knew that, she was honestly surprised that he was still alive to talk to her now.

"Tell me," she commanded. "How you recognized me." She was sure that speaking would not do the man any good. But it might take his mind off of the pain, distract him. That was all she could really do for him, after all. She could sew up the skin at his stomach, but that would not fix the organs underneath. She could give him milk of the poppy, but he would die regardless and she would need the milk later for a soldier who _would_ live. As much as it hurt to think it, trying to ease his pain would be a waste of her resources.

The man smiled, his lips bloody now, but her distraction was working, "I've seen you," he told her. "Many times in Lannisport. My father worked with the gold from the mines at Casterly Rock, my mother sold silk and dresses at the market. You stopped by her stall many times, whenever you visited Casterly Rock."

Lenora smiled at the man and nodded. She didn't remember him, she didn't remember stopping by his mother's stall. But she wanted him to think she did. "I loved that market," she told him. "There is always so much activity, so much noise, and the smell of the ocean," she closed her eyes as if she were imagining it. "I used to spend hours there. My uncle got angry at me so many times for missing supper because I was too busy eating fish kebabs at the market."

The man nodded, as if he could imagine it too. "Do you remember your fifteenth nameday?" he asked her.

She smiled, "I went to Casterly Rock to visit my grandfather. He gave me a necklace -"

"Aye," the man told her with a nod. "A ruby carved to look like a rose on a gold chain. A Lannister rose."

Lenora nodded, "He told me it was because I was the most beautiful flower to have ever bloomed at the Rock."

The man chuckled, "That's what he told my father when he asked for it."

"Your father made it?" Lenora asked him, surprised.

The man nodded. "He has never been more proud of anything he ever made," he told her.

"And you were going to learn his craft?" she asked him without thinking, bringing up the life that he would never live now.

The man smiled, "I never wanted to," he told her. "I wanted to be a knight." Lenora raised her eyebrows at that. He chuckled, groaning at the effort. "Any son of Lannisport grew up watching Jaime Lannister in the public tourneys. I was put to bed on many nights to stories of your uncle and his knightly doings. I wanted to be just like him."

Lenora pursed her lips, thinking about just how honorable and knightly her uncle really was. She wondered if this man who had grown up idolizing her uncle had heard about him and the Queen. "Well," she told him, trying to force a smile onto her lips. "You might just get to meet him. He is one of King Robb's prisoners as well. Perhaps you will get to share a cell with him."

The man chuckled at her, blood gurgling in his throat. "My Lady," he told her, leveling her with a pointed look. "Tell me, and tell me true, you do not really believe that I will leave this battlefield alive."

Lenora sighed, "Apparently I am not as good at distraction as I thought I was," she told him.

The man shook his head, "No, My Lady, you are a welcome distraction. You have been a great help."

Lenora smiled ruefully, "I wish I could be more help," she told him.

"You still can," the man told her. His eyes darted from side to side, as if looking for something, "I lost my sword when the wolf attacked," he told her. "Otherwise I would have done it myself."

He meant that he wanted to kill himself, it was obvious. He hadn't been able to do that and now he was asking for her help. Lenora sat back on her heels for a moment, watching the man, he would die with or without her help, and soon. But it would be painful. "They don't allow me a sword," she told him. "Not unsupervised."

"There are other ways to kill a man," the soldier told her, his voice quiet. He studied her, realizing just how uncomfortable she was with the prospect. "I will help you," he told her. Lenora nodded. He studied her before he nodded to. "It won't be easy," he told her.

"My uncle Jaime told me that it should never be easy to kill a man," she told him. "I think that rule still applies, even if the man asks you to do it."

The man nodded, "Right," he told her. "You're going to put one hand at the base of my head, the other in my mouth. Then, with all your might twist my head to the side."

"Will that do it?" Lenora asked, she was sure that it would be difficult, but it sounded so easy.

The man grimaced as he shrugged his shoulders, "If it doesn't kill me it will at least paralyze me. Then, alive or dead, I won't feel any pain."

Lenora watched him for a moment, "Aren't you afraid?" she asked him, her voice little more than a whisper.

"I faced down a direwolf, My Lady," he told her, trying to make a joke of it, probably for her benefit more than his. "And lived, if only just barely, to tell about it. Nothing scares me now."

She nodded and slowly started to move, her right hand slid under the base of the man's head, cupping it like one would cradle a baby's head and she slipped the three longest fingers of her left hand into the man's mouth, creating a hook with them at his jaw.

Counting was probably the worst thing she could do for the man. She wanted to offer him comfort somehow, but she didn't know what to give him. She was about to ask him if he wanted her to pray with him when the man started humming around her fingers. She recognized the tune and lowered her head toward his, her lips near his ear so only he would hear her singing along with him.

"A coat of gold, a coat of red  
A lion still has claws.  
And mine are long and sharp, my Lord,  
As long and sharp as yours."

As she got to the end of the stanza she took a deep breath, closed her eyes and twisted his head quickly, with as much force as she could muster. It hurt, and it was harder than she would have imagined. The noise was terrifying. She sat still for a moment, before she slowly turned the man's face back to its original position. His eyes were still open and for a second she thought that he was still alive, but he had stopped humming. She glanced to his chest, it no longer rose and fell.

He was dead.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking a final moment to herself before she looked up. Roose Bolton had walked away, but Robb was still standing there, watching her. She reached her hand out and gently shut the man's eyes before she stood up and wiped her blood covered hands on her skirt before she walked over to Robb. "That man died on your orders," she told him, her voice like a knife. "The least you could have done was stepped up and done it yourself."

...

She didn't see him for the rest of the day and it was probably best that she didn't. He came to her that night after supper though. She expected him to want to fight her, she expected him to yell at her. But when he came in his shoulders were relaxed, slumped even. And those blue eyes of his were soft and gentle. "Are you going to yell at me, Nora?" he asked her as he moved further into the tent and threw himself into one of the seats in front of the fire. "Are you going to fight me?"

Lenora stared at him and took a deep breath, "Would that make you feel better?" she asked him, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him.

He chuckled, "I don't know, to tell you true," he told her as he shook his head. "I would deserve it. But I'm tired, Nora, Gods know I'm tired."

"Tired of what?" she asked him.

"Of fighting with you. Of you changing your mind about where your heart is."

"Where my heart is?" Lenora asked him.

Robb nodded, "You tell me that you don't love me, that you can't love me. And then two weeks later you throw yourself on me. We were happy, at least I thought so. You found out that you were with child, _my_ child, and you were happy. And then you lost it and for weeks you wouldn't let me touch you. And then I finally got you back, you told me you loved me and I fear I'm going to lose you over this."

She watched him for a moment before she uncrossed her arms and moved closer to him, "You won't lose me," she told him, kneeling in front of his chair. "At least not over this," she amended, her lips turning up at the corners when his eyes lifted quickly to her face. "I just needed," she paused, trying to find what she needed. "I needed space," she told him. "And time."

Robb reached out one of his hands for her, he slipped it underneath her chin and tilted her face up to look at him. "The battle wasn't what you thought it would be?" he asked her.

She snorted, "Battle?" she asked, almost taunting. "Is that what you called it?"

"What would you call it?" he asked her.

"A slaughter." She sighed, "Those weren't soldiers. They weren't knights. Most of them had never held a sword or a spear, or a bow until my Uncle Stafford dropped one in their hands. The one you watched me with this morning, he was the son of a goldsmith, a boy who grew up in Lannisport, dreaming of being a knight. Nothing more than that."

"They killed my father," Robb argued, his voice a growl that rivaled his wolf's.

She laughed, bitter and cold, "That man?" she asked him. "That son of a goldsmith who can still remember the necklace that his father made me for my fifteenth nameday?" She shook her head, "No. My mother killed your father. My brother killed your father. Ser Ilyn Payne killed your father. But that man," she turned her head away from Robb, looking out toward where the battlefield was. "The only crime that man committed was being born in Lannisport. Of being born in a place that was under my grandfather's control."

"He fought for them," Robb countered.

"And if he had been born in Wintertown he would have fought for you."

Robb sighed, "What do you want me to say?" he asked her.

"Nothing," Lenora told him, shaking her head and standing up from where she knelt on the ground. "I don't want you to say anything. I just want to know that his death won't be in vain. That none of theirs will be."

"They won't," Robb told her, his voice was full of conviction, but his eyes were uncertain.

"Truly?" Lenora asked him, raising her eyebrows. "And what will you do when you finally make it to King's Landing? Once you get your sister, maybe both of them? What will you do next?"

"Behead Joffrey," Robb told her, not even apologizing for the threat against her brother.

"And will you sit on the Iron Throne?" Lenora asked him. "Will you be the one who rule the Seven Kingdoms, who brings peace to the realm?"

Robb shook his head. "After this war is over we will go home, to Winterfell. We will rule the North and the Trident from there."

"What about the other five Kingdoms?" Lenora asked him. "Who will rule them?"

"I don't give a shit."

Lenora nodded, "Then they will all die in vain."

"Let them split up then," Robb told her. "Let the Seven Kingdoms be their own kingdoms again. With their own rulers."

Lenora pursed her lips, "And how many years will it be before one King gets greedy and decides to take over another King's land?" She laughed, "All you have to do is read the history books, Westeros is full of greedy men fighting to take what doesn't belong to them."

"It won't be my problem," Robb told her.

"Then they will die in vain."

"Seven Hells, Nora," Robb growled at her. "What would you have me do? Stop fighting now? Go home to Winterfell now? Leave my sister in King's Landing forever?"

Lenora shook her head, "Then they will die in vain."

"Nora," Robb groaned.

"You don't want the throne," she told him. "You never did. But that is what this is now - a battle for the Iron Throne. Anyone worth sitting on it should not want it, so you will be better for the realm than the last few kinds combined. _This_ is the only way all this death, all this destruction, all this waste is not in vain."

She sighed and looked away from him, blinking back some tears. "Uncle Jaime knew what war was like. He has been to war, he has fought and killed men. And he never told me how horrible it was. He never told me."

Robb was quiet for a moment, watching her, "My father knew about war," he told her. "He told me his stories. He warned me. But even with all that I was still not prepared for it. Your uncle never told you the truth of war because he hoped that you would never live to see it. You were strong today, stronger than you should ever need to be. And I'm sorry for that."

Lenora smiled at him. "When I was younger my mother used to tell me stories. The love stories about Maidens and their knights. Girls who were pure and sweet and who were rewarded for that with the love of a knight, an honorable man who would protect her for the rest of her days." She chuckled and shook her head. "Those stories were always so boring. All I wanted was adventure. But now I've got it and all I want is to go home."

Robb smiled at her, reaching out for her hand. Once she had slipped her hand into his grasp he pulled her toward him, into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her. "One of my sisters loved those stories," he told her. "The other one hated them. She found the others, the fairytales about the dangerous girls. Girls who were in control, girls who knew exactly what they were doing. Girls who were wild and brave. Girls who were worthy of their songs." He pressed a kiss, hard, against her temple. "You will always be one of those women, Love. Always."

She smiled at him, "And you'll keep me wild?" she asked him. "Even when all I want to do is go home?"

"Aye," Robb told her with a nod and another kiss to her temple. "I'll keep you wild. Wild like a wolf."

Lenora smiled at him and threw her head back, howling playfully.

Her smile grew wider when Robb threw his own head back and added a howl of his own.

-.-.-.-.-

 _The Hound_

The boy King sent him after the little bird. It didn't surprise him. He had always been Joffrey's _dog_ , of course he would fetch the girl for him. The redheaded Stark girl wasn't too much to handle, if he was telling it true he almost cared for the girl. She reminded him, a bit, of the little Princess, the one they left behind in Winterfell.

Little Bird was a poor man's imitation of Princess Lenora, but she was an imitation all the same.

Sandor Clegane had guarded Joffrey Baratheon since he was old enough to walk, nearly eleven years, the first time he had met the Little Princess she was not long past her seventh name day. A little terror with wild dark hair and bright silver eyes. The first day he met her she was running through the halls of the Red Keep, dragging her sword behind her, squealing in delight at the noise the metal made against the stone. She was heading straight for her little brother's nursery. He had caught her, right around the middle and scooped her up into the air, quickly putting an end to her mad dash for her brother. "Where are you off to, little one?" he had growled at her.

Her answer was to hit him across the back with the flat side of her sword. "Put me down!" she had commanded, her voice was a child's voice but her tone carried force behind it. She was a princess, she was used to getting her way.

"I asked you a question," he had pointed out, still not putting her down.

"And I don't have to answer," the small child had told him.

"You'll dull the point of your sword treating it like that," he told her as he set her back on the ground. She tried to run past him, but with one quick step to the side he was blocking her path. She tried to run around him the other way and Sandor stepped in _that_ direction, blocking her again. "Surely your uncle Kingslayer taught you that."

She kicked him in the shins for that one. He chuckled, he supposed he deserved it and what damage could a little girl do? She huffed out a sigh, angry that her kick had done nothing to him. And then, as if remembering who she was she stood up a little straighter and squared her shoulders, "It doesn't matter what happens to this sword," she told him. "I go to give it to my brother. Uncle Jaime is making me a new one. This is for Joff. He's a baby, it should be dull."

"And is the little prince going to fight with that?" Sandor asked her, nodding to the sword. "It's as long as he is."

"He'll grow into it," Lenora told him as she walked around him again, this time he let her, falling in line behind her. She turned to look at him, her silver eyes darting over his face. "Come here," she commanded.

"I am here, Little Princess," he told her, chuckling at the little thing who thought she could command him.

"Down here," Lenora told him, leaving no room for argument.

Sandor had sighed, but listened, kneeling beside her so that his face was level with hers. He knew what was coming, she was a child, she didn't know that it would be impolite to ask. She would ask anyway. What he did not expect, what he did not see coming, was when she reached her tiny, child's hand up to his face and ran her fingers over the scars. "Your face is strange," she told him, not a question.

"Aye," he told her with a nod.

She tilted her head to the side, studying the unburnt side of his face. "What happened to it?" she asked him.

"I was burnt," he told her. "When I was a child."

"When you were small like me?"

He shook his head, "I don't know if I was ever small like you, Little Princess," he told her.

"Was it an accident?" she asked him.

He shook his head, "My brother did it," he told her, surprising himself with how candid he was being with the little girl.

"Your brother?" she asked, stepping back from him in shock, her hand dropping from his cheek. Sandor nodded. The young Princess stared at him for a moment longer, her eyebrows furrowed, before she nodded and turned away from him to continue her walk to the nursery. "You had a cruel brother," she told him. "My brother will never be that cruel."

Now, eleven years later, Sandor was waiting for Little Bird to finish dressing so that she could meet Joffrey in the throne room. He did not know what the boy King had planned for the Stark girl, but he had a feeling it would be cruel. The little Princess had been wrong her brother, she was older than him and had in many ways been safe from his cruelty but even she had seen it when he was a child. Her brother was every bit as cruel as Gregor.

And he had power.

Little Bird was more polite than Lenora. She was better behaved than Lenora. She was weaker than Lenora. She could not take care of herself. The little Princess would have protected her if she were still in King's Landing. But she wasn't. And Little Bird was alone, singing her pathetic songs to unfriendly ears.

* * *

Author's Note:  
Hello friends! Happy Sunday. I have been up since six am because I couldn't breath out of my nose and it made sleep miserable. So it's 9:30 am and I've had about three cups of coffee, and you guys get an update!  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! (I did!)  
I'm going to go ahead and thank you in advance for all the lovely reviews I hope you will leave in that handy box down there!  
And as always, the BIGGEST thanks go to those who reviewed on the last chapter:

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you!

 _Raging Raven_ : It had been a while, and I missed writing sword play so it was time. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 _FanaticShipper_ : Hello new review friend! Welcome! Thank you so much for your review. It made my day. You are so sweet. And it's unfortunate that you wait for an update every day and I now know it, because we are on the eve of my bi-weekly sabbatical. I hope I left you a good chapter to wait on and just know ... I will be back on Monday!

 _Guest friend_ : No promises on killing Robb or not. You will just have to wait and see.

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : I'm glad that was your favorite chapter. It was definitely up there in my list of favorites too. Which is weird because most of my favorite chapters feature Jaime and that one definitely did not. I hope you liked this chapter as well. As for the Boltons ... yes, Lenora is not as stupid as Sansa. (That's all you're going to get from me on that :p).

 _RHatch89_ : I specifically do not read stories that are the same genre as what I am writing because I don't want any bleed into my story, you I hope this story isn't like the other one you are reading. As for your hope ... all I can say is that I have an outline for this story, one that I wrote out before I wrote the first chapter. It's magical. I love it. And unless I'm struck by something particularly awesome or my characters just write the chapter for me (which has happened) ... I try not to change it.  
I'm not going to tell you what is in my outline, but I will tell you this ... whatever happens at the Red Wedding. If you bear with me, it will be pretty awesome. (If I do say so myself.) Not Lyanna Mormont awesome, but awesome.

 _HPuni101_ : I'm glad you enjoyed it. Roose Bolton makes everybody nervous. Which is I love writing about him. He's pretty spectacular. So as you might know, my writing is ahead of what I post. So this chapter has a lot to do with Roose, but what I'm writing today mentions Ramsey. And I'm really excited for when he comes into play.  
Probably a bit too excited.  
I might be a psychopath ... or it might be all the cold medicine.

Okay guys, that's all I've got for now!  
Chloe Jane.


	26. Chapter Twenty-six: Strength

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and ... SURPRISE! Sometimes I post when I am supposed to be on hiatus!_

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 _Chapter Twenty-Six: Strength_

 _Sansa_

She made a point to dress as well as she could when she went to see the King. He liked when she looked pretty, but it was getting harder to do that. None of her dresses fit well anymore, she was long past needing new dresses, but she didn't know who to ask. If she were still at Winterfell her mother would have ordered new dresses for her months ago, but the only family she had left at Winterfell were her younger brothers. If she were a _true_ ward of the Queen then Cersei would have done it and sent a bill to Winterfell, but she wasn't a ward. She was finally beginning to realize exactly what she was.

A prisoner.

She took a deep breath, her breasts straining against her dress. She was embarrassed, she would have to ask her handmaidens to let the dresses out again, though they had already warned her that they would only be able to let out her dresses out a few more times before they would need to be thrown away.

She left her bedchamber, a slight blush on her cheeks, she didn't know what the Hound saw when he looked at her, but she could imagine. She wondered if he could see the way the dress clung to her newly grown breasts, and her widened hips. She was almost a woman now, she was sure that men around the castle were beginning to notice and the man who spent the most time with her was without a doubt, the Hound.

She moved to the left of the guard, away from the burned side of his face. His mouth twitched angrily every time she dared to look at his scars. He scared her when he was in a good mood, the last thing she wanted to do was make him angry.

"Tell me what I've done," she commanded, it was best to be prepared when she went to the King. He would be angry at her for something, but if she knew now then she would have time to come up with an excuse. She would have time to put her walls up so that Joffrey wouldn't be able to see that every word that came out of her mouth was a lie.

"Not you," the Hound growled, "Your kingly brother."

"Robb's a traitor," Sansa told him, quickly and firmly. "I had no part in whatever he did." She hoped and prayed silently to the Seven that Robb had not killed the Kingslayer. However much she wanted every Lannister to die she was smart enough to realize that Jaime Lannister's death would mean her own. Joffrey was keeping her alive, playing with her, but keeping her alive under his mother's command. But if Jaime died then Cersei would not care if Sansa died.

The Queen would probably be the one to kill her herself.

The Hound snorted at her, "They trained you well, Little Bird," he told her without looking at her. "Better than they ever trained your queenly sister, that's for certain."

"Arya's not a queen," Sansa argued with him, rolling her eyes despite herself. "Though, you are right. She does not behave," she paused, wondering if her sister was even still alive. "Did not behave," she amended.

"Not the wild one," the Hound told her. "Your other sister. _The Queen in the North_."

He sneered the last part, but Sansa could sense an underlying emotion in the man's words. There was almost a sense of pride in him when he spoke. That surprised her almost as much as the words he spoke. "The Queen in the North?" she asked, her voice quiet and soft, her mind working quickly as she tried to make sense of what the man was saying. "Robb married Lenora? Princess Lenora, I mean?" She shook her head, that wasn't right anymore either. Lenora was a _Queen_ , but to call her that would be treason. She could not be a Queen if Robb was not a King. And Robb could not be a King if he was a traitor.

"Aye, Little Bird, they're married."

Sansa shook her head, casting her eyes down to the floor, watching her feet as they walked, "The poor princess," she murmured, forcing her voice to be soft. "She must be so afraid."

The Hound chuckled, dark and humorless and shook his head, "The Princess Lenora has been many things in her life, afraid has never been one of them."

"But she's all alone with my traitor brother and his men."

"And I am sure she is a good deal safer than you are."

They were standing in front of the doors to the throne room now, the doors were open and she could see a crowd of people standing in front of the throne. Her want-to-be savior, Ser Dontos was standing by the doors, riding his broomstick horse, "Be brave," the fool whispered to her as she passed him.

The crowd parted for them as the Hound led her toward the throne. When they reached the empty space on the floor before the steps she had to step around a yellow cat that was dying on the ground. She felt sick, swallowing tightly, as she watched the poor creature. It cried pitifully, a crossbow quarrel sticking through its ribs.

Joffrey was sitting on the Iron Throne, winding his ornate crossbow. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn were standing on either side of the throne. The hound moved around her and climbed the steps to stand with the king as well.

"Your Grace," she greeted him, quickly falling down to her knees.

"Kneeling won't save you now," Joffrey told her, swinging his crossbow up to train on her. "Stand up. I have brought you here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."

She stayed on her knees, he liked when she begged, and begging was more easily done on her knees. "Your Grace," she began, her voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear. "Whatever Robb has done - he's a traitor. I had no part. I've been here, in King's Landing with you. You know that. I beg you please -"

Joffrey rolled his eyes at her and looked over her shoulder to someone in the crowd. "Ser Lancel," he commanded to his cousin, Lancel Lannister. "Tell Lady Sansa and the Court of this latest offense."

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at the blond knight. He had been a squire not long ago, but the Queen had told Joffrey to knight him shortly after King Robert's death. The young man had always been gentle and soft, the perfect man to become a knight. But when he looked at her now all she saw was hatred and disgust in his green eyes. "Using some vile sorcery your brother fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister with an army of wargs. They were within a three day ride from Lannisport. Thousands of good, brave men - men who fought for King Joffrey were butchered as they slept. Many of them did not even have the chance to lift a sword to defend themselves. After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."

Part of her wanted to laugh, Old Nan had told her stories of wargs, but they only lived beyond the wall. Her brother was not a warg, all he had was a wolf. Part of her wanted to cry that these southern lords and ladies seemed to believe. They _wanted_ to believe that Robb and his men ate Lannister men. And part of her was afraid. Joffrey would use this as some excuse to hurt her and humiliate her. She knew it. Though the knowing wouldn't make it any better. She did not know what punishment to prepare for.

"You've got nothing to say?" Joffrey asked her. "Nothing to defend yourself with? You Starks are as unnatural as your wolves. I will never forget how your monster savaged me."

"That was Arya's wolf," Sansa bit out angrily. "Lady never touched you. She never hurt you. But you killed her anyway."

"Your father killed her!" Joffrey thundered at her. "But I killed your father. I wish I had done it myself." He glared down at her, his crossbow still leveled on her. "I should kill you for what your brother has probably done to my sister. But my mother tells me that I am to keep you alive. She says that if I kill you they will kill my Uncle Jaime. Lenora is a lost cause, I fear, I hear she is actually helping your traitor brother, but Jaime - Mother says we can still save Jaime."

"I am sure that your sister has not turned her back on you - " Sansa started to say, but Joffrey interrupted her.

"I want you punished," he yelled over her. "You will be punished and we will send word of it to your brother. That way he will know what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog," he shouted, turning to look at the Hound. "Hit her."

The Hound's lip twitched angrily, but he stepped forward as his King commanded. Always the loyal dog.

"Let me beat her!" she heard someone call out from behind her. She spun to see Ser Dontos rushing at her on his broomstick. He held a morning star in his hand, one made out of a melon. He ran around her in a tight circle hitting her repeatedly with the melon, her head, her stomach, her back. The crowd watching laughed as the melon burst over her head, juice running down her face and the front of her silk gown, staining the pale blue fabric. She prayed to the Seven that Joffrey would laugh along with his court. She prayed that he would be satisfied with her humiliation; that he wouldn't call for her pain.

The king rolled his eyes, "Boros, Meryn," he called out.

Ser Meryn grabbed Dontos by the arm and threw him away from her. Ser Boros grabbed Sansa by the arm. "Leave her face," Joffrey ordered, "I like her pretty."

The knight's fist slammed into Sansa's stomach with so much force that he drove her breath right out of her lungs. She would have screamed, but she didn't have the air for it. Instead she doubled over in pain, her chest heaving as she tried to regain some sort of breath. The knight grabbed her by her hair and pulled her upright, drawing his sword as he did so. For one, brief, terrifying moment she thought he was going to cut her throat. Instead he hit the front of her thighs with the flat side of his sword with so much force that she thought her legs would break.

"Enough," the Hound rasped out from Joffrey's side.

No one was laughing now.

"No," Joffrey told the Hound, smiling at her pain. "Again."

Ser Boros let go of her hair and moved around her in a circle, much like Dontos had, though much more deadly. This time he hit her on the back of her thighs. Hard and strong. Without his grip on her hair Sansa fell to her knees, tears were falling down her cheeks, she screamed out in pain. "My brother," she sobbed out without thinking. "My brother would _never_ treat your sister like this. She is his Lady and he would never humiliate her in this way."

"Your brother is a traitor," Joffrey told her, holding his hand up in the air to tell Ser Boros to stop beating Sansa. "He humiliated Princess Lenora by forcing her to marry him. He humiliated her by forcing her to lie with him. He humiliates her every day he breathes." He looked away from her for just a moment before he turned back to her, a dangerous smirk resting on her lips. "Boros, I believe my Lady is overdressed. Fix that, will you?"

Before Sansa could even grasp what he meant by that Boros was standing behind her, grabbing at her dress that was already too tight, already fraying at the seams. He slipped his hands inside the neck of her dress, grabbing at her corset and chemise as well. With one strong yank her dress, corset, and chemise tore open, baring her to her waist. The cool air of the throne room hit her breasts and she heard people snickering behind her. Joffrey's eyes were wide and wild as he looked at her. Her hands scrambled, trying to pull the fabric up to cover herself, it didn't work, so she settled for wrapping her arms around her chest, covering herself with her hands.

"Beat her bloody," the King commanded, grinning at her. "Start with her hands. We'll see how her brother facies - "

" _What is the meaning of this?_ "

It was the Imp. And in an instant Sansa was free. He walked up to her, barely taller standing than she was kneeling. He didn't look at her, but she already felt safe. "Someone bring her something to cover herself with," he commanded.

The Hound moved off the throne platform quickly, taking off his white cloak and handing it to her without looking at her or the Imp. Sansa bowed her head gratefully as she wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. The Hound had given her a way to protect her dignity and before that he had tried to tell Joffrey to stop having her beaten. She did not know why he was being kind to her, as kind as he could be, but she was grateful for it.

"This woman is to be your wife," Tyrion told Joffrey, his voice like a whip. "Your job is to protect her, to love her. Not to torture and beat her."

"Mother says that it is always better for someone to fear you than to love you," Joffrey argued. " _She_ fears me!"

"Yes," Tyrion told him, his tone sarcastic. "It really is a pity that Stannis, Renly, and her brother are not fourteen year old girls." He turned to the sellsword who stood at his side, "Help her up," he told him. "Bring her to my chambers." He turned to look at her, smiling almost kindly. "I will come see you shortly, Lady Sansa. I would speak with my nephew first."

She nodded, allowing the sellsword to help her up, "Thank you, My Lord," she told him, nodding again though she didn't look him in the eye. He was a Lannister, the same as Joffrey. Just because he was being kind to her did not diminish that fact.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

"Am I your prisoner?" she had asked by way of greeting when he had met her later in the Tower of the Hand. He supposed that she had a right to ask him that, she had known nothing but cruelty from the Lannisters since her father had died. She had no reason to expect any different from him. Though it did sting a bit, he had hoped that she would recognize that he had meant to be kind to her. He had sent handmaidens to bathe her, he had sent a maester to see to her injuries, he had sent food. He had even made a point to send her to what had been her sister's chambers, instead of the ones she had used when her father was Hand of the King. He had worried that her old chambers would bring back too many memories.

"My guest," he told her, well aware of how skeptical she would be of the word. She had been his sister's guest in King's Landing for months and she had been subjected to all manner of cruelty from Joffrey. To Sansa Stark _guest_ could very well mean _prisoner_. Though it was not what he intended for her. "I had thought that we might talk."

The young woman in front of him nodded, "As my Lord commands," she told him, her voice hard and distant. Practiced. She would not simply open up to him because he asked it of her, he would have to be open to her as well.

"I was a _guest_ of your aunt's," he told her as he moved to the table in the middle of the room and pulled a seat out for her. She sat down, not because she wanted to, but because it was proper. Her back was straight as a rod, her shoulders tight. He struggled to push her chair closer to the table for her. She did not help him. Once he was finished he moved around the table and took a seat himself. "She had me thrown into one of the sky cells," he continued as if she was actually interested in what he had to say, "for the murder of her husband, Jon Arryn."

She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised, "And had you done it?" she asked him.

He chuckled and shook his head, "I've done a great many things in my life," he told her, "but I had never killed a man. Jon Arryn's blood is not on my hands." He paused for a moment, trying to ensure that the young girl in front of him was listening to him. "Just as your brother's success in battle is not on yours," he told her.

Her eyes darted up to his face for a moment and for a second Tyrion believed that she believed him. For just a moment he could see hope shine in the young girl's eyes, but then she looked away from him, her jaw clenched. "My brother is a traitor," she told him, again in that practiced voice that served her so well in King's Landing. "Whether I was there at the battle or not, I am a traitor by blood."

Tyrion smiled at her, a bit ruefully, the girl knew exactly what part she must play to stay alive in this city and she was not going to stop playing it even for a second. "You have the right to know why Joffrey was so angry," he told her, his voice gentle. "I do not know what he told you, if anything, before he had his man beat you. But now you will have the truth of it. Six nights ago your brother fell upon my uncle Stafford, encamped with his host at a village called Oxcross, not three days ride from Casterly Rock, and much too close to home for our comfort. Your northerners won a crushing victory. We received word only this morning."

There it was, only for a moment, a flash of victory in her eyes. She was probably wishing that her brother had attacked Casterly Rock itself. But just as quickly as it appeared it disappeared, "That is terrible, My Lord," she murmured, looking away from him. "My brother is a vile traitor. The Gods should not have allowed him to win."

Tyrion smiled at her, "It is said that the Princess Lenora is not the prisoner we thought she was. She travels freely through the camp, unguarded. After the battle she helped the Silent Sisters see to the wounded men, helping on both sides. Joffrey believes that your brother has persuaded her to turn traitor, it is the only reason she would not use her freedom to run away and come home to her family."

Sansa looked up at him, her eyebrows knit together in confusion, "And do you believe that as well, My Lord?" she asked him.

Tyrion shook his head, "I believe that my niece was put in an uncomfortable situation. An impossible one, perhaps. We left her up there, when both of your fathers were still alive. It was clear when we left Winterfell that she cared for your brother and he for her. Those feelings might not have disappeared when this war started."

"You think she loves him," Sansa supplied. Her voice was quiet, but Tyrion could sense that the idea of it made her happy.

He nodded, "Lenora is brave," he told her. "But she was also always weary and cautious when it came to her own feelings. She would not have fallen willingly, she would not have fallen easily. But if she loves him she will stand by him, even as he marches against her family. It does not make her a traitor any more than you loving your family would make you one."

She did not take his bait, instead she shifted in her chair and looked away from him. "Ser Lancel said Robb led an army of wargs ..."

He laughed, disdainful and humorless, "Ser Lancel wouldn't know a warg from a wart," he told her with another chuckle. "Your brother had his direwolf with him as he always does, but I suspect that's as far as it went. The Northmen crept into my uncle's camp and cut his horse lines and then your brother sent his wolf down to the camp in the dark during a storm to frighten the horses Even war-trained destriers went mad. The knights were trampled to death in their tents and the common foot soldiers and rabble woke up in terror and fled. It is said that many did not have the chance to grab a weapon to defend themselves, but the truth of it is that most dropped their weapons in order to run faster."

Sansa raised her eyebrows, "That does not sound much like a battle," she observed.

"No," Tyrion agreed with a shake of his head, "but battle or no it is clear who the victor was. Ser Stafford was slain as he chased after a horse. Lord Rickard Karstark drove a a lance through his chest. Ser Rubert Brax is also dead, along with Ser Lymond Vikary, Lord Crakehall, and Lord Jast. Half a hundred men were taken captive, including Jast's sons and my nephew Martyn Lannister. Those who survived and managed to evade capture are spreading tales of magic and wargs. They swear that the Old Gods of the North march with your brother."

Sansa shook her head, "The Old Gods cannot come south," she told him, somewhat bitterly. "You southerners cut down all the Heart Trees. They cannot watch if they do not have eyes." She was quiet for a moment before she turned to look at him. "So there was no sorcery?" she asked him.

Tyrion shook his head, "Sorcery is the sauce fools spoon over failure to hide the flavor of their own incompetence. My uncle was so stupid that he did not think he needed to post a sentry, he might as well have invited your brother into his camp. His host was raw, mostly young boys and old men - neither of which had much experience with weapons, battle, or war. The only mystery is how your brother reached him. Our forces still hold the stronghold at the Golden Tooth, and they swear he did not pass." He shrugged his shoulders as if it did not matter much to him, though he was just as curious as his father was. "Well, your brother is my father's bane. Joffrey is min. Tell me, what do you feel for my kingly nephew?"

He was not sure what he expected her to say, it was clear that she still did not trust him, though she was more open with him, more at ease than she had been when he first entered the room. He thought that maybe after what he had witnessed in the throne room she might tell him the truth of her feelings for Joffrey.

Instead he got a lie, an almost believable one by the look on her face. But the girl would be a fool to actually feel as she said she did. And Tyrion was convinced that Sansa Stark was not as foolish as she would have the Court believe. "I love him with all my heart," she told him without even a moment's pause.

"Truly?" Tyrion asked her, raising his eyebrows. "Even now? Even after that display I rescued you from earlier? You love him even after that?"

In her moment of silence he thought he had her, but then she spoke. "My love for His Grace is greater than it has ever been," she told him. She bit her lip for a second before she spoke again, "The princess Lenora is not the only one who bestows her love cautiously. Just as Robb's traitorous acts cannot cause her to abandon her love of him, Joffrey's rightful punishment of me cannot do so either."

Tyrion laughed out loud at that, the girl might survive King's Landing and his family after all, he realized. "Well someone has taught you to lie well. You will be grateful for that one day, I do not doubt it, child." He studied her, curious, she was fourteen after all, "You _are_ a child still, are you not?" he asked her, flinching slightly. He was well aware of how embarrassing this question would be, though it was one that he must know the answer to. "You have not flowered yet, have you?"

The dark blush that covered her cheeks was enough to give him an answer. But she spoke anyway, "No, My Lord," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. Tyrion felt sorry for the child, she had already been humiliated in front of the court. Stripped bare down to her waist and beaten. He was humiliating her further and that had never been his intention. She bore her embarrassment well though.

"That's good," he told her, thinking of what might happen to her once she had flowered and Joffrey could make her his wife. "If it gives you any solace, I do not intend that you ever wed Joffrey. No marriage will reconcile Stark and Lannister after all that has happened. More's the pity. The match was one of King Robert's better notions, if Joffrey hadn't mucked it up." He was quiet for a moment, thinking, "Lenora and Robb might have been able to do it, their tempers are better suited for peace than the king's, but the longer we are at war the more Lenora's head and heart might be turned against her family. She might not want a reconciliation by the time this war is over."

Sansa was quiet, she did not have a pretty, practiced answer for his musings. After a moment she swallowed, "Surely nothing could make her hate _you_ , My Lord," she finally whispered. "Even in the short time I saw the two of you together at Winterfell it was clear that she loves you. She would not turn on you."

It did not escape Tyrion's notice that she did not say anything in response to his intention to keep her from marrying Joffrey. He smiled at her, "No, but there was never any love lost between her and the king," he told her. He was quiet for a moment before he pressed on, "You are very quiet on the other subject," he told her. "Is this what you want? To end your betrothal to Joffrey?"

"I -" the red headed girl started, tripping over her tongue. Tyrion could see her mind working behind her eyes. She could not tell if he was tricking her or not. She had been taught to play the games of the Court, but she was unsure if this question was a game. She did not know what was the right answer to give. And she desperately did not want to give him the wrong one. "I only want to be loyal," she settled for.

"Loyal?" Tyrion asked her, pressing her to go further.

"Loyal to King Joffrey," she confirmed. "My one true love."

Tyrion chuckled. "If I were you I would want to be as far as possible from any Lannisters," he told her, his voice nonchalant. "I wouldn't blame you for it, Child. When I was your age I wanted the same thing, and I am a Lannister." He smiled, "They tell me that you visit the Godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?"

"I pray for an end to the fighting," she told him, her hands folded in her lap. Pretty, as a painting.

"We'll have that soon enough," he told her. "One way or another. There will be another battle, between your brother Robb and my Lord Father, and that will settle the issue."

This time it was more than a flash that he saw in her eyes, her face was an open book and his eyes had time to scan the pages. She thought that Robb would win that battle, just as he had won at Oxcross, just as he had won at Riverrun, just as he had won in the Whispering Wood. She hoped that Robb would come to King's Landing victorious and rescue her. She wanted him to kill Joffrey, and Cersei, and probably Tyrion as well. They were a child's hopes. Robb had been successful at war so far, but if he were to fight head on against Tywin Lannister he would lose.

As much as he hated to Tyrion had to dampen her hopes, "Do not take Oxcross too much to heart, My Lady," he told her, his voice as soft and as kind as possible. "A battle is not a war, and my Lord Father is assuredly not my uncle Stafford. The next time you visit the Godswood, pray that your brother has the wisdom to bend the knee. Once the North returns to the King's peace, I mean to send you home."

He did not tell her that he meant to bring his niece back to King's Landing in the deal as well.

He did not tell her that his father would chop off Robb Stark's head after he had his peace.

He did not tell her that her family would not be allowed to return to Winterfell again, even if they were freed.

But something in the girl's blue eyes told him that she already knew all of it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Catelyn_

Stannis had not listened to sense any more than Renly had. He was older, wiser than his younger brother, but just as stubborn. They were both children she thought, children playing at war while her son, younger than both of them, by at least half, truly fought a war. She was angry at them both, for not listening to reason, for not realizing that their enemy was not their brother, but the lion who made his camp west of them. For agreeing to a battle between the two of them rather than to help her son.

But battle they would, as soon as the sun rose. And she would wait until it was over. She would wait and hope that whoever won would help her son fight Tywin Lannister.

And before the battle was fought, she would pray.

She had her men bring her to a nearby village so that she might pray at a sept. The village was so small that she wondered if it had a name, if at one time it had a name its villagers took it with them when they left to get out of the way of the war. They took everything with them, even the candlesticks in the sept itself.

On the way there she wondered what she could do besides pray. The fact that prayer felt like the only option left to her made her feel weak. She wondered if Lenora ever felt weak. The girl was strong, stronger than Catelyn had ever imagined a girl could be. Though, the more she got to know the young woman, the more she watched her, the more she began to wonder if Lenora was who Arya would grow up to be. Her wild daughter, no doubt, under the right tutelage would have grown to be a fighter just as Lenora had.

Her heart broke at the thought of Arya and once again she was left feeling weak. She hated the feeling, she had never felt this weak, not since she had married Ned and they had made their life together at Winterfell. She had felt strong there, she had to. One had to be strong to survive in the North and for years she had believed it. But when she stood next to Lenora, when she compared herself to her son's young wife, that belief disappeared.

If Lenora were here she would not have simply tried to speak reason to her uncles.

If Lenora were here she would not simply wait until the battle was over.

If Lenora were here her last resort would not be prayer.

But prayer was all Catelyn Stark had.

It was dark in the sept, even with her torch. Catelyn placed it in a sconce near the door and turned, looking at each of the seven faces in turn.

Every sept was different. The one at Winterfell had always felt like an afterthought, one that had been built expressly for Catelyn when she had married Ned. The one at Riverrun was beautiful, large and well lit. Ones from great houses or in large cities usually had a statue for each of the Seven, and an alter to pray at. This small sept, in this small village, had only rough charcoal drawings.

Instead of having faces given to them by stonemasons, these ones could have belonged to anyone and everyone. With the flickering of the flames the lines almost seemed to change before her eyes. Bringing up images of her own loved ones and people she knew.

The Father, bearded as he always was looked at one moment like her own father, Hoster Tully. A moment later he reminded her of Ned. A flicker of flame and it was Tywin Lannister she was looking at.

The Mother, whose smile was loving and protective looked like her own mother Minisa Tully. A woman that Catelyn had not seen in so long that she could barely remember her.

The Warrior had his sword sketched beneath his face and as the wind blew and the torch flickered Catelyn watched as the face changed. The Warrior was Renly and Stannis, Robb and Robert, Jaime Lannister and Jon Snow. For a moment it looked more feminine she could see Lenora in the charcoal lines, and Arya for an instant.

The Smith had his hammer and she could see their own smith at Winterfell in him, a man who had made countless weapons to help protect her son as he marched south. He would never know how grateful she was to him for that.

The Maid was beautiful, gentle. She looked like Sansa, and the youngest princess, Myrcella, and again - that brief flash of Lenora, the soft side to the young woman's warrior heart.

The Crone was wrinkled and wise, her smile knowing. Catelyn recognized her own face in the Crone's, her own worry in the wrinkles.

The seventh face ... the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both. The Stranger was the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable. Here the face was a black oval, a shadow with stars for eyes. It made her uneasy, she would get no comfort from the Stranger, but it was here, this face where she saw all of her loved ones. One after another.

She forced herself to turn away from the stranger and instead moved to kneel in front of the Mother. Before a battle most would pray to the Warrior, but Catelyn was not looking for strength in battle or victory. She was looking for comfort. The Warrior gave strength, the Mother gave comfort.

"My Lady," she whispered to the charcoal face above her, "I pray that you look down on this battle with a mother's eyes. They are all sons, every one. Spare them if you can."

A crack ran down through the Mother's left eye. It made her look as if she were crying. In the still night Catelyn wondered if the Gods did cry, if they even listened. They were as silent tonight as they had always been. She wondered if Ned's Gods had been silent too when he prayed to them at Winterfell. Had his Gods answered his prayers when hers kept their silence?

The smoke from the torch was making her eyes burn. She looked down to the ground and wiped at her eye, blinking back her own irritated tears before she looked back up at the Mother again. The face no longer looked like her own mother's, the shadows had swayed and shifted, and as she looked more closely at the charcoal picture in front of her she realized that it was Cersei's face that seemed to be staring back at her.

She almost backed away before she realized something. _Cersei is a mother too_. No matter who it was that had fathered her three youngest children they were beyond a doubt Cersei's. She had carried them in her womb for nine moons, felt their kicks, brought them forth into the world, nursed them at her breast. As cruel as the woman was, she could also love. She could also care. She could also be gentle.

"Does Cersei pray to you too, My Lady?" Catelyn asked the Mother. She could see the proud, cold, lovely features of the Lannister Queen etched upon the wall before her. The crack still looked like a tear falling from Cersei's left eye, reminding Catelyn of one more thing. Even Cersei could cry for her children. If the three youngest were really Jaime's Robert would have killed them as soon as he knew. Bastards were common, but incest - it was a sin in the eyes of both the Old Gods and the New. Cersei had kept their secret, she had protected her children. Lenora had gotten her strength, not from her warrior father, but from her lioness mother.

Catelyn remembered the lesson about the Seven her septon had taught her as a child. "Each of the Seven embodies all of the Seven," Septon Osmynd had told her. There was as much beauty in the Crone as in the Maiden.

And the Mother could be fiercer than the Warrior when her children were in danger.

Lenora's strength came from her sword. Catelyn's, from her children.

She left the sept then, to return to Renly's camp and use the strength she got from the Mother when her children were in danger to make one last appeal to the would-be southern king. One last attempt to sway him away from battle with his brother and toward battle with the Lannisters.

She found him inside his pavilion with Brienne armoring him for battle while the Lords Tarly and Rowan spoke of dispositions and tactics. It was pleasantly warm inside, despite the chill to the air on the other side of the tent flaps. "I must speak with you, Your Grace," she told him, for the first time using the King's style in an attempt to catch his attention.

Renly turned to her and nodded a greeting, "In a moment, Lady Catelyn," he told her before he turned to the Lords in front of him. "See to your battles, My Lords. And if Barristan Selmy is at my brother's side, I want him spared."

"There's been no word of Ser Barristan since Joffrey cast him out," Lord Rowan objected.

"I know the old man. He needs a king to guard, or who is he? Yet he never came to me, and Lady Catelyn says he is not with Robb Stark at Riverrun. Where else but with Stannis?"

The lords nodded their agreement and bowed their way out of the tent. Once they left and it was just Catelyn, Renly, and Brienne, the King turned to look at her. "Say your say, Lady Stark," he commanded as Brienne swept his cloak over his shoulders. It was cloth-of-gold, heavy, with the crowned stag of Baratheon picked out in flakes of jet.

At least for the battle he would not be wearing Highgarden's colors.

"The Lannisters tried to kill my son Bran," she told him, without thinking. The words spilled from her lips without a thought, but as she said them she knew them to be true. "As I waited by his bed, praying that he would wake up I asked the Gods a thousand times why someone would try to harm him. But the Gods did not answer. _Your brother_ gave me the answer. There was a hunt at Winterfell the day my son _fell_ from the tower. Jaime Lannister did not go on the hunt, neither did the Queen." She knew that Renly was intelligent, he would understand why that fact was important. "I beg you, Your Grace, let me go to Stannis and tell him what I suspect."

"To what end?" Renly scoffed at her.

Catelyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes, taking a moment to silently ask the Mother, once more, for strength. "Robb will set aside his crown if you and your brother will do the same," she told him. She knew that at the moment Robb had no intention of setting aside his crown, but she hoped that she would be able to persuade him. She knew that her son had no interest in the Iron Throne, he wanted to return to Winterfell. She wanted that for him. She hoped that he would see that this was the easiest way to do so. Robb would listen to her, even if his lords did not. But _they_ would have to listen to _him_.

"Let the three of you call for a Great Council," she continued. "One like the realm has not seen for a hundred years. We will send for Bran, he will tell his tale and all men may know the Lannisters for the true usurpers. Let the assembled lords of the Seven Kingdoms choose who shall rule them."

Renly chuckled at her as if she had told him some great jest. "Tell me, My Lady, do direwolves vote on who should lead the pack?"

"I beg you in the name of the Mother," Catelyn began. She was ready to fall on her knees and truly beg him to listen to her when a sudden gust of wind flung open the door of the tent. She could not be sure, it happened so quickly. But she could have sworn that she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. When she turned there was nothing there, just the King's shadow shifting against the silken walls.

She heard the King begin to speak, saw the shadow moving, lifting its sword - black on the green silk. But when she turned back to Renly she saw that his sword was still in its scabbard. Still sheathed. But the shadow sword was still moving.

"Cold," Renly said, his voice small and puzzled, a heartbeat - a second before the steel of his mail shirt parted like ripped parchment beneath the shadow of a blade that was not there. He gave a small, thick gasp before the blood came gushing out of his throat.

Brienne turned, screamed out, "Your Grace, No!" as she stumbled forward and caught Renly's crumbling body in her arms, falling down onto her knees, his blood flowing fast, covering the blue of her own armor.

The woman's scream alerted the guards outside that something had happened. And before Catelyn could even begin to understand what she had just seen two guards rushed in. They did not stop to ask questions, they saw Brienne kneeling on the ground, holding Renly's body and they unsheathed their swords. "You'll die for this!" one of them threatened, moving closer to Brienne.

"No," Catelyn tried to tell them, shaking her head. But her voice was too soft, too quiet. "It wasn't her. It was Stannis." Truth be told it was a shadow, but just as she had known that she was speaking the truth when she said that the Lannisters had tried to kill Bran she knew she was being honest now. That shadow, whatever it had been, was Stannis' doing.

The knight moved on Brienne and she stood quickly, drawing her sword without a moment's pause. She matched swords with one of the knights, shoving him aside to swipe at the other. The first attacked her again and the large woman easily stepped out of his way, dragging her sword along the side, underneath the lip of his armor, slicing through his mail shirt and cutting open his stomach as easily as a man would cut his meat.

As he fell to the ground the other approached her from behind. She quickly turned to face him and swung her sword up to meet his when he tried to swing at her neck. She lunged forward and pushed him to the ground. Then, while standing above him she drove her sword down through his neck. The only reason the knight remained on his knees was because her sword was holding him upright, she yanked it away from his body with a slick sound and he quickly slumped down onto his stomach, dead.

Brienne stared down at their bodies for a moment before she dropped her sword to the ground and turned back to Renly, her King. She was crying as she knelt at his side again, begging him to return to her.

Catelyn moved toward her quickly, trying to pull her away. "You've got to leave," she told the young woman. But the blonde knight did not listen to her, her sobs only got louder. "They will hang you for this." She turned, she could hear more men outside the tent, no doubt they heard the fight and would be there to check on their King soon enough. "Now," she insisted, pulling on Brienne's arm.

The knight stayed on her knees, but she let go of Renly's body to round on Catelyn, grabbing onto her arm desperately. "I won't leave him," she promised.

Catelyn's face was stern, her voice was hard as she moved closer to Brienne's tear covered face, "You can't avenge him if you're dead," she told the woman before she stood up and yanked Brienne with her.

They left the tent through the back, quickly and quietly finding Catelyn's men. They grabbed their horses, Catelyn deciding that they could leave what little belongings they had brought with them.

They would ride quietly, quickly through the night. Catelyn could only hope that they would be far away from Renly's camp when his soldiers learned that their King was dead and that Brienne was missing.

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Author's Note:

So no Lenora and Robb in this chapter, just the whispers of them. But I think it was a good chapter all the same. Needed to deviate from them a bit today to move the story along.  
I hope that you enjoyed it.  
Did you? Huh? Did you? If you did you should drop down to that handsome looking box just below where we are now. It's lonely. And would love some review love.  
(So would I!)  
The biggest thanks goes to those wonderful human beings who reviewed the last chapter. You are made of all the good, happy things on earth, I'm sure of it.

 _HPuni101_ : Thank you dear! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well.

 _Guest (1)_ : I'm really excited that I get to number the guest reviews this time. That's fun. Anyway hello! Welcome! thank you for stopping by and binge reading this story! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as the previous twenty-five.  
You asked: When answering a question from my reviews, if I could type out the question before I answer it so that people don't have to go through the reviews to find the question like you've been doing for the last twenty-five chapters.  
The answer: yes!

 _HopelessRomantic44_ : Thank you! Another binge reader! I love it! I've figured that readers are kind of like me. They're not going to take the risk on reading an "In Progress" story over a "complete" story because what if the writer gets writer's block or stops writing? So I have a feeling the longer this story gets and the more I write the more binge readers I will get. Anyway, thank you for your review. I'm glad you've enjoyed this story so far and I hope that this chapter was worth the wait!

 _123bluebell123_ : I'm so glad that you have enjoyed this story so far. And thank you, thank you, thank you for saying that it is not "predictable," "cringey," or filled with "OOC" moments. That is a HUGE compliment and honestly what I strive for every time I sit down to write. Hopefully I can continue to live up to that!

 _Guest (2)_ : Hello second guest friend and third binge reader! You made my day this morning when I logged in to post this chapter. And your review was so full of compliments that I am still smiling. You know how to bribe an author into posting a new chapter: compliments. Just kidding, but still ... thank you! I'm glad that you think that my original content is believable ... that was the biggest challenge I had to fight when I started this story. So it's great that I seem to be succeeding so far.  
And trust me ... I know the feeling. I get mad when Lenora isn't in episodes. I've been fighting the flu for the last week or so and I've been rewatching GoT and in some of the episodes it was like I knew what Lenora would do and I was so angry that she wasn't there.  
As for a "new pup" ... maybe. You will have to wait and see.

That's all I've got for now guys.  
Once again, thank you for all of your support. It really is amazing.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven: Monsters

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I endorse this chapter._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-Seven: Monsters_

 _Tyrion_

Renly was dead. For the first time in many years Tyrion was unsure of how he felt. He had never particularly liked Renly Baratheon and the man was an enemy of Tyrion's family so he was not particularly saddened by the man's death.

But he had been counting on Renly and Stannis _actually_ battling. He had hoped that the two brothers would meet on the battlefield and work to diminish each other's forces before a winner was named.

Instead Renly had died the night before he was to battle his older brother. Stannis' force was untouched. On Renly's side only he and two of his King's Guard, or as he called them, his _Rainbow Guard_ had been killed. Many of the lords who had declared for Renly had already tripped over themselves in an attempt to bend the knee to Stannis.

The only hold outs were the Tyrells, the Tarlys, the Rowans, and Storm's End itself.

So one Baratheon king was dead and the other had doubled the size of his army over night.

What was more troubling was that Stannis was not Renly. If Renly had won the battle Tyrion could have hoped that the younger brother would march north to meet with Tywin Lannister. Renly, who had spent so many years on his brother's Small Council, would understand that the might and power of the Lannister family came from Tywin. He would hope to defeat Tywin Lannister on the battlefield and bring the old man's head to King's Landing when he came to take over the city.

But Stannis was a different kind of man. He was a stubborn man. He would never march on Tywin at Harrenhal when King's Landing was still left in the hands of Joffrey. Since Stannis was the victor of the unfought battle between he and Renly Tyrion could guarantee that there would be a battle for King's Landing before the turn of the moon.

"Murdered?" Cersei asked when she heard the news at the Small Council meeting. "By whose hand?"

Varys smiled at her, sweet and simpering. It made Tyrion sick. But all the same he let the Spider play his game, weave his weblike story for the Queen. "I have often found that too many answers is no better than no answer at all, Your Grace," the eunuch told her, his voice as soft as silk. "Very rarely are my informers as highly placed as we might like. They were not at the scene of the murder. And so, all I have for you are whispers. Whispers of whispers. Rumors of rumors. When a king dies, fancies sprout like mushrooms in the dark. There are a thousand and one answers to your question."

"And which answers have you heard?" Cersei asked, unimpressed by the man's warning.

"A groom says that Renly was slain by a knight of his own Rainbow Guard," Varys told her with a shrug of his shoulders, as if he was disappointed that she had not taken heed to the fact that none of these were _true_ answers. "A washerwoman claims Stannis stole through the heart of his brother's army with his magic sword. Several men-at-arms believe a woman did the fell deed, but cannot agree on _which_ woman. A maid that Renly had spurned, claims one. A camp follower brought in to serve his pleasure on the eve of battle, says a second."

Tyrion snorted at that, "A spurned maid or a whore?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I believe it more if the rumor was of a squire." Everyone in the council had heard the rumors of Renly's _pleasure_. It was more likely that Stannis _had_ snuck into the camp in the dark than Renly had had a woman in his tent.

"The third ventures that it might have been the Lady Catelyn Stark," Varys continued as if Tyrion had not spoken.

That gave Tyrion some pause. What was Catelyn Stark doing at Renly's camp when her son was days away at Oxcross? During the time he had spent with the woman he had developed a sort of respect for Catelyn Stark and the one thing that he knew was that she would do anything for her family. It seemed strange that she would leave her eldest son as he pursued his war on the Lannisters. Unless, of course, Robb had sent her to Renly. Oh to have been a fly on the wall during that meeting if that were the case.

Cersei, though pleased that Renly was dead, was not as pleased that Varys could not give her a straight answer to who had killed him. As she usually did when she was upset she began to threaten the eunuch.

"Joff will be so disappointed," Tyrion interrupted with a roll of his eyes. "He was saving such a nice spike for Renly's head. But whoever did the deed we must assume Stannis was behind it. The gain is clearly his." _And our loss_ he thought, he could clearly picture Stannis arriving to sack the city. Even if King's Landing managed to stand it would be a bloody battle. And one that would arrive much sooner than he had hoped.

"What of Renly's host?" Cersei asked, finally moving on from Renly's death.

"The greater part of his foot remains at Bitterbridge, Your Grace," Varys supplied, happy to give her the straight answer she was looking for, at least on this count. "Most of the lords who rode with Lord Renly to Storm's End have gone over banner-and-blade to Stannis, with all their knights."

"Led by the Florents, I'd wager," Littlefinger murmured, his tone dark.

Varys nodded with another simpering smile to the Master of Coin, "You would win that wager, My Lord, Lord Alester was, in fact, the first to bend the knee to Stannis. Though many others followed."

"But not all?" Cersei asked, lighting on that fact.

"No, Your Grace, not all." Varys turned to smile at her and held up four fingers. "Not Loras Tyrell," he lowered one finger. "Nor Randyll Tarly," another finger. "Nor Mathis Rowan and Storm's End, the fortress itself, will not yield. Ser Cortnay Penrose holds the castle in Renly's name and will not open the gates until he has seen proof of Renly's murder. Unfortunately for Ser Cortnay, Renly's corpse seems to have vanished." He lowered his last two fingers.

"So only four families have remained unbent to Stannis?" Cersei asked, disappointed.

"At least a fifth of Renly's knights departed with Ser Loras rather than bend the knee to Stannis," Varys tried to soother her.

Littlefinger's eyes were sparkling, "I am sure that the Knight of the Flowers was mad with anguish when he learned that his king was dead. How he must have felt for his," he paused to ensure that everyone at the table picked up on his innuendo, " _poor sister_ ," he finished. "Still a maid, I imagine."

Varys nodded, "Ser Loras is likely making for Bitterbridge. That is where his sister is. As well as a great many soldiers who suddenly find themselves kingless. The question is, which side they will take now. Will they back Stannis, like many of Renly's lords? Will they march north to Robb Stark? Or, perhaps, will they come to King's Landing?"

Tyrion shook his head, "They will not come to King's Landing without proper incentive," he told the council. "They might go to Stark without the same incentive because the Starks are not as hated as the Lannisters by the small folk. But they will not come to us willingly." He shook his head, trying to think of something. "There is a chance here, it seems to me," he told them, leaning forward. "Win Loras Tyrell to our cause and Lord Mace Tyrell and his bannermen might join us as well. Some of them may have sworn their swords to Stannis for the moment, yet they cannot love the man, or they would have been his from the start."

"They love us less than they love Stannis," Cersei reminded him.

Tyrion rolled his eyes, he had just told her that, no one loved Lannisters except for other Lannisters. But love was not the only reason that men followed. "Perhaps we can give them good and sufficient reasons to prefer Joffrey to Stannis ... _if_ we move quickly."

Cersei raised her eyebrows, wondering at his plan. "Gold reasons?" Littlefinger asked, guessing at what Tyrion was thinking.

Tyrion shook his head, "Bribes may sway some of the lesser lords, but never Highgarden." No one argued that point, they all knew it was true. They also knew that Loras Tyrell was the key. Mace Tyrell had three sons, Loras was the youngest of the three, but he was also the favorite. If they could sway Loras they would get Mace Tyrell and all of his bannermen as well. "It seems that we should take a lesson from the late Lord Renly," he told them. "We can win the Tyrell alliance as he did. With a marriage."

"I hope this offer would be a _true_ offer," Littlefinger muttered, his tone dark. He was still angry at Tyrion for lying to him about his plans for the princesses. Tyrion smirked, remembering how he had let Littlefinger believe that Myrcella would go to the Eyrie and Lenora would be married to Loras Tyrell. The Master of Coin now knew that both of those offers had been false.

"This one would be," Tyrion assured him. "I mean to wed King Joffrey to Margaery Tyrell."

"Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark," Cersei objected.

"Betrothed," Tyrion agreed. "But not married. Betrothals can be broken. And _this_ one should be. The Stark girl is the daughter of a traitor, her brother fights against the King's own grandfather. The Tyrells are much wealthier than the Starks."

"And Margaery is said to be lovely," Littlefinger spoke up. "And beddable."

Tyrion could see that his sister wanted to argue. She wanted to disagree. But she felt no love for the Stark girl and even she could see the disadvantages of keeping Joffrey betrothed to her. She was a good match when Ned Stark was still the Warden of the North and Hand of the King. She was a good match when her family was still considered honorable. But now she was tarnished. She sighed and waved her hand in a dismissive manner, "Make your offer," she told Tyrion, "but Gods save you all if Joff does not like this girl."

Tyrion was sure that Joffrey would like this girl. Once Cersei had given her consent it was easy work of deciding who to send to Bitterbridge to treat with Loras Tyrell, it would be Petyr Baelish and he would leave before daybreak the next day.

Once the meeting was finished Cersei bade him to hold back. She waited until the other Council members had left the room before she gestured to the chair next to her. Tyrion watched her, suspicious, but sat down as she had silently requested. She smiled at him, almost sweetly, "Tyrion, I know we do not always agree on policy, but it seems to me that I was wrong about you. You are not so big a fool as I imagined. In truth, I realize now that you have been a great help. For that I thank you. You must forgive me if I have spoken to you harshly in the past."

Tyrion stared at her, he wanted to be suspicious. It was in his nature, especially when it came to Cersei. But she was being kind to him. He wondered what sort of game she was playing. "Must I?" he asked her, making a bit of a joke out of her gratitude. "Sweet sister, you have said nothing that requires forgiveness."

"Today, you mean?" Cersei asked with a laugh. Tyrion laughed too, she had the right of it after all. For the first time in his life he saw what his brother, Jaime, must have seen when he looked at Cersei. His sister was beautiful and funny, and she could be enchanting when she wanted to be. In this moment Cersei reminded him so much of Lenora that his heart ached for his niece. When Lenora was kind to him he never had to be suspicious of it.

But when Cersei leaned closer to him and pressed a quick, soft kiss on his brow he was suspicious of her. She was hatching some sort of plan, he was sure of it.

And whatever the plan was he was equally sure that it would not bode well for him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Theon_

The decision wasn't an easy one. But it shouldn't have been. Deciding to betray the man who was the closest thing Theon had to a brother should have been a difficult, heart-wrenching, impossible decision. It was a decision that kept him up at night. One that he wrestled with day after day, even after he had made it.

Robb did not deserve it. He knew that. Neither did the little ones: Bran and Rickon. He had grown up with that family, eaten at their table, slept in their holdfast. He had watched as the youngest one grew from a babe to a toddler to a child. He had protected Bran, watched out for him, hurt when the boy fell from the tower and rejoiced when he woke up. He had helped teach Arya how to shoot a bow and arrow, he had watched her prank her older sister, and taken bets with Jon and Robb about how long it would take the "Little Lady" to gut any potential suiters who came calling at Winterfell. He had begrudgingly played Monsters and Maidens with Sansa, he had been her dance partner when the septa taught her and Arya how to dance, and he had joked with her about her love of knights and love stories as she had gotten older.

He had been at Winterfell when Lenora came to the castle. He had toasted her in the hall every night after she had saved Bran from the Wildlings. He had been there when she married Robb, no matter how angry she had been that night. He had seen her crowned and grow into the title the Northmen had given her: _Queen_.

And Robb.

He had grown into a man with Robb. He had hunted with him, studied with him, visited the whorehouse in Wintertown with him. He was there the first time Robb had seen Lenora, had seen the way he stared at her as if he had never seen anything in the world as beautiful as she. He stood with Robb in the Whispering Wood, had been ready to die for him. He had named Robb his King and had gone to his father to treat with him on Robb's behalf. He thought of Robb, above all the others, as his brother.

But all of that had changed when he arrived on the Iron Isles. He had once heard Ned Stark remark that once he left home he never really made it back. He hadn't believed the Lord - he was so comfortable at Winterfell, so comfortable in his position as Warden of the North. There was no way that Theon could believe that he did not feel at home at Winterfell. But _now_ he felt it.

He had spent his years dreaming about returning to the Iron Islands. He was a ward of the Starks, but as his father's only living son he was heir to the Iron Islands and when his father died he would return to the Iron Islands and live at the castle on Pyke. At least that is what he had thought would happen. He had been stupid.

Pyke was not his home anymore. It seemed smaller. It smelled strange. No one knew him here. And his father. His father treated him as if he had asked to be sent to Winterfell. His father called him traitor and practically said that Theon was no son of his. That had hurt. It was Balon, not Theon, who had rebelled against the King. It was Balon who lost his two eldest sons during the rebellion. It was Balon that agreed to send Theon to Winterfell with Ned Stark after he had been beaten. And now, it was Balon who looked at his only son with obvious disdain.

It was Balon who mocked Theon's clothes.

It was Balon who almost struck Theon when he named Robb his brother.

But what had the old man expected? Had he thought that his son would live at Winterfell the majority of his life and not grow up to love the children he grew with? He barely remembered his older brothers' faces, but he could remember Robb, and Bran, and Rickon, and even Jon.

He had sworn to his father that Ned Stark had been no father to him. And that had been the truth. Ned had never been unkind to Theon, but he had been stern, and distant. And his wife, Lady Catelyn, had treated him with little more than barely hidden disdain. He had no love for either of them.

It was harder to swear that Robb meant nothing to him. But he needed to do it. It was the only way to gain his father's respect.

And now, this, was the only way to prove to his father that he was worthy of being named the heir to the Iron Islands. No matter how much it would hurt him to do it.

No matter how much it would destroy Robb.

No matter that it meant that he would never be able to return to his King, that he would be branded a traitor and every Northman would be after his head.

Including the one who knelt in front of him now, angrily spitting at him even though he was captured and outnumbered by Iron Islanders.

"Robb will gut you, Greyjoy," Benfred Tallhart screamed at him. "He'll feed your turncloak's heart to his wolf, you piece of sheep dung."

His uncle's voice cut through the insults, the priest demanded that Theon kill the man, he had spit on him, he had dishonored him and the Tallhart man should pay for that dishonor with his death.

"I have questions for him first," Theon told his uncle without looking away from Benfred.

"Fuck your questions. You'll choke on them before you get any answers from me, craven. Turncloak."

He was right. Theon knew that. Robb would gut him for turning on him, for using the Northmen's absence to raid the villages and towns on the coast. And if Benfred knew what Theon was planning his threats would have been worse. Robb would not just gut him for what he planned to do, he would probably set Grey Wind on him while he was still living.

Uncle Aeron was relentless. "When he spits on you, he spits on all of us. He spits on the Drowned God. He must die."

Theon tried not to roll his eyes and yell at his uncle. His father had given him command of the _Sea Bitch_ , not Aeron. Aeron had been sent to counsel him, and to spy on him no doubt. But Theon controlled the ship and he could do what he wanted with his prisoner. And he wanted to ask him some questions.

"You'll lose your head for this, Greyjoy," Benfred yelled over Aeron's protests. "The crows will eat the jelly of your eyes." He tried to spit on Theon again, but only managed a little blood, most of it dripped down his own chin. "The Others bugger your wet god."

Theon sighed, he could have let Benfred get away with spitting on him, at least a bit longer. But he could not ignore the man mocking the Drowned God. He did not necessarily believe in the God, but his father did. And his uncle Aeron did. And his men did. It was the way of the Iron Islands and they would not take the insult lightly.

He waved his hand at Benfred and turned to walk away from the doomed Tallhart, "Silence him," he told his men.

It did not matter much, he was sure of his plan even without Tallhart's answers to his questions. But it would have been nice to know exactly what he would be going up against.

This was the part that would destroy Robb. It was bad enough that Theon had abandoned him. It was terrible that Theon had allowed his father and sister to plan raids on the Northern fishing villages. But it was unforgivable what Theon planned to do.

He knew just how many they had left at Winterfell. He knew the way Ser Rodrik thought.

He knew that he wouldn't need many men to do it.

And he knew it was the best way to prove to his father that he was not the Starks' man, but a true Iron Islander.

He planned to take Winterfell for himself.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

They were marching the next morning. She had spent the day in their tent packing up their personal belongings. He had laughed at her when she told him that she wanted to do that, they had servants for a reason, but Lenora had told him that she wouldn't pack up everything, just the personal things. He had not been aware that they had brought so many personal belongings that it would take her the entire day to pack everything up.

But she had missed supper. So he had ordered one of the cookmaids to fix her a plate of food and bring it to their tent and he had set out to find his wife.

She was on the floor of their tent when he walked in, kneeling. Her dark skirt fanned out around her and her dark hair hung in front of her face. She would have made for a pretty picture if it weren't for the rod straight set to her spine and the tense set of her shoulders. Something was wrong.

In her lap sat a large leather pouch. He didn't need to look inside it to know what he would find. He had counted them. Many times over, he had counted them. Four hundred gold dragons. She hadn't looked up when he walked in, too focused on the pouch in her lap. So he softly called out to her, "Nora?"

Her head snapped up to look at him for a moment before her grey eyed gaze dropped back to the pouch in her lap. "What is this?" she asked him, her voice quiet. She wasn't accusing him of anything, she wasn't angry. She was curious, and slightly suspicious. And if he had to guess she was a bit resigned. He had a feeling that she already knew what it was, at least in part, and she was just hoping that he would tell her she was wrong.

"Four hundred gold dragons," he told her as he walked further into the tent, dropping down to the ground beside her.

She shook her head, her eyebrows knitted together. "That's a fortune," she whispered. "A family could live off of this for years." She turned to look at him, "Where did this come from?" she asked him.

Robb sighed, this was the part that would hurt. This is why he had hid the pouch from her. He had never wanted to have this conversation. Because Lenora was smart, she would come to the same conclusion he had, though he had a feeling she would come to it much faster. "I found it on the man in the godswood," he told her, looking away so that he didn't have to meet her eyes. "At Riverrun."

"The man who killed Ser Willum?" she asked him. He nodded. She was quiet for a moment. "This is the price for murdering a knight and our child?" she asked him, her voice shaking slightly.

Robb shook his head. "No one knew you were with child, Nora," he told her. "Except for you, me, the Maester, and I have a feeling - your uncle." She looked down, a blush tinting her cheeks and he smiled ruefully. He wasn't angry at her for confiding in her uncle, he had offered to let her write to her mother after all. But it would make what he said next harder for her to hear. "I think this is the price for murdering a queen."

Her eyes darted to his face quickly as his words sank in. She shook her head. "When that man came to murder Bran, he had been paid ninety silver stags and that was a lot. It was a lot, but there were many men in the realm who could have paid that price. But this -" she shook her head again.

Robb nodded, he knew what she was trying to work out in her head. "This is a price that most men would be unable to pay."

"A Lannister could pay it," she told him, her voice dark and low. He watched her eyes dart around the tent, she wasn't looking for anything, she was thinking. He could just imagine what was going on in her head as she tried to figure out which of her family would have done this. The Imp? Her grandfather? Her mother?

He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a squeeze in an attempt to get her to look at him. When her gaze finally landed on his face he shook his head, quick and fierce. He hated her mother and grandfather, he distrusted the Imp, but even he did not think they would do this to her. There was only one person who had both the money and the inclination to harm Lenora like that. "A King could pay it," he told her, his voice little more than a whisper.

Lenora stared at him for a moment with wide eyes. She started to shake her head, she did not want to believe him. "He's my brother," she told him, her voice cracking a bit as she defended him. "My baby brother. If anything, wouldn't he want to _rescue_ me, not kill me?"

Robb shook his head too, "Stannis' ravens went to King's Landing too," he told her. "No doubt many of the court and even some of the small folk now know that Stannis has named your brothers and sister bastards. Even if he doesn't believe it, even if he writes it off as a rumor. It would do him no good to have you returned to Court, walking around the Red Keep, looking so much like your father."

He reached out and brushed a strand of her dark, Baratheon hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Then why doesn't he just leave me here?" Lenora asked, her voice a broken whisper. She knew the answer, Robb knew it. But she was so hurt by the realization that she didn't want to accept it. She refused to. "I wouldn't make any trouble for him here," she promised, as if Robb could speak to her brother on her behalf. "If he simply agreed to your terms we would go back to Winterfell and I would never go to King's Landing again. No one would ever have to compare us."

"Because," Robb whispered, wrapping his arms around her small frame and pulling her into his lap so that he could hold her against his chest. "Even if your brother did not know that you were with child it is safe to assume that eventually you would be. And as much as I bet he wants to write off Stannis' declaration as a rumor it won't matter if other men believe it. If you had a son and Joffrey is a bastard then your son could sit on the throne."

"And if men believe it then some might declare themselves for my son," Lenora whispered, her voice muffled against Robb's jerkin. She was quiet for a moment, "Soon he will learn that he did not kill me," she whispered, her voice even quieter than before.

Robb pressed his cheek against the top of her head and nodded, she was right about that. "Aye," he told her as gently as he could. "Soon he will learn that you still live."

"And he will try again," she added.

"I'd wager he will," he agreed.

"What are we going to do?" she asked him, pulling away from him so that she could look him in the eye.

Robb unwrapped one of his arms from around her so that he could pick up the pouch that was still sitting in her lap. "Protect you," he told her, forcing his voice to sound light. "Just as I have been doing. And hope that the next one is just as well paid. And the next. And then we'll use the King's money to buy weapons that we will use to take his city from him and cut off his head."

That almost gained him a smile. _Almost_. Her lips twitched up at the corners for less than a second before they dropped again.

He threw the pouch on the ground and stood up, pulling Lenora up with him. "I ordered one of the cookmaids to bring you supper," he told her, looking around the tent. "But it would seem that she has gotten lost on the way here. Shall I go find her?"

Lenora shook her head, "I'm not hungry," she told him. Robb wanted to argue with her. Lenora had this way of refusing food when she was upset. It never lasted more than one or two meals now, but it still worried him. Even though she told him that she was alright he still thought she was on the mend from her attack. Not eating would just make that healing time take even longer. But she stopped his argument on his lips when she looked up at him, her grey eyes glassy, "I just want you to take me to bed," she whispered to him.

Any other man would have seen that as an invitation. He would have assumed that she meant that she wanted to make love to him. But Robb had grown accustomed to his wife since they had married. He knew that right now she was seeking comfort. She did not want to be fucked. She wanted to be held.

He slipped one of his hands underneath her legs and the other around her back and he carried her to their bed. Once there he placed her on her feet so that he could untie her dress. She had stopped wearing a corset shortly after they had left Riverrun so it was quick work to strip her down to just her shift. Then he pulled back the furs on the bed and encouraged her to slide underneath them.

She shifted her body, trying to find a comfortable position as he too stripped down and climbed into bed. Once he was sitting beside her she rolled into him. Her head rested on his chest and her legs tangled with his. He reached his left hand up and began to run his fingers through her long hair, hoping that it would soothe her. "Tell me a story," he whispered after a moment, anything to distract her from the fact that her brother had most likely ordered her murder.

She was so quiet for a moment that he thought she had already fallen asleep. But then she started talking. "My uncle used to tell me this story when I was a girl, whenever I was scared. I think his mother told it to him. Though I think he changed some of the details to make me feel like I was part of the story."

"And how does it go?" Robb asked her. "Your uncle Jaime's version?"

"A lion lived in the Kingswood," Lenora started, her eyes closed as if she was trying to remember how it had felt the last time her uncle had told her this story. "He had no cubs of his own, but one day he found one - a little runt that had been abandoned by its mother and desperately needed protection. Now this grown up lion did not want any cubs, he did not want to have to take care of anyone but himself, but the first time he saw the little runt of a cub he was gone. Love at first sight. So he took the orphaned cub in and raised her as if she were his own. And he loved her very much."

Robb chuckled, "This sounds familiar," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Lenora's head.

"I told you," she whispered, "he changed it to make the story about me."

"So this lion and his cub live in the Kingswood?" Robb asked, prompting her back to the story.

Lenora nodded, "And he loved her very much," she told him again, as if that was the most important part of the story so far. "But there were other things, evil things that lived in the woods as well. Bears, poisonous plants, snakes, and wolves. The wolves were the worst. The little cub, she could hear them howling in the night. She was frightened. The big lion told her, 'You are a lion, my sweet, you mustn't be afraid. For one day, all the beasts will bow to you. You will rule them all. All the stags will bow. All the wolves will bow. All the bears in the North and the foxes of the South will bow to you. All the birds in the sky and the beasts in the sea. They will all come to you, little lion, to bend the knee.' And the cub said, 'Will I be strong, and fierce, and brave like you?' The big lion nodded, 'Yes,' he told the cub. 'You will be strong, and fierce, and brave. Just like me.' The cub asked if the big lion would be there, beside her the day all the beasts of the forest came to bow to her. 'Yes," the big lion told her. 'I will be there, to keep you safe.' And the little lion was never afraid again."

Robb was quiet for a moment, "They really do try to turn you Lannisters against the rest of the world, don't they?" he asked her finally.

She smiled softly, "I was a Baratheon," she told him. "Though yes, my mother loved to tell me all sorts of stories about how horrible the North was. She had me believing that everyone, not just the Boltons, flayed their enemies in the North. There was a time when I was truly terrified of you."

Robb smiled at that, glad that she was not still terrified. "We must have seemed such monsters to you," he told her softly, hoping that she could hear the apology in his voice. "Especially after I forced you to marry me and almost forced you to endure a bedding ceremony."

Lenora turned her head so that she could press a kiss against his bare chest, "You did," she told him softly. "But that all changed."

"When?" Robb asked her. The answer, whatever it was, was so important.

"When I realized the monsters were protecting me."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! Back again today and hoping that you enjoyed this chapter!  
If you did let me know! It's as simple as writing a couple words in that empty box down there. Takes just a few seconds for you and makes a world of difference for me.  
So why don't you get at it. It's right down there.  
Just there.  
Anyway, thank you for reading! And thank you to all of you who have added this story to your favorites or alerts lists! But the BIGGEST thanks goes to the wonderful human beings who reviewed the last chapter. You are all beautiful!

 _alia00_ : Thank you for your review! I am glad that you are enjoying the story so far!

 _writingNOOB_ : You must be psychic, because the chapter I wrote yesterday includes Lenora either sitting in on a battle plan or taking part in the battle. One or the other, maybe both. Who knows? Only me. (And you guys in about five chapters...) You are right, she is a warrior princess after all. Thank you for your review! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _magclot23_ : Binge reader! I love it! I'm glad that you have enjoyed the story thus far and are all caught up! Here is a new update for you! I hope that it does not disappoint.

 _Raging Raven_ : What is complicated, dear?

 _HPuni101_ : You asked for more Lenora and Robb. You got more Lenora and Robb! With a side of Theon betraying everyone who counted on him. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I hope you liked this update as well!

 _darkwolf76_ : Stop it! You're making me blush! I am so glad that you have enjoyed the story up until this point. You read it all in one sitting? I don't even know if I could have done that! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing style and characters and I most definitely plan to keep up the "good work"! Thank you!

That's all I have for now.  
Until tomorrow (perhaps, we'll see),  
Chloe Jane.


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Wind Itself

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and ONE HUNDRED REVIEWS! (That is all.)_

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Wind Itself Was Their Song_

 _Tywin_

"The Starks have overextended their lines," his cousin Reginald told him, as if this was some comfort to him. "Now that summer's over they will have a hard time keeping their men and horses fed."

Tywin shook his head, he wanted to scoff at his cousin, but he would not go so far to humiliate him. He was a Lannister after all. "The Starks understand _winter_ better than _we_ ever will," he told the men sitting around the table, specifically Reginald. He tried not to make an example out of his cousin, but it was hard to keep the impatience out of his voice. "The cold won't beat them."

"Our spies report a growing discontent among the Northern lords," Armory Lorch jumped in, ready to persuade their leader that victory was on the horizon, at least for the South. "They want to return home and gather the harvest before the crops turn."

His cup bearer, the small girl who had pretended to be a boy moved around the table, placing food in front of each of his bannermen. Tywin's eyes followed her, there was something familiar about the girl though he could not think of what it was.

"And I am sure that if those same spies snuck into our own encampments, they would report growing discontent amongst the _Southern_ lords," he bit out, he had no reason to wish not to humiliate Armory Lorch, the man was no relation to him. "This is _war_ \- no one's content! We've underestimated the Stark boy for too long. He has a good head for warfare, his men worship him," he was still watching the girl and his eyes were still keen enough to catch it - the smirk that slipped onto her lips when he spoke of the Stark boy. He knew the girl was from the North, could tell by her accent, not for the first time did he begin to wonder where the girl had lived before she ended up at Harrenhal. "And as long as he keeps winning battles, they will keep believing he _is_ King in the North!" He turned away from the serving girl to glare at the generals sitting around him. "You have been waiting for him to fail," he told them, his voice hard. "He is _not_ going to fail. Not without our help." This time he looked around the table, making sure to look each of the men in the eye. "So _how_ do we stop him?"

"We've worked through the night, My Lord," Reginald muttered around a bite of food from his end of the table. " Perhaps we would profit from some sleep."

Tywin shook his head, this man was no Lannister as far as he was concerned. A _true_ Lannister would not care about working through the night. He would do whatever he had to do to ensure that the Lannister King could sit on the Iron Throne, uncontested. When he spoke to his cousin it was in a colder tone than he had ever used with the man before, "Yes, I think you _would_ , Reginald. And, because you're my cousin, I might even let you _wake_ from that sleep!" He was not blind to the way the other lords around the table looked away, uncomfortable and nervous. There was no doubt that in his younger days he would have had Reginald killed for saying what he had.

But Tywin was not a young man anymore. And the Stark boy was doing too well on the battlefield. Tywin could not afford to lose one of his generals to his own hand when the Stark army was after them. "Go!" he told his cousin, his voice dripping with disdain. "I am sure that your wife must miss you."

Reginald looked around the table, confused by Tywin's statement. "My wife is in Lannisport," he told Tywin as if the commander might have forgotten.

"Well then you had better start riding," Tywin told him. He paused and when Reginald did not immediately rise from his seat Tywin spoke again. "Go, before I change my mind and send her your head instead." There was still enough fear of the Great Tywin Lannister that this time Reginald immediately got out of his seat. Tywin shook his head, "If your name wasn't Lannister, you'd be scrubbing out pots in the cook tent. Go!"

The man almost tripped over himself in his attempt to leave the room as quickly as he could. The girl moved around the table, coming to stand at his right to pour wine into his cup. She would serve all the men, but she knew the way of it and always served him first. He stopped her by placing his hand over the top of the cup, "Not wine," he ordered, his voice softening a bit as he spoke to her. "Water. We will be here for some time."

The girl nodded, her eyes lowered, careful not to make eye contact with him and she began to walk back to the desk where the flagon of water sat. Tywin turned to watch her, still trying to put his finger on what was so familiar about the young girl.

"Girl," he said, calling her back. She turned to face him, her eyes wide though she forced an almost calm look on her face. She was good at controlling her emotions. He waited until she had completely turned to face him before he asked, "Where are you from?"

"Maidenpool, My Lord," she told him. He felt his lips twitch up in the corners, sure he had caught her. She called him _My Lord_ \- not as lowborn as she hoped to pretend. He wondered what else he would catch the girl in. Her choice surprised him, Maidenpool was much further south than her accent would have suggested.

"And who are the Lords of Maidenpool?" he asked. "Remind me."

She struggled with keeping her eyes on his, she wanted to look away. He could tell. "House Mooton, My Lord."

"And what is their sigil?" he asked her.

Her answer was not as quick. This time she glanced away from him. She did not remember. He had caught her this time. "A red salmon," he told her. His voice was harsh, but his face gentle. "I think a _Maidenpool_ girl would remember that."

The girl looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

"You're a Northerner, aren't you?" he asked, waiting to confirm his suspicions.

She nodded, quietly. He wondered if she was afraid to speak or if she was just afraid to give anything else away. It did not matter.

He smiled at her, "Good," he told her, rewarding her for telling the truth. "And one more time, where are you from?"

This time she met his eyes. This time she spoke confidently. "Barrowton, My Lord. House Dustin. Two crossed longaxes beneath a black crown."

This was a lie too, he suspected, though they were getting closer to the truth. He would let it rest for now. "And what do they say of Robb Stark in the North?" he asked her.

She paused, biting back a smile. There was that pride the Northerners had. Everyone always spoke about Lannister pride, they were a pack of lions after all. But the Northerners had their own kind of pride. A stubborn one. From highborn lord to lowborn servant - they were all proud of where they came from. And they were all proud of House Stark. "They call him the _Young Wolf_ ," she told him, whispering the last two words as if they held some kind of magic.

"And?" Tywin asked, raising his eyebrows and waiting for more. This was not all the girl had heard about Robb Stark. He would have it all.

"They say he's got giants, almost twenty feet tall, that came down from the wall and follow him like dogs," she started, though her voice was skeptical.

"And do you believe that?" Tywin asked her.

The girl shook her head, "The Night's Watch would never let a giant pass," she told him. "And what business would giants have with this war?"

Tywin smiled again, pride in the Night's Watch - another Northern trait. "What else?" he asked.

"They say he rides into battle on the back of a giant direwolf," she told him. This time her voice was not skeptical, it was quiet, an almost whisper, just as she had used when she called him the Young Wolf. She did not believe in giants, but direwolves - that was a magic the girl could believe in. "They say his Queen rides with him. I have heard it said that Queen Lenora has taken as many Southern lives as her husband. They say she is wild - wild like a winter storm."

She paused, daring a small smirk-like smile up at Tywin. The girl was no simpleton, she knew that she was speaking about his granddaughter. She knew what that rumor would do to him.

He looked away from her, he did not want her to see how much he struggled not to believe her words. He knew his granddaughter, Lenora was a good girl, a loyal one. But he could not doubt that she had heard the rumors about her mother and her uncle. And if she had, she would feel betrayed. Lenora was a good girl, but a stubborn one. If she felt betrayed she would turn away from her family to fight for what she believed was right. Even if that meant fighting for the North. "And?" he asked brusquely, turning back to the girl in front of him, there was more she wanted to say.

"They say he's more wolf than man," she told him, her voice still soft, "as all the Starks are. They say he can turn into a wolf himself when he wants." She paused, taking in a quick, sharp breath. "They say he can't be killed."

Tywin smiled, his eyes lifting from the girl in front of him to look around the men at his table. There was the truth of it. If the Northern smallfolk and their army believed that Robb Stark could not be killed then they would follow the man anywhere. They would fight for him through the winter. They would not return to their castles and homes until they had marched all the way to King's Landing and taken Joffrey's head.

"And do you believe them?" he asked her, finally turning back to the girl.

She paused, a frown finding its way onto her lips. "No, My Lord," she told him finally, looking away. She was meek for just a moment before her grey eyes lifted back to his face, staring him in the eyes almost defiantly, " _Anyone_ can be killed."

...

It was the eyes, he realized, that gave him the answer. A few nights after he had questioned her in front of his generals the girl had brought him supper. She was a bit nervous, her grey eyes darted around the room as she began to place the food on the table from him.

They were not the same as Lenora's. They did not go from light to dark, silver to stormy, in a matter of moments depending on her mood. They stayed the same color, slate. But grey was grey and they reminded him of his granddaughter.

She was quick footed and quick minded. Her tongue sometimes got away from her. She would say more than she meant. But she thought for herself. And she could read. She was smart, so much smarter than he had first given her credit for.

"Is that mutton?" he asked her.

She nodded, "Yes, My Lord."

He shook his head, disappointed. "I don't like mutton," he told her.

She stuttered out that she would bring him something else from the kitchens. But he shook his head. It was the way she reminded him of his granddaughter, and a bit of his daughter, that pushed him to offer her the food. She told him that she wasn't hungry, but that was a lie. Tywin knew what they were feeding the castle folk, they were always hungry. She told him she would eat in the kitchen later, but he shook his head, growing impatient.

"It's bad manners to refuse a Lord's offer," he told her, though he was sure that she knew it. She was not lowborn, no matter how much she pretended to be. He walked around the table and gently pushed her into a seat, handing her a knife, "Eat," he ordered.

She hesitated for just a moment before she began to eat. Quickly, ravenously. She ate like a starving man. He smiled at her as he watched her shove food in her mouth. "You're small for your age," he told her. "I suppose you've been underfed your whole life?"

It was a test, if the girl was as lowborn as she wanted to pretend she would have spent many years of her life not being fed enough.

She shook her head, "I eat a l _ot_ ," she told him around a mouthful of food. "I just don't grow."

Tywin nodded as he turned away from her, he had caught her again. And once again the girl had reminded him of Lenora. She had always been small for her age as well. "This will be my last war," he told her. "Win or loose."

"Have you ever lost before?"

He turned away from the window, voice and face hard - not as intelligent as he had thought. "Do you think I'd be in my position if I'd lost a war?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow. He turned back toward the window once he had seen her answering head shake. " _This_ is the one I'll be remembered for - the War of Five Kings, they're calling it. My legacy will be determined in the coming months." He turned back to the girl, watching as she continued to eat, she had slowed down a bit. "Do you know what legacy means?"

She shook her head again.

"It's what you pass down to your children - and to your children's children. It's what remains of you, after you're gone." He gestured at the chamber around them. "Harren the Black thought this _castle_ would be _his_ legacy. The greatest fortress ever built - the tallest towers, the strongest walls."

He was sure he was boring her, but he was the Lord and she was the servant. She would listen. And if she was as much like Lenora as she seemed then she would find this interesting. He moved around the table to the fireplace, "The Great Hall had thirty-five hearths. Thirty-five, can you imagine?" He paused, looking around the room. "Look at it _now_ \- a blasted ruin. Do you know what happened?"

The girl nodded, putting down her fork and knife with a smile. "Dragons."

Tywin smiled at her and nodded, Lenora had always loved the tales of dragons as well. "Yes," he told her as he moved back toward the table. "Dragons _happened_." He sat down and poured himself a drink, gesturing back to the food, reminding the girl to continue eating. "Harrenhal was built to withstand an attack from the land. A million men could have marched on these walls, and a million men would have been repelled. But, an attack from the _air_ , with dragonfire -" he shook his head. "Harren and all his sons roasted alive within these walls. Aegon Targaryen changed the rules - that's why every child alive knows his name, three hundred years after his death."

"Aegon," the girl said with a nod. " _And_ his sisters."

Tywin raised his eyebrows, but he did not silence the girl. He waited. "It wasn't just Aegon riding his dragon. It was Raenys and Visenya, too."

Tywin nodded, watching the girl curiously. "My granddaughter loved the stories about Aegon and his dragons. Though I'm not sure at your age she remembered the names of his sisters. Student of history, are you?"

The girl continued on as if he hadn't spoken, "Raenys rode Baraxis, Visenya rode Vaegar. Visenya Targaryen was a _great_ warrior. She had a Valyrian steel sword she called _Dark Sister_."

Tywin smiled, almost proud, "She's a heroine of yours, I take it?" he paused for a moment, watching the girl. "Aren't most girls more interested in the pretty maids in the songs - Jonquil, with flowers in their hair?"

"Most girls are idiots."

The way she said it, low and dark and full of contempt had Tywin laughing out loud. "You remind me of my daughter," he told her, noting the look of disgust that flitted across the girl's face. There for a moment and then gone. "And her daughter after that," he added. This time, the look was pride.

He looked away from the girl for a moment, a bit wistful, "When she was younger, maybe even younger than you, she used to come visit me at Casterly Rock. She was a bright little thing, smart and well-read. We used to sit for hours and read about past battles. We would look at maps and devise future battle plans. Once she persuaded me to allow some of the servants to help her reenact the Battle of the Trident." He shook his head, thinking about it, "She played the part of her father, of course, her warhammer made out of a loaf of bread and a stick, Jaime played Rhaegar Targaryen. She made him redo his death five times until she was sure they had it right."

The girl in front of him was quiet for a moment. "And now she is using all that knowledge to help Robb Stark," she murmured.

Tywin glanced down at the girl sharply, the brief moment of wistfulness gone. "Careful now girl. I enjoy you, but be careful." He nodded to the plate in front of her, most of the food was gone, but there was still some left. "Take that back to the kitchen - eat what you want."

The girl nodded and stood up from her seat, beginning to pick up the plate, "Yes, My Lord," she told him.

She started to walk away, but Tywin called for her attention once more, "And girl," he called after her, waiting for her to turn around. " _Milord_. Lowborn girls say, _Milord_ , not _My Lord_. If you're going to pose as a commoner, you should do it properly."

The girl looked at him, still defiant, "My mother served Lady Dustin for many years, _My Lord_. She taught me how to speak proper - properly."

Tywin smiled at the girl and shook his head. "You're too smart for your own good - has anyone told you that?"

The girl smiled back at him, cheekily, "Yes."

He nodded at the door, "Go on."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She sat, calm and composed, her hands folded gently in her lap as she and Robb waited for the man in front of them to begin speaking. Their scouts had come upon a group of riders, the leader of the group hailed from Riverrun, he brought news. And Cleos Frey.

At her first glimpse of the man's face she had worried that he brought news of Lord Hoster Tully, she worried that he came to tell them that Robb's grandfather had died.

But no, Lord Hoster continued to live, if only barely, and the news originated in King's Landing.

Lenora, Robb, and his bannermen had gathered to listen to what Cleos had to say. The man looked nervous, scared to the point of silence. She smiled at him softly, hoping it would be an encouragement to him. She was sure that he had already given this news to Edmund Tully at Riverrun and that he had received a less than welcoming response.

He was probably terrified of Robb's response.

"Well?" Robb asked, not altogether gently. "What did she say?"

Cleos glanced between Robb and Lenora, his eyes landing longer on Lenora than on her husband. She was his relation, after all, if anyone would speak up for him it would be her. "She," he paused, searching for the right words. "She admired your spirit, Your Grace."

Lenora smirked at that, she was sure that her mother had admired Robb's spirit, just as she was sure that the woman would not grant him his terms.

"And what _then_?" Robb pressed, losing his patience.

"She, erm..."

Robb sighed angrily and Lenora silently reached out and placed one of her hands on top of his. A gentle, silent reminder that the man he was addressing was terrified of him and that it was not entirely Cleos' fault. He turned his head to look at her and she caught a glimpse of a sparkle in those Tully eyes of his - a warmth. He softened a bit when he turned back to Cleos. "If every man were held accountable for the actions of every distant relative, Ser Cleos, we'd _all_ hang."

As if to drive his point home he turned back to smile at Lenora, silently telling the man that if he did not hold Lenora accountable for her mother's actions he would not hold Cleos accountable for the actions of the very same woman.

Ser Cleos paused still, but after a moment he lifted his gaze to meet Robb's, "She tore the paper in half, Your Grace," he told them.

She felt Robb tense beside her more than she saw it. But to calm him down Lenora leaned forward, gesturing at Robb to keep silent, "You have acted honorably, Ser Cleos," she told him, smiling down at the man. "We thank you for it." She turned toward the Bannermen sitting around her and Robb. "Lord Karstark?" she asked, waiting until the man looked up to meet her eyes. "Please bring Ser Cleos to a pen, a clean one, and bring him a warm supper."

She did not miss the way the man glared at her. Most of Robb's bannermen accepted her as their Queen, but Lord Karstark still blamed her for being her uncle's niece. "All the pens are occupied, Your Grace," he growled out. "The prisoners from the Yellow Fork."

Robb had been repaying Tywin Lannister for all of the raids on the Riverlands by allowing his men to raid Lannister lands now that they were west of the Golden Tooth. Lords Karstark and Glover were raiding the coast, Lady Mormont was driving thousands of cattle toward Riverrun, and the Greatjon had seized the gold mines at Castamere, Nunn's Deep, and Pendric Hills. All of these raids and seizures had accumulated a large amount of prisoners.

"Too _many_ prisoners," Roose Bolton bit out. And for the first time, perhaps ever, Lenora found herself agreeing with the man. She did not believe that they should kill or torture them, but they had taken too many. They should set the commoners and the lowborns free and save room for the more important prisoners.

She glanced between Lord Karstark and Bolton, not willing to be turned down. "Is there room for Ser Cleos anywhere?" she asked them.

"Does he need to _lie_ down?" Lord Karstark asked her, his tone sarcastic.

Lenora sighed, she would forgive him that outburst, though only this once. "Bring him somewhere," she ordered the lord. "And make him as comfortable as possible. Your King gave him his peace terms and tasked him to bring them to King's Landing and return with Joffrey's response. He could have stayed in King's Landing, instead he returned. As he had been ordered. He deserves to at least be comfortable for that."

The Lord nodded and stood from his spot at the table, he grabbed Ser Cleos by the shoulder and angrily pulled him away. For the first time since he had arrived Lenora wondered why they had not left Ser Cleos at Riverrun, he would have been more comfortable there than at camp.

The leader of the group that had brought Ser Cleos to the camp stepped forward, "I beg pardon, Your Grace," he said, bowing low to both Robb and Lenora though it was the Queen who held his attention. And it was the Queen who he now addressed, "But I would not make him too comfortable."

"And why is that, Ser -" Robb's question dropped off when he realized that he did not know the man's name standing in front of him.

"No _Ser_ , Your Grace," the man told him, bowing again. "The name is Enger, I am one of Lord Edmure's, I mean, your grandfather, Lord Hoster's guardsmen." Robb nodded and waved his hand, signaling that the man should continue speaking. "Ser Cleos also brought a few Silent Sisters with him to Riverrun," he told them, "and your father's bones."

"I don't suppose that we have the Queen Regent to thank for that?" Robb asked, unimpressed.

"No, Your Grace," Enger told him, shaking his head. "To hear Ser Cleos tell it, it was because of the Imp," he glanced at Lenora, no doubt hearing her sharp intake of air at the nickname. "Lord Tyrion Lannister, I mean," he corrected.

"And _Ice_?" Robb asked, leaning forward in his seat.

Lenora knew that answer, even before Enger gave it. There were too few Valyrian steel swords left in the world. Her mother and grandfather would not give up one as large and well made as _Ice_ , not willingly at least. Enger shook his head, "The longsword was not returned with the bones, Your Grace."

"Has my mother returned from treating with Renly Baratheon yet?" Robb asked, pointedly not calling the younger Baratheon brother _King_. "She will want to see them before they are sent to Winterfell."

Enger shook his head, "She had not arrived when we left, Your Grace, though they do expect her soon. Renly Baratheon is dead."

Lenora's head turned sharply toward the man in front of them, that was news to her. "My uncle?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Who killed him?" Her uncle was too young, too strong to have died of natural causes. Whatever had happened to him, she would call it murder.

Enger nodded, "My apologies, Your Grace," he told her, turning from Robb to look at her. "I should have told you first. Your uncle has been murdered. The tales we have heard have been quite queer. Some even say your Lady Mother," he continued, nodding to Robb to indicate who's mother he meant, "did the deed."

"Lady Catelyn would not do that," Lenora dismissed quickly. "If the stories of Lord Renly's death are queer how can you be sure they are true? How can you be sure that he is not, at this moment, very much alive?"

"The castellan, Ser Cortnay Penrose, of Storm's End has sent out birds, many birds. He is a faithful man and would not send these ravens unless he truly believed that Lord Renly was dead. They all carry the same plea. Stannis has him surrounded by land and sea. He offers his allegiance to whatsoever King will break the siege. He fears for the boy, he says."

"What boy?" Robb asked, turning to look at Lenora, sure that she would have his answer.

"Edric Storm," Lenora told him, her voice quiet. "One of my father's bastard sons. He gave him to Renly as a ward."

Enger continued now that Robb had his answer, "Stannis has sworn the garrison may go free, unharmed, provided that they yield the castle within the fortnight and deliver the boy into his hands, but Ser Cortnay will not consent."

Lenora's brow furrowed, she could not understand what her uncle wanted with Robert's bastard son. Robb must have taken her furrowed brow for concern, rather than confusion, because he reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, "We cannot go to help him, Nora," he told her, his voice soft and gentle as a caress. "We must continue with the Lannisters and I cannot send any of my uncle's men from Riverrun, they must hold that castle."

Lenora shook her head, turning to almost smile at Robb, it warmed her heart that for a moment he had thought to go after this half-brother of hers. But she was not Robb Stark and Edric Storm was not Jon Snow, she had no relationship with this child. She had no desire to save him. "I do not know the boy, in truth," she told him. "My father would never be as brazen to introduce his bastards to his trueborn children. My mother would never have permitted it."

She looked away from him for a moment, his blue eyes were staring at her as if he didn't recognize her. She swallowed around a lump that felt surprisingly like shame and shrugged her shoulders, she had nothing else to give him. "The boy is nothing to me," she told him. "Only a bastard. I have enough bastards to care for."

Robb nodded, he seemed to understand, and turned back to the Riverrun man in front of them. His next question was for Lenora's sake, she knew it. "And any news of the Kingslayer?" he asked.

"We have hanged three men that traveled to Riverrun with Ser Cleos," the man informed them.

Lenora gasped, "You've killed envoys?" she asked, shocked. It was against every rule of war she had ever learned.

" _False_ envoys, Your Grace," Enger assured her. "They pledged Lord Edmure their peace and surrendered their weapons so Lord Edmure allowed them freedom of the castle at Riverrun. For three nights they ate his meat and drank his mead whilst Edmure spoke with Ser Cleos on King Robb's behalf. On the fourth night, they tried to free the Kingslayer."

"And how?" Lenora asked, "Did they do that if they had surrendered their weapons?"

"One of them was a big brute of a man," Enger explained. "He killed two guards with nothing but his hands. He caught them by their throats and smashed their skulls together. The second opened Lannister's cell with a bit of wire. The third was some sort of damned mummer, he spoke with Lord Edmure's own voice and called up to us - Delp, Long Lew, and myself, and ordered us to open the River Gate." He shook his head as if ashamed, "It was not until Long Lew saw Lord Edmure's boat crossing the Tumblestone that we realized we had been tricked."

"Lannister was retaken?" Robb asked, his voice sharp. Lenora felt sorry for Enger, her husband had not killed the messenger when it came to Cleos Frey, but he seemed very close to killing Enger now.

"Yes," Enger told him. "Though not easily. Ser Jaime got hold of a sword, even with his hands chained together he still killed three men before we got him. It was a bloody mess. But, I believe that there will be no more escapes from that one. Lord Edmure had him thrown into the deepest cell. He's in the dark this time, chained hand _and_ foot and bolted to the wall."

Lenora tensed in her seat and Robb leaned closer to her to whisper in her ear, "He tried to _escape_ , Nora," he understood that she was unhappy with her uncle's treatment, but he would not condemn his uncle's decision.

"Can you blame him? Lenora whispered back. "Someone opened his cell and practically handed him a sword. Would you expect him to simply sit there?"

"We shall see to him the next time we are at Riverrun," Robb promised her, no doubt hoping that would calm her down.

Lenora sighed, but nodded before she turned back to Enger, she had one more question for the man. "And Cleos Frey?" she asked, acutely aware of Lord Bolton's pale eyes on her. She had just stated that Ser Cleos had acted with honor and ordered that he be treated well. If he had played any role in her uncle's would-be escape then Robb's men wouldn't look kindly on that command.

"He swears he knew naught of the plot, Your Grace," Enger told her. "Who can say? The man is half Lannister, half Frey, and all liar. Lord Edmure would have had him jailed, but he knew that King Robb would want to have the Queen Regent's terms from him. He has ordered me to bring Ser Cleos back to Riverrun at King Robb's leisure so that he can be put in the Kingslayer's old cell."

Lenora nodded, silently thanking the Gods that it could not be proven that Cleos had played a knowing part in the plot. The last thing she needed Lords Karstark and Bolton to believe was that she had defended the man who had tried to free Jaime Lannister.

Robb thanked Enger for the information and rose from his seat. He extended his hand out to Lenora and pulled her from her chair. He kept his hold on her hand once they were standing. "You will want to mourn," he said, his tone soft and gentle.

 _For whom?_ Lenora wondered. Should she mourn for her uncle Renly, murdered by some unknown assailant? For her uncle Jaime, left to rot in the dark under Riverrun? Or for herself, surrounded by powerful men, some of which wanted nothing more than to brand her as a traitor?

She did not voice these questions to Robb. Instead she nodded, "Yes," she murmured. "I would."

Robb looked around the camp. The were maybe an hour's ride from the nearest village, further still from Ashemark, though she was sure he would not allow her there. "I can give you some men to ride with you to the nearest village," he told her. "I cannot promise a Godswood, though I am sure there will be a sept, of some sort."

Lenora shook her head, she had no desire to ride in search of a sept. She did not want a Godswood either. She glanced toward the southern edge of the camp, where the Yellow Fork flowed, "The Gods can hear me beside the Yellow Fork as well as in a Godswood or a sept," she told him.

He nodded, "Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked her.

She shook her head, he had things to see to, he should not have to play her chaperone, "I would do this on my own," she told him, squeezing his hand tight for a moment before she let go of him and walked away.

She walked straight to the river and knelt on its bank, her dark skirts fanning out around her. She closed her eyes and waited, but no words came to her. She could think of no prayers. Instead she found memories. She wondered if this was how Robb had felt in the Godswood at Riverrun after his father's execution.

The memories all bled together. One moment she could see Renly and herself playing tourney on a pair of broomstick horses and a stick in each hand when she first came to live at the Red Keep. The next she was ten and dancing on his feet the first time her father had allowed her at a ball. She could still hear his laughter and remember betting on knights at a tourney when she was sixteen, Renly let her win every time.

She could still picture the sparkle in her eye when at fourteen she sat next to him in the stands as Loras Tyrell, the newly named Knight of the Flowers crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty at the tournament held for her father's nameday. She could still smell the flowers he had crowned her head with and was sure that the wreath was still in her bedchamber in King's Landing.

She had shared countless games of tag, hide-and-seek, and Monsters and Maidens with her uncle within the walls of the Red Keep. He had been a playmate, a confidant, a friend, and a constant reminder of what her father would have been if he hadn't spent his life fighting the heartache of losing Lyanna Stark.

She did not realize how long she knelt beside the river, living in memories, but when Robb came to find her it was dark. She flinched when she felt his hand land on her shoulders and her eyes sprang open wide, but she relaxed when she heard him chuckling behind her, recognizing him without having to turn to see his face.

"I wanted to give you the time you needed," he told her, his voice a quiet apology as he reached for her hand and pulled her off of her knees. Lenora grimaced in pain at the feeling of her legs straightening, it hurt after so long kneeling. "But with sun set, it's time to return to camp."

She nodded and began to walk back to the camp, dragging him along with her. There were cookfires everywhere, but it was dark enough that as long as they did not walk too close to the firelight no one would recognize them. Lenora appreciated the anonymous feeling to it. During the day she could not walk anywhere without one soldier or another bowing to her and calling her _Your Grace_.

As they walked closer to the pavilions where his bannermen slept Lenora could hear music. "What is that?" she asked, her voice hushed so that she could hear the music. "I do not recognize the song."

Robb smiled at her, "It's a new one," he told her. "Written about Oxcross. _Wolf in the Night_ , they call it."

Lenora smiled softly, "And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolf," she whispered, repeating the words of the verse she had just heard.

Robb lowered his lips to hers, pressing a kiss against her mouth before he finished the verse, " _And the wind itself was their song_."

* * *

Author's Note:

One hundred reviews! (technically 101, but who's counting? Oh! Me! I'm counting!)  
Thank you all for your support! For reading, and favoriting, and putting this story on your Alerts list, but most of all for your REVIEWS!  
In case you were wondering, I read every one of them (obviously). And it's truly how I gauge if I'm doing a good job.  
So if you like this story, this chapter in particular, drop into that little box and write a review.  
Why? You may ask.  
A) It will make my day.  
B) It will probably make me update faster.  
C) If you have a question, and you ask it. I will answer. Sometimes with a straight answer and some time with some infuriatingly teasing remarks. But I will answer.  
Just ask any of the people who reviewed the last chapter!

 _writingNOOB_ : Oh goodness dear! I have a confession to make. I have an outline for this story that I wrote before I typed the first chapter. I try not to deviate from it. I know what each chapter will contain, I know what characters it will feature. This helps me from deviating from it when a reviewer makes a suggestion that sounds good, but I am unsure of whether or not it will actually add to the story. I can look at those enticing suggestions and say, "No thank you, I have my own plan."  
But your suggestion in your last review about Joffrey finding out that Lenora isn't dead and ranting and raving about it? I broke my rule for that one. I'm not completely comfortable writing in Joffrey's voice so I do it very rarely, but I had a place where I think it fits in and it led to a nasty little interaction between him and Cersei that I honestly love. And I can't wait for you guys to read it in ... five chapters.  
As for why most people see so much of her mother's family in her and tend to forget that she's a "fucking Baratheon" it's because it suits them. Her mother is going to look at her as a cub, so is the rest of the Lannister Clan. The Northmen that don't like her can call her a Lannister and say that's why they don't like her. The ones that do like her can call her a Lannister and use it as bragging rights ... she was a Lannister, but instead of siding with her family she went wolf. You see?  
But I promise, Lenora has not forgotten that she is a Baratheon. And soon enough, the rest of Westeros might remember that too.  
Can't call her the Last Stag yet, because Stannis still around, but I like the Black Lioness. I might also borrow that from you.  
And now that I have written a short story for a response to your review I am going to go!

 _HPuni101_ : You are more than welcome lovely! Here is your newest update! I think it's a pretty good one and I hope that you agree!

 _Guest (1)_ : So I have two guest reviews duking it out for the one hundredth review (maybe you guys should go all WWE style ... kidding, please no chair smashing). I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too. And thank you for being my 100th review! You can be proud! (I know I am!)

 _Guest (2)_ : Thank you for your review as well! I'm glad that you liked the last chapter. And thank you! I've been congratulating myself all morning for my ONE HUNDRED AND ONE reviews! Thank you for helping to make that happen!

That's all I've got friends.  
Happy Easter for those of you that are the religious types ... I'm Catholic, myself, though my priest calls me a "Christer" in that I only show up at church on Christmas and Easter. (Which is a total lie ... I also go during Advent (I like the wreath) and on Ash Wednesday, and Good Friday, and whenever my life is falling apart. And I don't eat meat on Fridays during Lent.).  
Regardless, I will be hopping my "Christer" ass (hopping like a bunny ... get it?) to church early tomorrow morning, but when I come home I might have an update for you.  
Possibly ...  
Maybe ...  
But seriously, have a great holiday weekend.  
Chloe Jane.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine: Protection

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and there is nothing in the world longer than the last ten seconds of the Cavs/Pacers game yesterday afternoon._

* * *

 _Chapter Twenty-Nine: Protection_

 _Sansa_

Tommen cried the day they said goodbye to Princess Myrcella. It warmed Sansa's heart to see such emotion from the young boy. In how horrible Joffrey was it was easy to forget that his siblings, his brother and sisters, were the complete opposite of him.

Lenora could be harsh, but Sansa had heard that the princess was never harsh to anyone who did not deserve her censure. And she was regal in a way that Joffrey had never learned. The older girl knew her place, she knew she was higher than most she met, but in the short time Sansa had spent with her she never felt _low_. The dark haired princess had the art of making everyone feel as though they belonged. _No_ , Sansa corrected her thoughts, _the dark haired queen_. It was treason to say it out loud, but in her thoughts she could call the woman _Queen_ all she wanted.

And Myrcella, the golden princess was kind. So much kinder than her mother and her older brother. She smiled sweetly and always asked after Sansa's health and happiness every time they met. Where Lenora and Joffrey were equally boisterous, Myrcella was soft spoken. Her voice and laughter little more than a whisper. But as Joffrey's hatred and dislike of Sansa got louder and more obvious, Myrcella's own pleasure at Sansa's company had become more pointed as well.

Tommen, the dear, reminded her so much of Rickon that it hurt. He was older than Rickon by quite a bit, but he had been spoiled as a child. He was just as soft, just as prone to tears, just a baby. Just like Rickon. Sansa had taken to calling Tommen, _Lamb_ , at least in her head because it was the perfect animal to describe the sweet boy. This was no lion, but rather a sheep, trying to wear a lion's mane. And she loved him for it.

It hurt her, to watch his tears as the royal party watched Princess Myrcella's ship sail away. They were the same tears that the boy had cried when his family left Lenora at Winterfell and Sansa ached to kneel down in front of the small prince and wipe his tears away as his eldest sister had done on that day. It hurt her even more when she heard Joffrey laughing at his brother's tears.

"You mew like a suckling babe," Joffrey hissed at the young boy. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

Perhaps it was because she was saddened by the fact that Myrcella would no longer be at the Red Keep to be kind to her. Perhaps it was because Tommen reminded her so much of her own younger brother. Perhaps it was because they were in public, his mother and the Imp there to watch him so that he couldn't punish her. Whatever the reason, Sansa spoke up.

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," she pointed out, her voice harsh and she would do little to soften it. "And the twins, Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

"Be quiet," Joffrey hissed at her. "Or I will have Ser Meryn give _you_ a mortal wound."

Sansa glanced at the Queen, to see if Cersei would do anything to force her son to behave, but she seemed to not even have noticed. She was too engrossed in something Ser Balon Swann was telling her. If the Queen wouldn't defend her then Sansa would have to defend herself.

"I saw you cry," she bit out, her eyes glancing away from Joffrey and to the ships that would carry Myrcella to Dorne, how she wished that she could be on one of those ships. It wouldn't even matter where it was going so long as it was leaving King's Landing.

"Did you say something?" Joffrey asked, rounding on her.

She flicked her gaze to his face, "I've seen you cry, My King," she told him again, this time being a bit more respectful about it.

Joffrey glared at her, but one quick glance in his uncle's direction kept him quiet. He had had enough of watching the ships leave the bay though, he ordered his guards and his family to leave and follow him back to the Red Keep.

Though it was obvious that she wanted to stay until her daughter's ship was out of sight, even Cersei followed her son without argument.

The narrow streets were lined by men of the City Watch, holding back the crowd with the shafts of their spears. Sansa could still remember when she had first come to King's Landing, before the war, when the citizens celebrated when the highborn walked the streets, but _now_ that had changed. They were hostile and angry. She wondered at the hate that shone in their eyes, she had never done anything to deserve their hatred. She was sure of it.

A group of guards walked in front of the royal party and then, high on a grey palfrey with a golden crown on his golden hair sat Joffrey. As his betrothed, Sansa rode beside him, much to her dislike, on a shorter chestnut mare. She tried to keep her eyes straight ahead, looking neither right nor left. If she made eye contact with the crowd they would yell. She hated when they yelled. For the first time since her father had died she was thankful for the Kingsguard, for the Hound and Ser Mandon Moore who rode at the sides of Joffrey and herself.

Tommen, as Joffrey's heir, rode behind them, still sniffling. Then the Queen Regent. And finally, at the back, the Imp with a double column of guardsmen behind him.

The crowd smelled, Sansa tried not to wrinkle her nose. No one had ever told her how much the capital city would smell. In every story she had ever heard of King's Landing, the stink had never been part of them. And it was silent, it made her uncomfortable. She shivered in her saddle, briefly praying that the silence was not as foreboding as it felt. That the resentment she thought she saw in the people's eyes was anything but.

They crossed Fishmonger's Square and rode along Muddy Way before turning onto the narrow, curving Hook to begin their climb up Aegon's High Hill. And finally there was some noise from the crowd of onlookers. A few voices raised a cry of " _Joffrey! All hail, all_ _hail!_ " as the Prince passed them. But for every man or woman who joined the cry, a hundred kept their silence.

She could hear the Queen laughing at something behind her. She forced herself not to turn in the saddle though she was curious as to what the Queen could find so entertaining. Surely she was not the only one who felt how uncomfortable the crowd was.

Still they continued their climb.

Halfway up the High Hill a wailing woman forced her way forward, past the watchmen and into the street in front of the King. Sansa had to tighten her grip on the reins of her horse, the mare coming to a skittering stop in order to not trample the woman. She was holding a baby, but the closer Sansa looked the more obvious it became that it was the corpse of baby, rather than a living child. The woman held it above her head, it was blue and swollen and grotesque, it had been dead for some time.

Sansa turned to her right to look at Joffrey, it seemed as thought he was going to ride straight through the woman. The crowd would not take kindly to the King killing the mother of a dead child. So she leaned over, her hand landing on his left forearm, "Perhaps, you could give her something, My sweet King," she whispered, her voice soft. She hoped that he was not still angry at her for reminding him of the time when he had cried in front of her. He would not heed her advice if he was angry. "To help support any other children she might have."

Joffrey looked as though he wanted to argue with her, but he had to see the reason to her suggestion. A moment later he fumbled in his purse and threw the woman a silver stag.

It was messily done. The coin bounced off the child's head and rolled through the crowd, many of the starving citizens diving to catch it, some even fighting each other. The woman did not notice, so far she was in her grief. She continued to stand where she was.

"Leave her, Your Grace," Cersei called out from behind them. "She's beyond our help, the poor thing."

At the Hound's urging Sansa and Joffrey steered their horses around the woman to continue their ride to the Keep. She did not seem to notice them, her wild eyes searched out the Queen, her face contorting into a look a pure loathing, "Whore!" she shrieked, pointing at Cersei. "Kingslayer's whore! Brotherfucker!" She dropped her dead child to the ground as she pointed at Cersei with both hands and continued to chant, "Brotherfucker brotherfucker brotherfucker."

Sansa was too busy watching the poor mother to see who threw the dung. She turned to Joffrey a heartbeat before it hit his cheek and she could not stop the gasp from escaping her lips. As much as Joffrey deserved to be hit with dung, surely the man who threw it had to know that it would be death. For him and anyone who stood in the general area the dung had come from.

He wiped the dung from his cheek, but it did very little. It was still caked in his golden hair and some of it had splattered across her dress. She had so few dresses that still fit her that she hoped desperately that her handmaidens would be able to clean the stain.

"Who threw that?" Joffrey yelled, his head whipping around angrily.

Sansa tried to soothe him, she tried to explain to him that overreacting would only make the situation worse, but he would not listen to her. He was like a rabid dog. "I want the man who threw that!" he shouted. Sansa wondered who he was shouting to - his guards? Or the starving people around them. "A hundred golden dragons to the man who gives him up!"

"Please, Your Grace," Sansa begged, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. "Let him go!"

Joffrey paid her no heed, "Bring me the man that flung that filth!" he commanded. "He'll lick it off me or I'll have his head. Dog, you bring him here!"

Sansa began to feel truly afraid when the Hound swung down off his horse to pursue the man. Sandor Clegane's face may have frightened her, but he had never done her any harm. And he had always protected Joffrey. What would happen if he left them?

The Imp yelled at the Hound, ordering him to leave it be. Telling him that the man had long since fled and he would never find him. But Joffrey just kept yelling, Sansa wanted to hit him, couldn't anyone tell him that his yelling was not going to make the situation any better? But still he yelled, "I _want_ him!" he bellowed, turning on his uncle. "He was there! Dog, cut through them and bring -"

Wherever he wanted the man brought, whatever he wanted to do to him was cut off when the entire crowd began to close in around them, yelling. She could pick out different cries within the thunderous rage of the men and women.

"Bastard!" Someone screamed at Joffrey. "Bastard monster!"

Others called out, "Whore!" and "Brotherfucker!" at the Queen.

Tyrion faced cries of, "Freak" and "Halfman!"

Some cried for _Justice_. Some cried for _Stannis_. There was even a call for _Renly_.

She couldn't help the way her lips twitched up, despite the circumstances, when she heard someone in the crowd shout out, " _Robb, King Robb, the Young Wolf!_ " At least one person in the crowd did not mean her any harm. Her head whipped side to side as she searched for that person, briefly wondering if they would be able to protect her and take her to her brother if she found them.

But more and more the people were calling out for food, for bread. They were starving. And it had been too much to ask them to stand by and watch as the well-fed royal party had rode past them, no doubt on their way to a well-cooked supper. "Bread!" they chanted, "Bread, bread, bread!"

She turned in her saddle, hoping someone would tell her what to do. She had never faced so much anger before. It threw her. The Imp spurred his horse to his sister's side, "Back to the castle," he ordered. " _Now!_ " The Queen nodded and the guards closed in on the Queen, Tommen, and Joffrey. There were less guards to protect the Imp, but even he had someone with him when he rode past Sansa.

The rest of the guards were being used to hold back at least some of the crowd. There was no one left for her. Sansa meant to follow the Lannisters back to the Red Keep, but as she turned her head forward someone from the crowd reached up and grabbed onto her wrist. "I don't have any bread!" she yelled at them, her tone begging them to let her go.

They didn't though.

Instead they pulled her off her horse and into the chaos on the street below.

-.-.-.-.-

 _The Hound_

He was furious. The King's orders to _cut through_ _them_ had angered the crowd to the point that they had swarmed him. No doubt planning to kill him. That did not anger him, he was always ready for a fight. What angered him, what made his blood boil was that from where he stood, surrounded by the angry crowd, he had a perfect view for the way the King's Guard closed in around Joffrey, his bitch mother, the young prince, and even the Imp.

They left the little bird to fend for herself as they rode like hell for the Red Keep.

He watched as a man wrapped his dirty hand around her wrist and pulled her from her horse. He fought his way through the crowd listening for her shrill screams as she begged to be let go, as she swore that she had no bread to give them.

The crowd pulled her horse down in a matter of seconds and used whatever they could to beat the beast to death. He looked for the red headed Queen to be, the man who had pulled her off her horse still had his grip around her wrist.

Sandor pushed forward toward the man, an angry growl rising in his throat as he lifted his sword and swung it down toward the ground, severing the man's hand in one bloody hack. Men around them began to close in on him again, outraged that he would kill one of them, but he did not care, his head whipped from side to side, at least a foot above most of the crowd, looking to catch a glimpse of the girl's red hair.

There she was, about ten feet away from him, ducking into a doorway, trying to find a safe place from the crowd. It was an ally way, the connected two streets in King's Landing. She was screaming as three men followed her into the ally.

He quickly made his way through the crowd, swinging his sword in wide, sweeping arcs, he was strong enough that he was hardly slowed down as he cut through people's bodies. His anger fueled him on. Mandon Moore was her shield, but the bloody coward had left her there in the crowd, alone, no doubt his excuse would be that the King needed him.

But the fucking King had started this mess. And it would be the little bird who paid for it.

He made it to the ally in mere minutes, though it had felt like hours and he quickly turned to enter it. _Sing, Little Bird_ , he thought as he ran, his sword ready. _Sing me a song so that I might follow your voice_.

And sing she did, though it was a terrible song. Shrilly, at the top of her lungs she begged for the men to let her go, to not touch her. She screamed and cried, begged and pleaded. The only answer they gave her was the ripping fabric of her dress.

Sandor found them in a stall that usually housed horses. She was pinned to the ground, her back in the hay, one man held her arms, another her legs. The third was kneeling between her legs, untying his pants. The girl was too busy crying and thrashing to notice him, the men too wrapped up in their belief that they would rape a noblewoman that afternoon.

None of the four noticed him as he walked, quickly and silently further into the stall. He grabbed the man who meant to fuck her first by the shoulder and yanked him up until he was standing on his feet.

That still wasn't high enough. He readjusted his grip to the man's throat and lifted him higher, his feet hovering an inch or two off the ground and then with a grimace he shoved his sword into the man's belly, first in and then down, gutting the man. His intestines fell to the floor in front of Sandor's feet as he threw the man's body to the side and advanced on the other two men.

The one holding her feet was first, he hadn't turned around yet. The Stark girl watched him with wide eyes as he moved to stand behind the man and drove his sword through his back, so hard and so fast that the sword point poked out of his chest. The sword was stuck, Sandor lifted his right foot and pushed it into the man's back, forcibly pushing his body off the blade. He fell on his face on the straw covered floor, the blood quickly leaving his body.

The one who held down the young girl's arms had watched him murder the other two men and he thought that he could run. He stood up, quickly releasing the girl and tried to run past Sandor. But Sandor was faster, his left hand shot out, catching the man by the throat.

"Please!" the man choked out, as if he had not just ignored Little Bird's same pleas. As if he expected Sandor would listen to him.

Sandor smirked, his hand closing tighter around the man's neck as he dropped his sword and pulled out a knife. The blade of the knife slid through the skin on the back of the man's neck as if it were made of butter. And he slit the man's throat from back to front.

The Stark girl cried as he dropped the man's body and put the knife back in its place on his belt. Next he picked up his sword and put it back in its scabbard. Once his weapons were put away he turned back to look at her.

She was dirty and frightened. Her dress was ripped at her chest showing her corset and ripped from the hem to the waist, he could see her shift. She had a cut on her head. But, all in all, she was unharmed.

Terrified, but unharmed.

"You're alright now, Little Bird," he told her, moving closer to her and holding out his hand. "You're alright."

For the first time the girl touched him willingly. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her from the ground. She seemed shaky on her legs and Sandor did not want to waste time watching her trip her way back to the Red Keep, so he wrapped his arms around her legs, just above her knees and lifted her up, throwing her over his shoulder so that he could carry her one handed through the streets.

"I'll take care of you," he told her, softening his voice from its usual growl so as not to frighten her more, even as he drew his sword in his right hand so that he could fight if need be. "I'll get you back to the Keep. You watch."

And he did. He fought his way through the streets, it took him much longer than he thought it would, but they eventually made it to the cobbled square in front of the castle barbican. The gates had been closed and guards were attempting to hold the crowd back, but when they caught sight of Sandor they quickly pushed the crowd back, just enough to open the gate and allow him to enter.

He kept his grip on the Stark girl as he walked into the quieter square.

"There she is!" he heard the boy king yell and he turned to see Joffrey pointing at them.

But it was the Imp, not the king, who moved in to check on the little bird. "Lady Sansa?" the Imp asked, walking behind them and watching the girl carefully as Sandor lowered her to the ground. "Are you hurt?"

Without looking at him Sandor answered, "Little Bird is bleeding, someone take her back to her cage and see to that cut."

But before anyone could take her anywhere the girl was speaking. "They ... they were throwing things ... rocks and filth, eggs ... I tried to tell them, I had no bread to give them. I tried." She was crying, she stopped in the middle of her explanation to sniff back her tears. "A man pulled me from my saddle. The Hound killed him, I think ... his arm." Her eyes widened as she turned to look at Sandor, her hand covering her mouth, "He _cut off his arm_."

"Better his than yours, Little Bird," Sandor told her with a grim chuckle.

She shook her head, "I tried to get away, but three of them chased me to the stables off the market. They were ... they were going to ... they were going to ..."

She couldn't seem to finish her statement, Sandor decided to put her out of her misery. He knelt so that he was closer to her height as she sat on the floor and he dropped a heavy hand to her shoulder, "They were, but they didn't," he told her, his voice firm. "I saw to it that they never will again."

She nodded, still crying and when Sandor lifted his hand off her shoulder and stood several of her ladies crowded around her, making a fuss, as they stood her up and began to lead her to her room.

Still without looking at the Imp, Sandor told him the damage outside the gate. "They did for Santagar," he told the little man. "Four men held him down and took turns bashing at his head with a cobblestone. I gutted one, not that it did Ser Aron much good."

The Imp nodded, "Good," he told him.

"Flea Bottom's afire," Sandor continued as if he hadn't spoken.

The Imp turned to his sellsword, "Bronn, take as many men as you need and see that the water wagons are not molested. We can lose Flea Bottom if we must, but on no account must the fire reach the Guildhall of the Alchemists, is that understood?" He turned to Sandor, "Clegane, you'll go with him."

"Seven hells I will," Sandor growled at him, shoving past the man quickly.

The man could have had him punished for his insubordination, but a quick look over his shoulder told him that Tyrion Lannister understood why he would not go with the sellsword. _Fire_. Instead he nodded, "You did well, Clegane," he congratulated him.

Sandor looked away, shaking his head, "I didn't do it for you," he told the Imp with a growl.

And then he set off in search of Mandon Moore. By the time he was done with the knight Moore would understand what it meant to leave the little bird unguarded.

And Sandor would wager that he would never do it again.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

"This cannot be true," Robb whispered, almost stuttering his words as he walked himself backwards into a chair in his tent. He had the parchment in his hands, he had read the words, and he still could not bring himself to believe it. He did not want to believe it. "This cannot be true," he repeated again, looking up at Roose for confirmation.

Roose looked sorry to be the bearer of the news, but he did not agree with Robb. Instead he nodded. "We've had ravens from White Harbour, Barrowtown, and the Dreadfort, Your Grace. I am afraid it is true."

Lenora had been in the back of the tent, finishing getting dressed for the day behind a curtain, but now she walked out, she finished tying the ribbon that would hold her braid as she walked and Robb was filled with the need to touch her. He reached out to her and she came readily, slipping her small hand into his with a concerned look on her face. "What is true?" she asked, looking between the two men, her concern growing.

Robb handed her the parchment in his hand and turned away from her as she paced back and forth in front of him and Roose, reading the letter, her concern getting more and more obvious the further she read.

"Why?" Robb demanded, not waiting for Lenora to finish the letter. He needed to understand why Theon had done this. "Why would Theon -?"

"Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores," Roose interrupted his question before he could finish it. Lenora made a noise of agreement as she rolled up the parchment and handed it back to Robb. This surprised him, Lenora rarely agreed with Roose Bolton on anything.

"My brothers?" he asked, hoping foolishly that nothing had happened to his younger brothers.

Roose shook his head, "We've heard nothing of them," he told him. He looked between Robb and Lenora, his pale eyes softening a bit more. "But Rodrik Cassell is dead."

Lenora shook her head and paced away from them again, angrily. "Your mother told you to _never_ trust a Greyjoy!" she fired at Robb when she turned to look at him. There was a fire in her grey eyes that he had never seen before. "I begged you not to send Theon to his father. I _begged_ you."

"I know, Nora!" Robb fired back at her, just as angry at himself as she was. He should not have lashed out at her. This was far from her fault. And there was a part of him, behind all the anger that was touched at how angry she was on his behalf, how concerned she was for his brothers. He turned back to Roose, "I must go north at once," he told his general, beginning to stand up from his seat.

Lenora's hand was instantly on his shoulder, a gentle pressure, a restraint.

"There is still a war to win, Your Grace," Roose reminded him.

Robb laughed almost ruefully, "How can I call myself _King_ if I can't hold my own castle?" he asked, looking between Lenora and Roose for an answer. "How can I ask men to follow me if -" he paused, shaking his head, "if one of my most trusted _friends_ thinks he can take control of my castle and murder my people?"

Lenora dropped down to the ground in front of him, her skirts fanned out around her as she reached out for his right hand and held it between both of hers. "You _are_ a King, Robb," she told him, her voice gentle and soft, but there was a determination to her face that made it look like steel.

Roose nodded, "Your Lady has the right of it, Your Grace," he told him. "You are our King. And that means you _don't_ have to do everything yourself."

Lenora nodded, her eyes pleading him to see reason and listen to them. "Send your mother," she suggested, looking up to Roose to see if the man agreed. The lord raised his eyebrows, but did not say anything against her suggestion. She took that to mean she should continue. "She would not hesitate to go. She would talk to Theon, make him -"

"There will be _no_ talk," Robb growled, his hand turning into a fist between Lenora's soft palms. "He _will_ die for this."

Roose nodded, clearly preferring Robb's plan to Lenora's. "Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew," he informed them. "Let me send word to my bastard son at the Dreadfort; he can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon."

Robb felt Lenora stiffen in front him, but he let Roose continue.

"We have the Lannisters on the run; if you march all the way back north now, you lose what you gained. My boy would be honored to bring you Prince Theon's head."

Robb shook his head, finding one argument with Roose's suggestion. "Tell your son that Bran and Rickon's safety is paramount," he told Roose. "And Theon ... I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him 'Why?' and then I will take his head myself!"

Roose nodded and left the tent to do as he was bid. It was only after he had left that Robb turned to Lenora, noticing that she was still kneeling on the floor, stiff. He stood from his seat and held his hand out to her, silently pulling her off the ground. Once she was standing she quickly dropped his hand.

"You disagree with my reaction, My Lady?" he asked her.

She stared at him for a moment before her muscles softened and she shook her head. "I do not," she told him, her voice was quiet. "If my brothers were at Winterfell I would be as angry as you are." She shook her head, that wasn't what she had wanted to say, "That is not to say that I do not think of Bran and Rickon as my kin."

Robb shook his head, "I know that, Nora," he told her. "You sat by Bran's bed for days after my mother left for King's Landing. You told them both stories and sang them songs. You stayed up with Rickon on nights when he had nightmares. I know they are yours as much as they are mine. I know that."

Lenora nodded, silent.

"So, if not my reaction, then it is Theon's fate that you disagree with?"

Again she shook her head, "He should lose his head for this," she told him. "You should be the one to take it." She paused for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Robb fought the urge to reach out and pull her lip free with his thumb.

Even now, in the middle of a war, after his home had been sacked, and his brother's fate unknown - she _still_ had an effect on him.

"It's your method that I disagree with," she finally told him.

"My method?" Robb asked, raising his eyebrows.

She nodded as she looked back toward the tent flaps, as if to make sure that no one could hear their conversation. "Surely you have heard the tales of _him_ ," she whispered, looking back at Robb, her eyes beseeching him to agree with her.

"Of Roose?" Robb asked her.

She shook her head, "No his bastard," she hissed.

"I haven't," Robb told her.

"Even I have heard them in King's Landing," Lenora told him, shaking her head as if she were disappointed in him. "There are horrible men the world over who do horrible things and no one ever hears about them. But there are certain things that cannot be hidden, certain things that the smallfolk whisper about. Bolton's bastard is one of them."

Robb chuckled and shook his head, taking Lenora's warning for what it was - a woman's fear based on gossip. "Do you really believe every whisper of gossip you hear, my love?" he asked her, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Her jaw clenched and for a moment he thought she was going to argue with him, but then her shoulders slumped, she realized that she was fighting a losing battle. He was quiet, watching her, "Do you think he would hurt the boys?" he asked.

Lenora shook her head, "Not the boys," she told him. "Not if it would anger Lord Bolton. They are safe from him."

"Then why do you worry so?" Robb asked her, lifting his thumb up to smooth out the worry line between her eyebrows.

" _I_ would not want that man in Winterfell performing acts in my name that I had no control over," Lenora told him, her eyes never leaving his. She looked away for a moment and shook her head as if a thought had just occurred to her. "Your poor mother," she whispered. "First Ned, then your sisters, and now Winterfell and your brothers. I cannot imagine."

He saw a tear sliding down her cheek and he reached out to wipe it away with the pad of her thumb, "You can imagine, Nora," he told her, his voice a whisper. "You have lost one too."

Her jaw clenched, her shoulders tensed. But she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. Perhaps she could imagine what Catelyn Stark was feeling.

"Write to her," Robb urged her. "She would appreciate hearing from you."

"She would rather hear from you," Lenora told him, glancing up at him pointedly, but she nodded. "I will write to her though."

...

A week later after they had sent Ser Cleos back to Riverrun with his escort another rider from Riverrun was taken by their scouts, this one carried only a letter they had received by raven, this one from one of their spies in King's Landing.

As it concerned her family the rider had brought it straight to Lenora. After reading it she had sent for Robb immediately. She wasn't in their tent when he went to look for her though, instead she was walking around the camp. She did not seem to have a destination in mind, but he could tell that the movement helped calm her down.

"What was the news from the capitol?" he asked her once he had found her and fell into stride beside her.

"There was a riot in the streets," Lenora told him, her face was pale, she was visibly shocked by what she had read. "My mother and uncle Tyrion sent Myrcella to Dorne. She is to marry the Prince's son once they are of age. The royal party saw her off and as they made their way back to the Red Keep a riot broke out."

Robb's blood ran cold as he thought of his sister. As Joffrey's betrothed there was no doubt in his mind that Sansa would have been part of that party. "Was Sansa?" he asked, unable to form the words for the rest of his question.

"She was part of the party," Lenora told him, reaching out to grab his hand, knowing that he would need her support. "She was pulled from her horse, but all reports say that she is fine."

Robb was still tense, a growl rose in his throat, "I am no King," he told her, shaking his head. Lenora turned to look at him, no doubt ready to argue with him, but Robb shook his head, "I cannot protect my younger sisters, I cannot protect my younger brothers, I cannot protect my home." He looked at her, his hand reaching out for her face. She allowed him to cup her cheek in his hand, "It will not be long until I am unable to protect you," he told her, his voice rueful.

Lenora shook her head, though she left her cheek in his hand. " _You_ are a king," she told him, her voice determined. "You are kind, and good, and just. You _will_ be able to save your younger sisters, you _will_ be able to protect your younger brothers, you _will_ be able to protect your home."

"And what of you?" Robb asked her, his fight leaving him little by little at her determination.

She frowned, "I never needed your protection," she told him.

She was joking, of course, Robb smiled, but there was still a sadness in her eyes. "What else?" he asked her.

She shook her head, "Nothing else from the raven," she told him. "It's just ... Joff is _no_ king. He is cruel, he enjoys hurting people. He instigated the riot. And for now, he is in control of the Seven Kingdoms." She shook her head, looking away from him for a moment. "What if that is the price?" she asked him. "For her and Jaime's sins?"

And then Robb realized what bothered her so much. She was worried that if Joffrey was so cruel and it was a punishment for Cersei and Jaime's affair then what could be wrong with her other siblings. "The Targaryens -" he started, meaning to soothe her even though he thought that what her mother and uncle had done was unforgivable.

Lenora laughed at him, closing her eyes for a moment, "My uncle tried to give me that same excuse when I accused him," she told him before she shook her head. " _The Targaryens wed brother and sister for hundreds of years_. But half of them went mad, didn't they? What was the saying? _Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin_?"

"They didn't flip a coin with your Myrcella or Tommen," Robb told her, trying to boost her spirit. "They seem to be decent."

"They're twelve and eight," Lenora told him. "Of course they _seem_ decent."

"Was Joffrey decent at that age?" Robb asked, determined to make his point. Lenora shook her head. Robb nodded, "There you go, they have beaten the odds then."

Lenora smiled and leaned her head against his shoulder, "I do not know what I would do without you," she whispered.

Robb smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple, "Well we're married, Nora," he told her, sure that she could hear the smile in his voice. "So fortunately for you, you will never have to know."

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Author's Note:

There you go! A fact I bet you didn't know about yours truly, the author. I'm a Cleveland girl, born and raised. And because of that ... I'm a Cavs fan. And because of that I am a LeBron James fan (and not just because he's amazing).  
I am convinced that the word _fanatic_ was created to describe how my dad feels about basketball. And when I was younger he heard these stories about this kid down in Akron that was supposedly fantastic. I was in the sixth grade and one day he took me out of school early so that we could drive down to Akron to watch an eighteen year old LeBron James play _high school basketball_. And I was hooked. I told my dad I was going to marry him (obviously I didn't ... he's happily married to someone else).  
He broke my heart when he left us for Miami, to this day I have been to that city and I never will.  
I moved away, but in 2014 when he came back to Cleveland my friends threw me a party complete with cupcakes with his face on them. And last year I took off three days of work so that I could come home and bring my dad to the victory parade. We bawled like babies.  
It probably seems a bit obsessive, my love affair with LeBron James but you have to understand what this man has done for my city. When I was young Cleveland was known as the "Mistake on the lake" and there's a part of me that can't even blame them for that name. All three of our sports teams sucked, our river was on fire, you didn't go anywhere at night if you didn't want to get stabbed.  
But the Cleveland my parents live in today is not the Cleveland I grew up in. And ask anybody, from the Uber driver I had two months ago when my dad and I went to a game to kids on the street, to me, to the thousands of screaming fans at the Q for yesterday's game ... it's all due to one LeBron James.  
And now you probably know way too much about my obsessive love of Cleveland and its basketball team. If you're still here ... thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it.  
Feel free to leave a review (unless you're a pacers fan in which case I don't want to talk to you until after game four of the series ... at least).  
HUGE thanks to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. You guys are my heros too ... just on a different level. You are more around the JR Smith or Kevin Love level.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I'm glad you liked it!

 _Guest_ : I'm so glad that you liked the chapter and that you love Robb and Lenora. I love them too!  
As for whether or not Robb is going to die ... I can't tell you. But I promise that I love love stories so this will be your happy fanfic

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Here's your new update!

 _HPuni101_ : Happy Easter! You're welcome for an awesome chapter and I hope that this chapter was equally as awesome. I'm really excited for where I'm taking this story and I cannot wait for you guys to join me in the knowing.  
Until then I will give you this: Tywin and Cersei will definitely be looking for a way _arrange_ for Lenora to be brought back to them. At this point it does not look like she will be going willingly though.

 _writingNOOB_ : One chapter closer until you see how I wrote him! I hope I did him justice. You guys will have to let me know!  
When it comes to Cersei and Lenora and Joffrey if it was just the two of them I don't think that Cersei would be able to choose between them, they're both her children after all. But she's got to look out for herself and Tommen and Myrcella. Because of Stannis she cannot choose Lenora without practically throwing herself and her other three children to the wolves (pun intended there) so she _has_ to choose Joffrey.  
I loved Tywin in the last chapter. And I like to think that it wasn't completely out of character. You see it on the show, he respects Arya, likes her even, because she's smart. I don't think he was always this stone hearted man. He loved his wife and in my head the twins got to see a softer side of him than Tyrion ever did because Tyrion _killed his mother_. Tywin never remarried because he loved his first wife _so_ much. So he got harder after Tyrion was born, hated him for it. But then comes Lenora, this little girl whose mother tried to kill her. That would soften Tywin. And when the girl turned out to be smart, he'd love her for it. He's never going to be the soft, mushy type, but he can love.  
And I cannot wait for the scene, think season three, when Tywin is "counseling" Joffrey. I have that in my outline with TYWIN written in big letters and underlined. You guys are going to get to read exactly how much of a "little shit" he thinks his grandson is.  
I'm glad you like the different perspectives. No one has ever mentioned that before, but when I started the outline I knew I had to do it. There's just so much happening in the Seven Kingdoms and Lenora can't know it all. So they help move the plot along _and_ they give you guys insight into not only Lenora, but her relationship with Robb that you might not have gotten otherwise.

Raging Raven: Thank you dear!

That's all I've got for now!  
Perhaps I will be back tomorrow with more, though I've got a basketball game to watch.  
Chloe Jane.


	30. Chapter Thirty: Winter and Battle

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I read somewhere once that when your cat blinks real slowly at you it's cat language for "I love you" so every time my cat blinks at me I blink back. Repeatedly. Just in case she missed the first blink._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty: Winter and Battle_

 _Lenora_

Robb had not slept well since he had received the news of Winterfell's fall to Theon Greyjoy. His temper was short, even at times with Lenora, though she was the only one who would not put up with the undeserved anger. When he would snap at her she would snap right back, reminding him of the lion that was her mother.

They were now sitting in Roose Bolton's tent, he had received word from his bastard son and he had sought them out immediately. "My bastard is only a few days from Winterfell," Roose informed them. "Once he has captured the castle -"

"Theon has my brothers," Robb interrupted. "If we storm the castle -"

Lenora placed a comforting hand on top of his, "Theon would not touch Bran and Rickon," she told him. Her voice sounded more sure of that fact than she truly was. But she would not let Robb see that.

Roose nodded, "He wouldn't _dare_ hurt the boys," he agreed with Lenora. "They're his only hope of escaping the North with his _head_."

Lenora scoffed inwardly at that. After what he had done Theon had no hope of escaping the North alive. Every Northern Lord, every Northern knight, every Northern soldier - they all wanted to kill Theon Greyjoy for their King.

Even with Bran and Rickon, Theon would die.

"Send word to your son," Robb commanded. "Any Ironborn who surrender will be allowed to return safely to their homes."

Lenora and Roose shared a look of concern at that. Roose leaned forward, across the table. His voice was soft, but Lenora and Robb heard every word. "A _touch_ of mercy is a virtue, Your Grace. _Too much_ -"

" _Any Ironborn_ with the exception of _Theon Greyjoy_ ," Robb amended. Lenora nodded from beside him, that was a better option. He did not look soft this way. "He betrayed our cause. He betrayed _me_. We will hunt him down, no matter where he runs."

Roose nodded his agreement too, "I expect his countrymen will turn on him the moment they hear the offer," he said as they rose from the table.

Lenora nodded her gratitude to Roose before she and Robb left the tent. She did not want to tell Robb, but she had a suspicion that the Ironborn at Winterfell would never hear Robb's offer. She had tried to voice her concerns over Roose Bolton's bastard son, but Robb had not listened to her then. He would not listen to her now.

They weren't just gossip though, her information had come from the Spider. The were her own suspicions, from what she had heard while listening to Small Council meetings through the door. Whether the bastard had been raised by Roose Bolton or not he _was_ Roose's son. Roose was a hard Northman who prided himself on loyalty, but he also disagreed with many of Robb's plans. He wanted to torture and kill prisoners after every battle, he would have imprisoned Lenora, he could be cruel. She was sure that his son was the same way.

Whatever Robb intended for the Ironborn that had followed Theon to Winterfell, she was sure that none of them would survive the week.

She shook her head as they walked through the camp, the soldiers were hurrying to pack up the camp, they would leave at dawn the next day to march south, past the Yellow Fork, to continue their assault on the land around Casterly Rock. As angry as she was by her family, as betrayed as she felt, Lenora had to admit that she had her reservations about marching on the Rock.

It was her home. So much more than King's Landing had ever been. The people of Lannisport were _her_ people, even if Lannister had never been her family name. She wished that there was a way she could save them from their fate.

Robb turned to look at her, "What are you thinking?" he asked her.

"Just about the differences between you and Lord Bolton," Lenora told him, lying. She hated lying to him, but it was easier than to tell him she had misgivings about his battle plans.

"What differences?" Robb asked.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "Just look at how the two of you speak of his son," she told him. "You call him _your son_ , Lord Bolton calls him _bastard_." She shook her head, "For all Lord Bolton knows about battle, he understands very little about how to gain loyalty."

Robb smiled at her, "I wouldn't put too much stock in it, Nora," he told her, his voice gentle. "It's for you and Jon that I don't use the word _bastard_."

Lenora glanced up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. She understood _Jon_. He was a bastard, but Robb had always looked at him as a brother, it would be an insult to Jon to use the word to describe another baseborn son. But _her_ , she did not understand that. "How is it for me?" she asked him.

"Myrcella and Tommen," Robb told her as if it should have been obvious. "You care for them. They are not your true siblings, but you care for them as if they were. I thought it would hurt you to call Bolton's son a bastard."

She wanted to kiss him. There in the middle of the camp. In front of whatever men wanted to watch. From the letters they had exchanged when they were children she had known that he was a kind man. But with everything that had happened between their families there had been a time when she hadn't been as sure. When they were married, for example, that night she would have never imagined that the man beside her in the Godswood was capable of the kindness he was showing her now.

She wanted to kiss him, but it would not be proper. So instead she smiled at him, so wide that her cheeks hurt, "I love you, Robb Stark," she told him. Even if she had not been grinning like a fool at him she was sure that he would have been able to hear the smile in her voice.

He chuckled, he did not seem to care about what was proper because he leaned down, his left hand slid to the small of her back and he pressed it, pushing her forward into his body as he lowered his lips to hers. Lenora tried to fight him at first, but he was so good at kissing that a moment later she had melted into him. She smiled into the kiss as she heard some of the men around them stop their packing preparations to cheer loudly at them.

"I love you, Lenora Stark," Robb told her once he pulled away from her.

Lenora smiled up at him, for a moment it was as if it was just the two of them in the world. The war melted away. Theon Greyjoy and his crimes melted away. Her Lannister heritage melted away. It was just the two of them. And they were happy. Which is why it broke her heart a bit to pull Robb back into the real world with what she said next. "You need to legitimize Jon," she told him, her voice nothing more than a whisper.

"What?" Robb asked, his eyebrows furrowed together as his blue eyes darted across her face, trying to determine if she were serious or not. "Legitimize Jon? Lenora, why?"

"You need an heir," she told him, her voice urgent.

"And you will give me one," Robb told her, his voice confident in her ability to conceive his child and birth it.

"You need an heir _now_ ," Lenora specified.

"I have Bran and Rickon," Robb told her, shaking his head.

Lenora shook her head too, "I do not wish it upon them," she told him, she needed him to know that she did not wish his brother's harm. "Gods know how much I want them to be safe. But you must face the truth of your family. Your brothers are prisoners in their own home. What if, Theon loses his mind and decides to kill them? Your sister Arya is missing, no one knows if she is alive or dead. Your sister Sansa is set to marry Joffrey." She moved closer to him and lifted her hands to cup his cheeks, framing his face, "If something happens to you before I can give you a son, then any son Sansa has with Joffrey could lay claim to Winterfell." She looked away for a moment, feeling a bit of shame as if she was betraying her family. "If you don't think that my mother and grandfather won't take advantage of that then you do not know my family."

Robb stared down at her, "Nothing will happen to my, Nora," he promised her.

Lenora sighed, forcing tears to fill her eyes. Her mother had told her that tears were a woman's weapon, and as much as she preferred a sword she could admit that tears had their uses. "But what if something _does_?" she asked him.

His blue eyes were sparkling, he was touched that she cared that much for him. And pleased. He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. A slight pressure that only lasted a heartbeat. Though that was enough to make Lenora feel weak at the knees. "I can't legitimize Jon," he told her. "No matter how much I would want to. Only a King can do that." His words had slowed down at that last sentence, he realized the flaw of his argument.

Lenora nodded, "Only a _King_ can legitimize a bastard," she agreed. "And _you_ are King in the North."

"Would it truly please you to have me legitimize him?" Robb asked her. "Would it please you, wife, if I named him one of my heirs?"

Lenora smiled at him, reaching up to wipe away her tears now that they had achieved their purpose. "It would please me, husband," she told him, playing at a formal marriage with him. "At least until I can provide you with one of our own."

Robb chuckled at her and shook his head, stopping to press one more kiss against her lips. "Then it shall be done," he promised her.

"Tonight?" Lenora asked him, standing on her tiptoes and bouncing a bit in anticipation.

Robb sighed, but agreed, "Tonight," he told her.

Lenora smiled as they began walking again. Robb laughed beside her, shaking his head again. Lenora turned to watch him, her eyebrows raised, "What?" she asked him, raising her eyebrows. "What is so funny?"

"You think that you're a trickster," Robb told her, still chuckling. "You think that you can bat your eyelashes and cry a few false tears and I will do whatever you wish."

"You knew?" Lenora asked him, surprised. She thought that she had hidden it so well, but she clearly had not.

"Of course I knew, Nora," Robb scolded her. "I have been your husband for a few moons now, more than half a year. I have seen you truly cry, and I have seen you cry for what you want. I know the difference."

Lenora pursed her lips for a moment before she stood on her tip toes to press a kiss against his cheek, "It matters not," she told him. "I still got what I was after."

"Aye," Robb agreed. "You did, though it was because you were after something reasonable, something I _should_ do. Try those fake tears on me for something unreasonable and we'll see how well you do."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tywin_

Storm's End and Ser Cortnay Penrose had fallen and surrendered to Stannis. Now, with nothing unconquered behind him the Baratheon pretender would sail on King's Landing. _Would_ was the wrong word. He already _had_. It was no longer a matter of _if_ there would be a battle for King's Landing, but _when_. And the _when_ was fast approaching.

"King's Landing will fall an _hour_ after Stannis lands his force," his brother told him as they discussed Stannis' eventual attack on the capital city. "It's not too late for King Joffrey and Cersei and the rest of the court to ride west to safety."

Tywin glanced at his brother briefly, a matter of seconds, his face full of disdain. When he spoke, his tone was scornful. " _Surrender_ the Iron Throne?" he asked, surprised that his brother would even suggest it. Tywin Lannister had worked too hard to secure the Iron Throne for his family he was not going to lose it now. And not to Stannis Baratheon.

"Better than seeing their _heads_ mounted on the city gates!" Kevan argued. "Stannis will execute them all -"

"No!" Tywin fired back at him, interrupting him before he could continue. "A King who runs will not be King for long." Tywin Lannister would not be the grandfather of _The King Who Ran_. "Joffrey is a Lannister. He will stand and fight. As Jaime would."

He did not miss the look on his brother's face. Kevan had heard the rumors of Joffrey's parentage and he believed them. Tywin bristled, his brother should know Cersei better than that, the woman was too proud to not do her duty. And for her and Jaime to have - it would be a sin against the Old Gods and the New. He shook his head, when he spoke next it was almost a whisper. "Stannis is a week from King's Landing and I have a _wolf_ at my doorstep."

"Our scouts assure us that Robb Stark remains north of Ashemark," Kevan interrupted him, in a hurry to assure him that it was not all as bleak as he believed.

Tywin sighed, it was not blind assurance he wanted from his younger brother, but rather informed counsel. There were plenty of men at Harrenhal who would tell him what he _wanted_ to hear. It was Kevan's job to tell him what he _needed_ to hear. But his brother did not seem up to the task. He shook his head, chuckling at his brother's statement. "Hah! The last time the scouts assured us of Stark's movements he defeated Stafford at Oxcross after somehow secretly making it past Golden Tooth. The time before that? He lured us into a _trap_! Which is why my son is his prisoner."

He stood from his seat at the table and moved toward the fireplace, extending his hands down so that he could warm them with the flames. Behind him he could hear the girl, his cupbearer, scurry around on her little mouse feet, pouring more wine into his brother's cup.

"He is too close to Casterly Rock," he told his brother as he turned from the fire, his glare landing on his brother's face. " _Too close_."

"He sent a splinter force to capture Winterfell," Kevan informed him. Tywin already knew this, he scoffed, the use of _splinter force_ was the wrong word. He had not sent any of his fighting men to Winterfell, but had, instead, allowed the bastard of Bolton to take some men that he had amassed from around the Dreadfort to march on the Northern castle.

These men that Roose Bolton's bastard commanded would never have been part of Robb's host because Lord Bolton was too proud to have his bastard son fight in his King's army.

Kevan continued as if his older brother had not laughed at him. "The Greyjoys have done us a favor, truly. Stark won't risk marching on Casterly Rock until he's at full force."

Tywin shook his head, "He's a _boy_ ," he told his brother. "A _boy_ who has never been to war. A _boy_ who has never lost a battle! He'll risk anything, at any time, because he doesn't know enough to be afraid."

Gods how he wanted to be the one to teach the boy to be afraid. He wanted to see the fear in Robb Stark's eyes as it dawned on him that his war was coming to an end. But they had more pressing matters. The Young Wolf was _somewhere near_ Ashemark, no doubt pushing closer to Lannisport and Casterly Rock as they spoke. But Stannis was only a week from King's Landing, perhaps less if the wind was with them and his oarsmen were strong. As much as he hated the thought of losing Casterly Rock, as humiliating as it would be to lose his family seat, it would be worse to lose King's Landing - to lose the Seven Kingdoms.

He would have to march from Harrenhal, and soon. He only hoped that if he left Harrenhal, the boy might change his course and leave Casterly Rock to take this castle instead.

A fool's hope, but a hope nonetheless.

"We will ride tomorrow at nightfall," he told his brother. "I want a full night's march before he knows we're on the move."

"We march to King's Landing?" Kevan asked him.

Tywin shook his head, "No," he told his brother. "Not just yet. Clegane will maintain a small garrison here at Harrenhal. We will task him to track down the _Brotherhood Without Banners_ and destroy them."

The girl's movement in the corner caught his attention. He had not thought of her. They would not bring her on the march. A march to battle was no place for so little a girl. He gestured that she should walk closer to the table, "The girl's proven herself a good servant. She will stay on with Clegane." He turned to address the girl specifically, "See that he doesn't get drunk in the evenings," he ordered her. "He's poor company when he's _sober_ , but he's better at his _work_ ," he added with a wink.

The girl looked distressed, though Tywin could not understand why. He had found her in the pen that Clegane and his men had selected prisoners from to question about the Brotherhood, but Tywin had put an end to that when he had arrived. He would make a point to tell Clegane before they marched that they were not to kill the prisoners.

 _If_ the Stark boy abandoned his campaign on the Rock they would need all the people at Harrenhal that Clegane could get his hands on. If only to use as shields.

The girl would be fine, as long as she did not allow Clegane to get too drunk. And as long as she stayed out of his way when he got into one of his rages.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

Lancel met him in the Great Sept to share his news of the Queen. Tyrion's poor cousin had become traitor unwillingly, but he was proving himself most useful. He had asked Tyrion the day before for his own command in the next battle, they both knew the battle to be the one Stannis brought to them. He had not given Lancel his word, but he was toying with the idea.

"The queen intends to send Prince Tommen away," Lancel told him as they both knelt in front of the large statue and alter of the Mother. "Lord Gyles will take him to Rosby and conceal him there in the guise of a page. They plan to darken his hair and tell everyone that he is the son of a hedge knight."

Tyrion sighed, if only his sister had been smart enough to darken her children's hair when they were babes and continue to darken it as they aged. They wouldn't be in the situation they were in now. Rather, if only she had done her duty as Robert's wife more than once. If only Lenora had not been born the only child Robert and his queen Cersei had created. Stannis was an honorable man, he would not march against a King who had been the trueborn heir of Robert and Cersei. He was sailing to King's Landing because he truly believed that of the four children, only the eldest daughter belonged to Robert.

Tyrion could not blame him.

"Is it the mob she fears?" he whispered to Lancel. "Or me?"

"Both," Lancel answered him honestly.

Tyrion nodded, this would not do. As much as he would want Tommen away from King's Landing in case the battle went sour and Stannis sacked the city. There was only one way to control Cersei and that was through her children. Lenora and Myrcella were out of his reach, at least partly by his own fault. And Joffrey was out of his control. He only had Tommen. The boy could not be allowed to leave the city.

"You have my thanks, Ser," he told Lancel, not sharing his thoughts with his young cousin. He trusted the boy to tell him the truth because he was afraid of what Jaime would do once he returned if Tyrion told him that Lancel had been sleeping with the queen. He trusted the boy not to tell Cersei that he had turned traitor, he valued his life too much for that. But he could not trust him to accidentally let Cersei know that Tyrion knew what she planned.

"Will you grant me the boon I asked of you?" Lancel asked him. The battle would come sooner rather than later and he wanted to know if he was to be given a command. He had heard some of the other knights around the Red Keep say that he had only been given a knighthood because he was the king's kin. He was eager to prove his worth.

"Perhaps," Tyrion told him, not quite ready to make his decision yet. He thought giving Lancel, who had not so much as fought in a tourney yet, a command against Stannis would be stupid. It was a splendid way to die before he grew his mustache, but young knights always thought they were invincible.

They would never go to battle otherwise.

His cousin slipped away, unseen out of the sept, but Tyrion lingered a bit longer. He moved from the alter in front of the Mother to stand in front of the Warrior's alter. He used one candle to light another one. And then, on second thought, another candle after that.

"Watch over my brother and my niece, you bloody bastard," he whispered, glaring up at the tall, formidable looking statue. "They are both _yours_ after all."

He did not pray for his father. Tywin Lannister believed that praying to the Gods was a waste of time and would not want his son's prayers. Especially the prayers of Tyrion, the disappointment. He _did_ stop in front of the alter for the Stranger and, without looking up at the mysterious, cloaked statue, light a candle there for himself.

After he left the sept he searched out Bronn, stopping only to write a quick letter to Jacelyn Bywater and seal it with the stamp of the Hand of the King. He handed the letter to Bronn when he found him. "Take this to Ser Jacelyn Bywater," he ordered his sellsword.

"What does it say?" Bronn asked suspiciously. He lifted the parchment up to the light, trying to read it without opening it.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "That he is to take fifty of his best swords and scout the Roseroad," he told Bronn, not lying.

"Stannis' foot soldiers are more likely to take the Kingsroad," Bronn told him, as carefree and calm as if he were discussing the weather.

"I know that," Tyrion told him, impatience coloring his tone a bit. " _You_ are to tell Bywater to disregard what is in the letter and take his men north. He's to lay a trap along the Rosby road. Lord Gyles will depart for his castle within the day with a dozen men-at-arms, some servants, and my nephew. Prince Tommen may be dressed as a page."

"You want the boy brought back, is that it?" Bronn asked him, already catching on to Tyrion's plan.

Tyrion nodded, "My sister will send one of the Kingsguard with the prince."

Bronn seemed less than impressed, "The Hound is the only one I would worry about," he told Tyrion with a shrug of his shoulders. "And he is Joffrey's dog. He won't leave him. Ironhand's gold cloaks should be able to handle the others easy enough."

Tyrion nodded, glad to hear it, "If it comes to killing, tell Ser Jacelyn that I won't have it done in front of Tommen. My nephew is tender-hearted."

Bronn chuckled, "Quite different from his older brother," he observed. "Or his older sister if what I hear is to be believed of the _Queen in the North_. Are you certain that he's a Lannister?"

"I'm certain of nothing but winter and battle," Tyrion told him as he began to walk away from their empty spot on the wall of the Red Keep. "Come," he ordered Bronn, "I'll go with you part of the way."

"Got something waiting for you in the Tower of the Hand?" Bronn asked as they walked.

Tyrion nodded, a smile on his face, "You know me too well."

...

Unfortunately for Tyrion it was not Sansa Stark's newly acquired handmaiden who awaited him in the Tower of the Hand, but Varys. "I almost fear to tell you why I've come, My Lord," Varys told him by way of greeting when Tyrion walked in to see him. "I bring such dire tidings."

Tyrion's first thought was Jaime. He had just prayed to the Warrior for his protection that morning and already the Young Wolf had decided to kill him. If Robb Stark had harmed Jaime in any way there would be nothing in the world that could save him, of that Tyrion was certain. A part of him even believed that Lenora would kill the boy for them if he harmed her uncle.

He did not want Varys to see his fear though. He forced his face into one of casual concern. "You ought to dress in black feathers, Varys, you're as bad an omen as a raven." He was quiet for just a moment before he asked, "Is it Jaime?" He was unable to stop himself.

"No, my Lord. Nor the princess Lenora. A different matter entirely. Ser Cortnay Penrose is dead. Storm's End has opened its gates to Stannis Baratheon."

Tyrion rolled his eyes and moved around Varys to pour himself a cup of wine. This was old news to him. "You're a little late, Varys," he told the lord, even though he had never known Varys to be late on news. "We already know that Ser Cortnay surrendered. We had a raven from Storm's End two days ago."

Varys shook his head, "The raven said he _surrendered_ , I tell you that he's _dead_ and surrender he did not."

 _Alright_ , Tyrion thought, _I will play your game, Spider._ "How did this happen?" he asked.

"It is said that he threw himself from a tower."

"Threw _himself_?" Tyrion repeated, even as he shook his head. "No I will not believe that."

Varys shrugged his shoulders as he moved around the chamber and took a seat, "His guards saw no man enter his chambers, no did they find any within afterward."

"Then the killer entered earlier and hid under the bed," Tyrion suggested. "Or he climbed down from the roof on a rope. Perhaps the guards are lying. Who's to say they did not do the thing themselves?"

"Doubtless you are right, My Lord," Varys told him, though he looked as though he disagreed.

"But you do not think so?" Tyrion asked him. "Go on then, how was it done?"

Varys paused for a long moment, weighting his words before he began to speak. Finally he cleared his throat, "My Lord, do you believe in the old powers?" he asked.

Tyrion chuckled, " _Magic_?" he asked, remembering his recent conversation with Sansa Stark about the battle of Oxcross. "Bloodspells, curses, shapeshifting, those sorts of things?" He snorted. "Do you mean to suggest that Ser Cortnay was _magicked_ to his death?"

Varys shrugged his shoulders, "Ser Cortnay had challenged Lord Stannis to single combat on the morning he died. I ask you, is this the act of a man lost to despair? Then there is the matter of Lord Renly's mysterious and most fortuitous murder, even as his battle lines were forming up to sweep his brother from the field." The eunuch paused a moment, "They say he travels with a red priestess from Myr."

Tyrion nodded, the thought made him uncomfortable, "I took that from his raven, where he signed that it was done in the _Light of the one true God_ or something to that effect." Those who followed the Lord of Light were fanatics, and they made him feel uncomfortable.

Varys nodded, "Many strange things come from Myr, My Lord," he told him. "And so I will ask you again ... do you believe in the old powers?"

Tyrion could tell how much Varys wanted him to agree, to believe. But he could not. There were things he believed in and things he did not. He believed in steel swords, gold coins, and men's wits. He believed in a woman's love (even if he had to pay for it), and his brother's loyalty. He believed in Lenora's laughter and Tommen and Myrcella's goodness. He believed in Joffrey's cruelty, his father's disappointment, and his sister's hatred. He believed in all these things because he had seen them at work.

He believed in dragons because he had seen their skulls.

But he could not and would not believe in magic.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Catelyn_

"Tell Father I have gone to make him proud," those were her brother's words to her as he mounted his horse. Scouts had arrived at Riverrun days before to tell them that Lord Tywin Lannister marched on Riverrun from Harrenhal. It was a smart move, Catelyn would give him that. With Robb marching ever closer to Casterly Rock and Winterfell too far away even for Tywin Lannister Riverrun would be closest to Robb's heart, the best blow Tywin could give him.

Brienne, Gods bless her, had wanted so much to go with Edmure, but Catelyn had ordered her to stay at Riverrun. Edmure had taken his best fighting men with him, leaving only a small garrison, mostly made up of young boys and old men to hold the castle. Catelyn would have one young knight with her, even if it was a woman.

And so, she had told Brienne that they would do their _duty_. They prayed. And they waited. And Brienne hated it.

The next afternoon she finally spoke up, "Fighting is better than this waiting," she informed Catelyn. "You don't feel so helpless when you fight. You have a sword and a horse, sometimes an axe. When you're armored, it's heard for anyone to hurt you."

"Knights die in battle," Catelyn reminded her, hoping that the girl was not glamorizing battle just because she missed it.

Brienne looked down at her with those blue eyes of hers, the only beautiful part of her face, "As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about _them_."

She had the right of it, no one would sing a song about Catelyn Stark. But they sang songs of her son. That was enough for her. "Children are a battle of a different sort," Catelyn told her as they walked across the yard. "A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. Carrying a child, bringing it into the world," she paused, thinking about when she had given Sansa this lecture not that long ago. Her arms ached for her children: her daughters lost to her down south, her sons lost to her up north, her eldest at war. She shook her head, "As hard as birth can be, Brienne, what comes after is even harder. At times I feel as though I am being torn apart. Would that there were five of me, on for each child, so I might keep them all safe."

"And who would keep _you_ safe, My Lady?" Brienne had asked her curiously.

Catelyn smiled, tired and rueful, "Why, the men of my House. Or so my Lady mother taught me. My Lord father, my brother, my uncle, my husband, they will keep me safe," she paused, shaking her head sadly. Her father was old and dying, her brother and her uncle were fighting her son's war, her husband was dead. None of them could keep her safe. "But while they are away from me, I suppose you must fill their place, Brienne," she told her, trying to force a lightness she did not feel into her voice.

Brienne took her suggestion to heart, "I shall try, My Lady," she vowed.

Later that afternoon Maester Vyman brought news of her son Robb. He was marching toward the Crag, the seat of House Westerling - that was all he wrote her. But the raven that brought the news had carried two letters: one from her son and one from his new wife. Lenora's letter had been much more informative. She assured Catelyn that Robb was safe and well protected as they marched and as he battled. She spoke of her work with the Silent Sisters. She expressed her bittersweet joy that Ned's bones would finally make their way north to Winterfell, she hoped that Theon would not be so cruel as to bar his burial in the crypt with his family, she wrote well and long about her sorrow that Bran and Rickon had been taken as wards in their own home when Theon had taken Winterfell.

She was reading Lenora's letter a second time, looking for any sort of clue that they would be marching back to Riverrun soon when the sound of hurrying footsteps pulled her from the parchment in her hand. Ser Desmond's squire dashed panting into the room and knelt. "My Lady," the young boy gasped out. "Lannisters ... across the river."

Catelyn would have laughed if the situation were not so dire, "Take a deep breath, lad, and tell it slowly," she commanded.

He did as she asked, taking a few deep breaths before he spoke again. "A column of armored men," he told her. "Across the Red Fork. They are flying a purple unicorn below the lion of Lannister."

A Brax and Lannister force. She quickly led Brienne to the battlements where Ser Desmond stood, no doubt waiting for her. "A few outriders," he told her, meaning to assure her. "No more. The main strength of Lord Tywin's host is well to the South. We are in no danger here."

Catelyn would not rest until they were fought back though, she was sure of it. South of the Red Fork the land stretched open and flat, Catelyn could see for miles. Though only the nearest ford was visible. Edmure had spread his forces up and down the river, this ford was under Lord Jason Mallister's watch. The Lannister riders were waiting uncertainly on the south-eastern edge of the river, no doubt sizing up Mallister's own force.

"No more than fifty, My Lady," Ser Desmond guessed.

The riders stretched out in one long line down the edge of the river, still waiting. Lord Jason's men waited for them, hiding behind rocks and trees. One trumpet blast sent the horses forward into the river. For one heartbeat they made a brave picture, all bright armor and streaming banners, the sun flashing off the points of their lances.

Brienne shifted beside her, no doubt wishing that she could be part of the battle below. They were too high and too far to make out what exactly was happening below them, but the horses' screams were loud, even to Catelyn's far away ears. Beneath the horses' screams she could hear the faint clash of steel. This is what war sounded like, she realized, clashing steel, dying men and terrified horses.

A banner vanished suddenly as if its bearer was swept under, and soon after the first dead man drifted past their walls, borne along by the current. By then the Lannisters had pulled back in confusion.

She watched, eyes weary, as they re-formed, conferred briefly, and galloped back the way they had come.

The men on the walls cheered, but not Catelyn. And not Brienne. This had not been a battle, but a scouting mission. Both were sure of it.

Ser Desmond slapped his belly. "Would that Lord Hoster could have seen that," he chuckled. "It would have made him dance."

"My father's dancing days are past, I fear," Catelyn told him, not unkindly. "And this fight is just begun. The Lannisters will come again. Lord Tywin has twice my brother's numbers."

"He could have ten times and it would not matter," Ser Desmond told her. "The West bank of the Red Fork is higher and steeper than the East. Our bowman have good cover and a wide open field in which to loose their shafts. And should any breach occur, Lord Edmure has his best knights in reserve, ready to ride wherever they are most sorely needed. The river will hold them. And we shall hold the river."

"I pray that you are right," Catelyn told him, her tone grave.

She did not believe him.

* * *

Author's Note:

Well there it is. Another day, another chapter.  
I hope that you guys enjoyed it.  
It was a bit of a slow one, but you know how things go. Slow and then suddenly shit hits the fan. So be prepared.  
Anyway, if you liked this chapter let me know by reviewing! I really do love reading your reviews. It's great to know what you guys think.  
And let's me know if I should keep writing.  
As for those of you that reviewed on the last chapter, you guys are wonderful.

 _Raging Raven_ : No. It is not evil of you to be eager for the Red Wedding. I'm a bit excited about it too to be honest. Lenora and Robb have been too happy for too long.

 _darkwolf76_ : Two reviews and long ones! Friend you made my day yesterday. So I'm going to try to address both of them as well as I can in one novel length response. Here goes:  
How do I update so quickly? Well it started with a very good outline. Chapter by chapter of what each chapter would cover, what point of views would be used, etc. I went through the whole story in this outline. Then when it was finished I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. When I posted the first chapter I had written five. That is my rule, I need to be five chapters ahead of what I post (it's kind of a writer's block shield). And then on top of that I work seven days on, seven days off. On my off days I clean my house, grocery shop, laundry, gym, walk the dog, blink at my cat, and write. My husband, my friends they all have normal 9-5 jobs Monday through Friday and we don't have kids so I have a lot of free time during the week to write. I write about 3/4 of a chapter to a chapter and a half every day. And I'm just pretty lucky that they turn out good. I'm glad you guys enjoy them!  
You're welcome for giving you guys Tywin's perspective of Arya. I loved those scenes in the show, so I knew that I had to put them in when I started writing this. I couldn't help it.  
Lenora is so confused, you guys will see that more and more in the next few chapters. She desperately wants to be loyal to her family, but the problem is that her family is fighting each other all over the place. She's made the choice to side with Robb for now, but that not always be the case. (Only the time line knows.)  
As for Sansa, I love the girl. I'm not entirely sure why the fandom hates her so much. She might not always do the right thing, but the girl is just trying to survive. I'm not gonna judge her for that. And the Hound ... confession time: I love the Hound. Sandor Clegane is one of my favorite characters and I like him and Sansa so that kind of bleeds in to the writing a little more than I thought it did.  
With Roose and Ramsay I explained it a bit in this chapter. Basically I know that Roose has cautioned Ramsay about his behavior, so people know it's happening. And they're talking about it. Ned would have definitely investigated any rumors that he heard, but Ned didn't have Varys. Or his little birds. So in this story, Ned didn't hear the rumors, but people in King's Landing have.  
Yes, Robb and Lenora are ridiculously happy and adorable. And you should be nervous, because no one is every happy in GoT world. There will be a variation of the Red Wedding. It's like the turning point of this story. It might even be the end and then part two will be a sequel. I haven't decided if I want to split it up or not. But I promise you that you guys won't regret it.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you!

 _HPuni101_ : I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! Hope that you enjoyed this one as well!

 _HopelessRomantic44_ : They are sweet, which means things might get bad for them soon. We shall see.

That's all I've got for now. When you finish reading the chapter maybe you watch the Cavs game tonight and root for my man LeBron.  
Chloe Jane.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One: My Own Man

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and for the first time in my life my taxes were filed before the deadline. This is what being an adult looks like._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-One: My Own Man_

 _Theon_

It was quickly turning to a mess - his taking Winterfell. His plan had been a sound one, there were so few men at Winterfell that he and his Ironborn were able to take it within a night, just the thirty of them. That morning, once they had fought their way to the main keep he had barged into Bran's bedchamber, announcing that he had taken the castle. The poor, paralyzed boy had been confused, he did not listen to Theon's words, but instead believed that Robb had come home. Theon had quickly shaken his head, "Robb's far away. He can't help you now."

"Help me?" the young boy had asked, still as confused as before, though now he began to sit up so that he could get a better look at Theon and his man Dagmer. "Don't scare me, Theon."

He thought it was a joke, that was what had angered Theon the most. "I'm _Prince_ Theon now," he told Bran, standing up a bit straighter and fighting the urge to place his hands behind him at the small of his back. That was something mainlanders did, the Ironborn would laugh at him for that action. "We're both princes, Bran. Who would have dreamed it? But I've taken _your_ castle, my prince."

Bran did not believe him, he argued again. Theon sighed and ordered Dagmer to leave them to find Hodor. He knew what would be expected of him if Bran kept fighting him and he could not bring himself to do it. This would need to be done gently, but he did not need a witness.

He sat down on the child's bed, the boy who had once treated him as an elder brother. And explained to him that he had taken Winterfell, it no longer belonged to the Starks, but to the Greyjoys. He told the boy that he was to be Theon's ward, that Theon would be kind to him as long as he did as he was bid.

He told the boy that they were gathering all of his people into the courtyard where, once he was dressed, Bran would announce that he had yielded the castle to Theon and his Iron Islanders.

Bran fought him on it, as Theon knew he would, and Theon was prepared with his answer. "The castle is mine," he told Bran, his voice gentle. When they were all still at Winterfell he remembered a time when Bran had commented on Robb's voice and _Robb the Lord's_ voice. He spoke to him as Theon, instead of as Prince Theon. "But these people are still yours. You'll yield to keep them safe. To keep them alive. That's what a _good_ lord would do."

Bran's final question had haunted him all the way to the courtyard. _Did you hate us the whole time?_

 _No, Bran_ , he thought. _And I do not hate you now_.

It was cold and grey in the courtyard. And wet. Winterfell had stopped trying to hold onto summer and was now preparing its people for the cold, dark winter that lay ahead of them. It was the perfect setting, Theon thought, for Bran to yield the castle to him. Hodor carried the boy down to the courtyard and sat him on a barrel next to where Theon stood. Rickon, the baby, hid behind Maester Luwin's robe and cried for his mother and his direwolf. Neither could save him now.

"You all know me!" Theon shouted at them, trying to make his voice sound commanding. The Northern people, the people of Winterfell especially, were a stubborn people. They would not easily welcome his rule, even though he had grown up around them. He would have to force them to accept him. By showing them strength.

"Aye, we know you for a sack of steaming dung," Mikken, Winterfell's smith yelled out. Theon nodded at him silently and one of his Iron Born moved in on Mikken, driving the butt of his spear into Mikken's gut and smashing his face with the shaft. When the man stumbled forward onto his knees he spit out a mouthful of blood and a tooth.

"Mikken, you be silent," Bran squeaked out at the man.

Theon agreed, ordering the smith to listen to his lord. The boy had more sense than the man. Then he turned to Bran and nodded, silently telling the boy to get on with it. "I have yielded Winterfell to Theon," Bran said, quiet and unsure.

Theon shook his head, this would not do. "Louder," he ordered, giving the boy a nudge. "And call me prince."

The boy nodded and raised his voice, "I have yielded Winterfell to Prince Theon," he told his people, sounding a bit more sure of himself this time. It still would not do, but it seemed to be the best Theon could expect from him. "All of you should do as he commands you."

"Damned if I will!" Mikken yelled, intent on losing more teeth it would seem. Theon chose to ignore this outburst though, sure that the man would learn his lesson soon enough. He told the men that his father had once again donned his crown and named himself King of the Iron Islands. He told them that by conquest the Iron Islanders had also taken the North. Winterfell no longer belonged to Robb Stark, it belonged to Theon's father and his heirs.

" _Bugger that_ ," Mikken muttered, wiping the blood from his mouth. "I serve the Starks, not some treasonous squid from -" This time the butt of the spear came from behind and hit him in the back of his head, driving him face first to the ground.

"Smiths have strong arms and weak heads," Theon observed before turning away from Mikken to address all the people in the courtyard. "If the rest of you serve me as loyally as you served Ned Stark, you'll find me as generous a lord as you could want!"

Mikken crawled onto his hands and knees and Theon begged him in his mind not to say another word. He had always liked Mikken, they had gone whoring together in Winters Town several times before. He thought him a friend. But his prayer died when the smith yelled, "If you think you can hold the North with this sorry lot of -"

He never got to finish his statement; without Theon's orders his Iron born had driven his spear through the soft skin on the back of his neck. The smith died, drowning on his own blood.

That could have and _should have_ been the end of it. If only Black Lorren had not arrived, just then, dragging Ser Rodrik Cassel behind him. Ser Rodrik was shouting as they brought him in, but when his eyes landed on Theon's the knight became silent, glaring at Theon instead. "Caught this one coming back from Torrhen's Square," Black Lorren informed him. "He cut down two of ours before I got his sword."

Theon flinched, he had only come to Winterfell with thirty men and he had already lost two. He was down to twenty-eight. He moved closer to Ser Rodrik, attempting to smile at the old man. "Ser Rodrik," he greeted, his tone polite. "It grieves me that we meet as foes."

Ser Rodrik's voice dripped with contempt when he addressed him, "It grieves _m_ e that you've less honor than a back-alley _whore_ ," he growled. "You were raised here, under this roof! These people are _your_ people!"

"They are not my people!" Theon argued back. Though, he knew all their names, he knew their voices and their faces and their stories. That was more than he could say for his crew of Iron Born.

"King Robb thought of you as a _brother_!" Rodrik countered angrily. "You fought beside him in the Whispering Wood, you pledged your life to him at Riverrun. _You_ named him your King!"

Theon quickly swallowed any shame he may have felt and took a step closer to the knight, "My brothers are dead," he reminded the old man. "They died fighting Stark men!"

"Aye," Ser Rodrik agreed, "they died fighting a war your father _started_! Lord Stark raised you among his own sons -"

" _Among them_ , but not _one of them_!" Theon interrupted. He glanced around sheepishly, worried that the Iron Born might pick up on his anger and think that they had taken over Winterfell simply because Ned Stark had ignored Theon as the boy grew up. "I was his _hostage_! Taken from my home!"

Rodrik shook his head, glancing away from Theon as if he could not bear to look at him, "If he were alive to see this."

"He's _not_!" Theon yelled at him, stepping right up in the old man's face. "He's _dead_. The Seven Kingdoms are at war, and Winterfell is _mine!_ "

Rodrik turned back to look at him, his eyes were filled with rage and disappointment, "I should have put a sword in your _belly_ instead of in your _hand_ ," he told Theon.

That hurt Theon more than he wanted to admit, he had always looked up to Ser Rodrik, ever since the day the old knight had started to teach him to fight. He could still remember the old man, kindly giving him pointers as he and Robb fought in this very courtyard with wooden play swords. All that kindness was gone from the man's face now. "You have served this House faithfully, Old Man," he told him. "But keep talking and I'll -"

He did not speak anymore, instead the old man spit on his face.

Black Lorren and another Iron Born who had moved in quickly began to beat him and force him down onto his knees. Theon could sense where this was leading and he did not want it, he had not intended for this to happen. If only Ser Rodrik had kept his wits about him. "Take him to the cells!" he ordered the men holding the knight. "Lock him up."

Dagmer stepped forward, "My prince, you _cannot_ let that stand," he told him, reminding him of his priest uncle on his ship. "He must pay."

"I'll lock him in a cell until he rots," Theon told the man, turning to look at him, praying to the Old Gods, the Seven, and even the Drowned God that _that_ would be enough.

"No," Dagmer told him, his voice harsh but quiet. His eyes locked on Theon's, "He has to pay the Iron Price. _They_ ," his eyes danced around the courtyard, landing on both Northman and Iron Born alike, "will never respect you while he lives."

He hadn't wanted to. He had looked down, silently begging Ser Rodrik to find a way to take it back, but the old man had just glared at him angrily. He had looked to the Stark boys, but they were too frightened to say a word. He had turned to Maester Luwin, sure that the old man would know what to say, but he only watched Theon - silently waiting for him to make his decision.

The Iron Born around him shifted on his feet, watching for weakness.

He had no choice but to sentence the man to death. It was then that Bran began to yell, to cry, to beg. He reminded Theon that he had promised that no harm would come to the people of Winterfell if he yielded. But it was too late, Theon had voiced his decision and to go back on it now would mean that the Iron Born would murder him in their sleep and take Winterfell for their own.

Dagmer was prepared to do it, but in a final act of cruelty Rodrik reminded him of Ned Stark's rule. _He who passes the sentence should swing the sword_. He called him a coward when he seemed to falter. He wanted to test him in front of his men, he wanted to see how far he would go. Theon had hoped to win the castle with as little blood lost as possible. He had wanted the people to accept his rule because they liked him, because they remembered him. But now it was obvious that that would never happen. If he wanted to rule Winterfell they would have to fear him. He would start with Rodrik Cassel and he would kill them all if he had to.

His Iron Born dragged the knight to the block and the crowd from Winterfell began to protest. But it was all too late. Theon drew his sword as Bran cried out Rodrik's name. The old knight turned to Bran and smiled gently, this was a man who would not fear his death. "Hush now, child," he ordered. "I'm off to see your father."

If they had been close enough to water Theon would have drowned the man, offered him up as a sacrifice to the Drowned God just out of spite. Just so that the old man would never find Ned Stark in whatever lay beyond this world.

"Any last words, old man?" Theon asked him as he readied his sword arm above his neck. He called him _old man_ in an attempt to make it less real, to stop the memories of all the good times he had had with Ser Rodrik.

The knight turned to glare at him, "Gods help you, Theon Greyjoy," he growled. "For now you are _truly_ lost." He glared for a moment longer before he turned his face to the ground, baring his neck for Theon's sword.

Bran and Rickon cried and screamed as Theon lifted his sword and then swung it down onto Ser Rodrik's neck. He hit too high and not hard enough, the sword hacked a chunk from the bottom of the old man's skull and he spit blood, but he still lived. Now he was in pain, if he had been hoping for a quick death from Theon Greyjoy, he would not get it.

Theon lifted his sword again and swung down quickly, this time he hit too low, across the old man's shoulders. Women in the courtyard screamed as jet of blood shot into the air.

But still, the old man's head remained attached to his body.

And still, he breathed.

One final swing, this one was true, but too slow to cut all the way through the old man's neck. The blade was stuck between his muscles, no matter how much Theon tugged it would not come off. He lifted his right foot and stomped down on the neck.

Finally the sword came loose. As did the head.

It rolled away into the mud, and when it stopped face up, the knight's familiar brown eyes still watching him.

Still filled with contempt.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He had never had to declare a bastard legitimate before. He had never seen it done. He did not know the words. How he wished his father was still here, _he_ would have known what to do. But that was not quite true. Because if his father had known what to do he would have had King Robert make Jon legitimate years ago. The old king was Ned Stark's best friend, he would not have denied him that request. But his father had never legitimized Jon because of Catelyn. That was one insult that Lady Catelyn Stark could not endure.

Now she had lost her husband. Her daughters were lost to her. Her two younger sons. And her eldest son, he was about to legitimize her biggest embarrassment. He knew that it would hurt his mother when he told her. But he also knew that Lenora was right. Things were too uncertain. If he wanted to protect Winterfell and the North then he needed to have an heir that was not currently imprisoned by the Lannisters or Theon Greyjoy.

He looked up from the parchment in front of him to see Lenora sitting across the table from him. "What should I write?" he asked her, his eyebrows furrowed. He should have asked her earlier, _she_ was the king's daughter; he was certain that she had seen her father legitimize several bastards.

She smiled at him softly, and shook her head. "It's always been done on paper," she told him, her voice gentle. "There aren't many Lords who would parade their bastard through the Red Keep to have my father legitimize them from the Iron Throne." She was quiet for a moment, biting her lip as she thought.

Robb leaned forward in his seat and reached across the table to pull her lip free with his thumb. She smiled at him. "I think that you're lost because you're trying to make it sound _royal_. It does not have to be. It can be simple." She looked around their empty tent, "Would you like to ask some of your bannermen?" she asked him. "They might have some thoughts on the matter."

Robb shook his head, "No," he told her, he was so sure of it. "You are right that I need to legitimize him, but I do not want anyone to know." Lenora raised her eyebrows, no doubt confused by the secrecy. Robb smiled softly at her, "If something were to happen to me, the Lannisters would think they have the upper hand because they have Sansa, and possibly Arya. Theon would think he had the upper hand because he has the boys. _You_ and Jon would be able to surprise them with this decree."

"You don't trust that your bannermen would keep this secret?" Lenora asked him.

"I trust them with my life," Robb told her, repeating what he had once told her uncle the Kingslayer. "But there is no way to keep this secret. If the King in the North legitimizes his bastard half brother, names him his heir, and tells his bannermen about it there will be whispers, and there will be rumors." He shook his head, "The last thing I want is some Lannister paid assassin traveling to the wall to murder Jon. They have been thwarted twice on that account, I will not have them try a third time."

Lenora nodded, "Just me then," she agreed with him before she nodded back to the paper. "I do not know much about writing decrees, but I do know this - there is no set standard to where legitimized bastards fall into the line of succession. Some men order them by age, others place all trueborn children before the legitimized bastard regardless of age, others by preference. If you want Jon to be you heir until I provide you with one you will have to write that. Expressly. Leave no room for argument or confusion."

Robb smiled at her, "And you thought you would be of no help," he chided her softly as he dipped his quill into ink and brought it down to the parchment.

Lenora chuckled and kicked him in the shin underneath the table, "I never said I would be of _no_ help. I said I would be of _little_ help."

Robb glanced up at her, her eyes were sparkling in the candlelight, "You have been more helpful than any wife has the right to be, Nora," he told her. He grinned when her eyes narrowed at him playfully.

"You have no right to complain, Robb Stark," she told him as she stood from her chair. "You knew exactly who you were getting when you took me for your wife. I never once promised to be a quiet, meek little woman for you." She smiled and her eyes returned to their normal size, "You have no reason to be shocked or disappointed now."

Robb shook his head, "You could never disappoint me," he told her, reaching out for her hand as she moved around the table. She placed her hand in his, a soft smile resting on her lips when he lifted the back of her hand to his lips and pressed a hard kiss to it before dropping it.

"You could never disappoint me either," she told him as she moved toward another table, one that held their wine.

Robb chuckled, turning away from the parchment to watch her, "That is a lie, a treasonous falsehood and we both know it," he told her, still laughing. "I am likely to disappoint you before the week's end and several times over at that."

She smiled and nodded, "Aye," she agreed with him, "but you always find your way. And you have never disappointed me where it really counted. I don't see you doing so now." She nodded to the parchment in front of him, "Hurry up with that," she told him. "You need a witness and I am dead on my feet. You should write the decree before I fall asleep if you insist on not sharing it with any of your bannermen."

"As you wish," Robb told her, quickly turning back to the parchment in front of him.

...

 _By royal decree: I, Robb Stark, first of my name and King in the North, legitimize the bastard known as Jon Snow._  
 _From this day until his last day he will now be named Jon Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North._  
 _Furthermore, I name him my immediate heir and successor until such a time that I have a son and heir of my own._  
 _Done in the sight of the Old Gods and the New._

...

Once he signed the decree he folded the parchment and sealed it with wax, pressing the Stark direwolf into the still warm wax. Lenora smiled at him when he handed her the sealed document. "Keep it," he told her. "Keep it safe and keep it close. If something were to happen to me during this war, it will be up to you to ensure that it makes its way to Jon."

Lenora nodded and pressed a kiss against his cheek before she moved across the tent to hide the decree in her trunk.

He could have sent it to Jon at the wall, he supposed. He knew how much Jon had wanted to be legitimate. It had been his wish since he was a small boy. And he knew how much it would mean to Jon to know that it had finally happened. That _Robb_ wanted him as a brother, and heir. But it was unsafe to send ravens with this kind of information.

If the raven were shot down. Or fell into the wrong hands something could happen to Jon.

The news would have to wait.

Once this war was done and he was settled back at Winterfell Robb would write to Jon to ask him to come visit. And then he would tell his brother in person.

Lenora smiled at him when she came back, "Your father would be proud," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. "Surely you know that."

Robb nodded, he did know it. As much as it would hurt his mother he knew that his father would be proud of him. Ned Stark had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and now finally, the young man could call himself Stark.

The next morning the camp was packed quickly and the army began to march north toward the Crag. Robb wanted to march south, his men wanted to march south. But they did not have the men to take the Golden Tooth, Sarsfield, Casterly Rock, and Lannisport.

His spies and scouts had told him that Tywin Lannister was preparing to depart from Harrenhal, but they did not know where. Robb would have bet his entire army that the Lannisters marched on either Casterly Rock to defend their castle from him, or King's Landing to defend the capital from Stannis Baratheon.

At this moment he could not hope to win a battle against Tywin Lannister, not with the River Lords holding Riverrun.

But the Crag, they could take that.

The Crag was the stronghold ruled by House Westerling. They were a proud House, all Lannister vassals seemed to be, as if they could claim the Lannister success as their own. But House Westerling was poor. The castle was run-down, partially ruined and the family could no longer afford to maintain it.

They would put up a fight to protect their home, a better fight than Oxcross, but they would fall. Its defenses were compromised.

Rather than attacking Casterly Rock outright, Robb planned to take the vassal Houses one at a time while the majority of their Lords and soldiers were marching with Lord Tywin; to eat away at the Lannister power one bite at a time until Lord Tywin had nothing left.

Lenora rode beside him, though she did not seem to enjoy the ride as much as she usually did. Her mind wandered, her eyes were stormy. Robb reached out for her, grabbing hold of her reins, "And what?" he asked her, trying to keep his voice light, "Is going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

Lenora smiled at him, though it was a tight, closemouthed smile. "I'm torn," she told him, "between being happy to be home and being sad for these people."

The Westerlands were hers, Robb realized for the first time. She had spent her first five years at the Rock and had made many trips back before her father brought her to Winterfell. This land was familiar to her. The sights, the smells, the people - she had grown up here. She would know them as well as she knew King's Landing.

"Do you regret it?" he asked her quietly, watching her face carefully. "Returning with me?" he specified when she did not answer his question right away.

She thought about it for a moment before she shook her head. "No," she told him, turning to look at him so that he could read the honesty in her light grey eyes. "I do not regret returning with you. _This_ is what is _right_. But I do regret the pain it will cause these people. It is not their fault that their families and Liege Lords are sworn to my grandfather anymore than it is my fault that I was born to a Lannister mother. It is not their fault, but they will pay more than my grandfather or brother ever will. It does not seem fair."

She was slipping, he could see it, into melancholy. It happened from time to time, more often the closer they marched to Casterly Rock. The best way to pull her out of it was to distract her. He let go of her reins, but continued to watch her. "What do you know of House Westerling?" he asked her, nodding in the general direction they were riding. "To tell you true, I know almost nothing of the House, only what my bannermen tell me."

"And they won't know all of it," Lenora told him with a smile. She was quiet for a moment before she spoke. "House Westerling, six white shells on a sand colored field, _Honor, Not Honors_ ," she recited, as if reading it straight from the book of the Greater and Lesser Houses of Westeros. "Lord Gawen Westerling, is Lord of the Crag, you will remember him perhaps, you took him as prisoner at the Battle of the Whispering Wood."

Robb raised his eyebrows at her, he had taken many prisoners after that first battle, he could not remember all of them. And he did not remember this one.

Lenora smiled slyly at him as she shook her head, "Or perhaps not," she told him. "I would not blame you. His sons have not petitioned for his freedom, as they are a poor House. Their mines failed years ago, their best lands have been sold off, many to my grandfather, or lost. They cannot afford to repair their own stronghold, let alone ransom their father."

"Have you met them?" he asked, she was speaking as if she knew members of House Westerling personally.

She nodded, "Lord Gawen and Lady Sybell have a daughter who is close to my age, Lady Jeyne Westerling. She is pretty. Her father has brought her to the Rock once or twice, to offer her as a match for my cousins Willem or Martyn, but my uncle Kevan has turned him down each time. He says that they have more pride than power, and more honor than sense. He would not marry his sons to a lesser House."

"Surely to a Lannister _every_ House is a lesser House," Robb teased, grinning when a true smile spread across Lenora's lips.

"Yes," she agreed with a nod. "Marrying a Stark was almost as shameful as looking for a husband in Flea Bottom would have been." It was a joke, but it struck Robb. This woman beside him had been raised a princess and then her father had left her at a stronghold as far away from her home as she could have imagined to marry a lord's son. He _was_ less. Though, he supposed it was a consolation that he had been named _King in the North_. This way she was raised up, instead of dragged down. Lenora must have seen something of his thoughts on his face because she rolled her eyes, "Come now," she scolded him. "That was a joke. I never thought of you as _lesser_."

"But House Westerling is?" Robb asked her, changing the subject.

Lenora rolled her eyes, she had caught him, he was not nearly as clever as he hoped. But she allowed it, "Uncle Kevan certainly believes it," she told him. "Lady Sybell is House Spicer, it is a young house, her father was a spice merchant, her mother a maegi from the East. Many people from Lannisport used to buy cures and love potions from her. No Lannister would sink so low as to marry into _that_ sort of family."

"Can I trust them?" Robb asked, his voice soft. "Once the Crag surrenders?" He spoke of the surrender as if it were inevitable, and Lenora did not caution him so she must have believed it too.

She shook her head, "Two things to remember when dealing with the Westerlings," she told him. "My uncle Kevan's words: _more honor than sense_. And their own words: _Honor, not Honors_. They may be poor, and looked down on, but they are proud. And they will defend their honor. They are pledged to House Lannister. Whatever they say to you when they surrender, whatever they do - they will still be Lannister men."

"And you?" Robb asked her, they had had this conversation many times, but sometimes he needed to be reassured. "Will you always be a Lannister man?"

Lenora snorted, "I am not a man," she told him. "And as you have told me several times, I was never a Lannister."

"Forever a Baratheon then?"

She shook her head.

"A Stark?" he asked, hoping she would nod.

Again she shook her head, "I am my own _man_ ," she told him, turning to look at him from her horse. "I belong to no one. I follow my own heart and mind. _That_ , I promise you." Robb nodded, he should have expected this answer. And truth be told, he loved her for it. "I can also promise you that I will never betray you," she added, smiling at the grin that spread across his face when he heard that.

"Or I, you, Nora."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Catelyn_

They came again that same night. The Lannister army. Before retiring for the night Catelyn had commanded that she be woken at once if the enemy returned. And well after midnight, during the hour of the wolf, a serving girl touched her gently on the shoulder. Catelyn had been asleep, but it was a restless sleep and she sat up immediately, demanding to know what was going on.

"The ford again, My Lady," the young girl whispered to her, quickly backing away from Catelyn's bed.

Catelyn had wrapped herself in a bedrobe and climbed to the roof of the keep. From here she could see over the castle walls to the moonlit river below where the battle raged. She was not surprised to see Brienne waiting for her there, it looked as though the young woman had not gotten any sleep, instead opting to stand guard and watch for the enemy.

The moonlight and the Tully watchfires made it relatively easy, even from this height, to watch the battle. The Lannisters were wading across the river, no doubt hoping that with the watchfires the Tully's would be night-blind to their attack. It was a fool's hope, even if the Tully army was blind, it was not deaf. As they waded their way across the river men stepped in hidden pools and went own splashing while others stumbled over stones or gashed their feet on the hidden caltrops.

Too noisy to surprise her brother's men.

The Mallister bowmen sent a storm of fire arrows hissing across the river. They were beautiful, at least while they were flying. A sky full of shooting stars. Catelyn watched, almost mesmerized as the arrows shot through the air below her. She watched as they landed, some landing on the opposite side of the Red Fork, burying their flames in the dirt. Other fizzled out as they landed in the water. But _others_ hit their marks, their arrow heads embedding themselves in human skin, their flames burning the target.

One man, pierced through a dozen times, his clothes afire, danced and whirled in the knee-deep water until he fell and was swept downstream. By the time he bobbed his way past Riverrun, the flames were gone and so was he.

The fight did not last much longer than that. It was strange that they gave up so easily, but no more than ten minutes after the man had floated past Riverrun the Lannister army was already melting back into the darkness of the Eastern bank of the Red Fork. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Brienne did not seem to agree with Catelyn's assessment of the battle. She grimaced when Catelyn asked for her thoughts. "What is the bigger number, My Lady?" she asked, choosing to give Catelyn a riddle rather than answer her question outright, "Five or one?"

"Five," Catelyn answered without hesitating. She wondered briefly what trick she could have missed that would have made one the answer, but she could not think of one.

Brienne nodded and held up her left hand, wiggling all five of her fingers, "Five," she said. Then she held up her right hand, a fist, "One." She was quiet for a moment, waiting until Catelyn had nodded her understanding before she continued, " That was nothing but the brush of Lord Tywin's fingertips, My Lady," she told Catelyn. Her voice was strong and steady, she was so sure of herself and her answer. "He is probing, feeling for a weak point, an undefended crossing. If he does not find one, he will curl all his fingers into a fist and try and make one. That's what I'd do. Were I him."

...

It was three days before Lord Tywin's fist hit the Red Fork, and five days before they heard of it at Riverrun. But it came, just as Brienne had predicted that it would. Catelyn had been sitting with her father when her brother Edmure's messenger found her. His armor was dented, his boots were dirty, and he had a ragged hole in his surcoat, but there was a smile on his face. A smile large enough that she knew the news was good, even before he knelt before her declaring, "Victory, My Lady."

He proudly handed her Edmure's letter and watched her smiling as she broke the seal.

Lord Tywin had tried to force a crossing at a dozen different fords, her brother wrote, but every thrust had been thrown back. Many of his Lords and knights had drowned or been taken prisoner. The fiercest of all the battles had been at Stone Mill, Ser Gregor Clegane had led the assault.

There had been so many dead Lannister men that their dead horses threatened to dam the flow of the river. In the end the Mountain and a handful of his best had gained the West bank but Edmure had thrown his reserve at them, his best knights, and they had shattered, reeled away bloody and beaten.

Ser Gregor himself had lost his horse. He had turned from the West bank and staggered back across the Red Fork, bleeding from a dozen wounds while a rain of arrows and stones fell all around him.

 _They shall not cross, Cat,_ Edmure scrawled across the parchment. _Lord Tywin is marching to the southeast. A feint perhaps, or full retreat, it matters not. They shall not cross._

That night Riverrun's halls were filled with shouts and songs and joy. But Catelyn could not join in any of it. She would not until the fighting was done and she and her children were back home at Winterfell.

Though she could not join in their joy she did not want to dampen it. She left the feast to sit with her father. In his solar she found a heavy leatherbound book of maps and opened it to the Riverlands. Using her finger she found the path of the Red Fork and traced it to Riverrun in the flickering candlelight. _Marching to the Southeast_ , she thought, following the map in that direction. By now they had likely reached the headwaters of the Blackwater Rush, she decided, headed toward King's Landing and Stannis.

She closed the book, still feeling uneasy. The Gods had granted them victory after victory. At Stone Mill, at Oxcross, in the Battle of the Camps, at the Whispering Wood.

They were winning this war and yet she was terrified.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends. It's a beautiful day for an update, isn't it?  
I hope you think so. And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!  
Gearing up for some really fun things in the future, I'll tell you that.  
If you liked the chapter, let me know. That's what the handy little box is for.  
Just down there. You see it don't you? Sitting empty and waiting for a review from you.  
Many, many, many thanks to the heroes who reviewed the last chapter. You guys are wonderful!

 _writingNOOB_ : Don't worry, I just wrote the chapter when Lenora decides to put her indecision to rest forever. It was a pretty good one if I do say so myself. You guys should get to see it on Sunday if everything with my posting goes according to plan.  
And I'm so happy to hear that I've found the balance between Lenora being intelligent and flawed. I would never want her to be too perfect because that would be boring. But I wouldn't want to spend every chapter yelling at her in my head for being ridiculously flawed, you know?  
And you guessed it, the Red Wedding is going to be a pretty big turning point for her. I'm pretty excited about it if I'm being honest.

 _prince711_ : You would think that some of his bannermen would tell him to be cautious. But he's winning. They believe in him, even though he's young and he's given them no reason to doubt him as of yet. And even if they tried, you're right he's a gotten a bit of a big head, I don't think he'd listen, I don't think that he will learn fear until the war starts to turn against him.

 _ZabuzasGir_ l: Thank you!

 _HPuni101_ : You just reviewed the last chapter like half an hour ago and I've already got a new chapter for you! (Didn't want you to have to wait too long!) I hope you enjoyed it.

Boom! That's all for now.  
Maybe I will see you guys back here tomorrow. I think it's supposed to be gross and rainy tomorrow so it will be a perfect writing day.  
Chloe Jane.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two: One That Loves

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I forgot to celebrate this yesterday so here it is: 200,000 words guys! 200,000. Damn._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Two: One That Loves and One That Goes To War_

 _Tyrion_

The city was getting more and more unsafe with each passing day. Tyrion had sent off all of his clansmen to the Kingswood. Their job was to find the men Stannis had sent marching from Storm's End. They knew that Stannis was sailing to King's Landing, but he did not have enough ships for all his men. A large number of his host would be marching.

Tyrion had sent his clansmen through the woods to terrorize Stannis' men. To raid their camps and kill their scouts. He wanted bodies of Baratheon soldiers hanging ahead of the marching army, he wanted the stragglers to be killed where they stood. He wanted his wild clansmen to eat away at Stannis force, to diminish them as much as possible, to weaken them before they arrived at King's Landing.

Even with the departure of his clansmen King's Landing was more crowded today than the day before. People were still pouring into the city, looking for safety from the war. It was stupid, Tyrion thought. Yes, King's Landing had walls, but these small folk who were abandoning their villages and looking for refuge were camping in the very city that would soon be under siege.

They were getting out of hand, as they had the day they sent Myrcella to Dorne. And Tyrion feared that he did not have enough men to keep the peace and defend the city.

He had Bronn's hirelings, about eight hundred of them. But Tyrion would not be stupid enough to place all of his hopes on a bunch of sellswords. With the exception of Bronn, it would seem, sellswords were fickle creatures. He was doing all that he could to buy their loyalty, he even went as far as to promise Bronn and a dozen of his best men lands and knighthoods once the battle had been won.

They had liked that. They drank his ale and laughed at his jokes and called each other _Ser_ that night, but Tyrion did not trust it. Neither had Bronn. The man had smiled at him, a dark smile, and told him after the rest of his men had left, "They'll kill for that knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it."

Tyrion had not needed the warning. He already knew that if the battle turned against them the sellswords would be the first to turn tail and run.

The gold cloaks were just as bad, just as uncertain. He had six thousand men in the City Watch, thanks to Cersei. Six thousand, but only a quarter of them could be relied upon. Ser Jacelyn Bywater had warned him of that. There were a few traitors, though with the help of Bronn and Varys Tyrion liked to believe that he had found most of them. He would never be fool enough to believe that he had found them all though.

Besides the traitors there were several hundred that, in Ser Jacelyn's own words were, "greener than spring grass." They were men who had joined the City Watch recently, seeing it not as a way to gain honor, but as a way to get bread and ale and safety. They were boys who had never held a sword in their life. They would not want to appear craven in front of the other men, they would be brave at the start of the battle. But if at any point it seemed as though the battle was going to turn against them they would run. One or two at first, but that first runner would have a thousand more following close behind.

When they broke, they would break fast.

There were some seasoned men, some good men, in the City Watch. These were the ones that had received their gold cloaks from Robert, when the city was at peace, rather than Cersei. These men had been trained.

But, they had been trained as watchmen and, as his father had once told him, a watchman was not truly a soldier.

Of true soldiers - _knights_ and _squires_ and _men-at-arms_ Tyrion had no more than three hundred.

Three hundred against Stannis' entire host, which had only grown after Renly's death. Tyrion tried not to be nervous. Whenever he thought about how few _true_ fighting men he had compared to Stannis he remembered a time years ago when he and Jaime had brought Lenora to the Rock for a visit.

The girl was young, no more than eight or nine years old. One night, after supper, she had sat beside Tywin in his solar and the two of them had looked at a large map of King's Landing. Tywin had pointed out the city's strengths and weaknesses. He had explained to the girl how his Lannister men had sacked the city during Robert's rebellion. Together, heads bent over the map in front of them, they had planned a defense of the city.

This was nothing new, it was one of Tywin's favorite activities with his granddaughter. But this time he had made it more of a challenge. King's Landing would have one soldier to every five of its enemy's.

Lenora had struggled, she trusted her grandfather, thought that every word out of his mouth was worth its weight in gold. But she could not see how King's Landing could survive under those odds. Tywin had chuckled at the young princess and softly told her, _One man on a wall was worth ten beneath it._

Tyrion did not trust his father's words as much as Lenora had, but he intended to test the truth of it with Stannis.

The city was busy, especially the beggars, the whores, and the fishwives. As he moved through the city streets Tyrion was surprised to see that the busiest people in the capitol were the fishwives, he would have assumed the whores - though, he was no longer visiting them so they had lost a large amount of business there. There was no food coming into King's Landing, it would be stupid to expect it with Robb Stark's war in the Riverlands and Stannis' army marching from Storm's End. Any possible food wagons would be ambushed by those two armies.

The only food coming in was fish, caught by fishermen from the city. As such, the price of it had risen, it was now ten times the amount it had been before the war and Tyrion was sure that it would have risen again by the next morning.

The carpenters were busy, he could hear them even from the Red Keep, working on the Mud Gate, the weakest gate into the city. The one that Stannis was most likely to attack. Under his orders they were extending wooden hoardings from the battlements. They were coming along well. Tyrion was pleased.

He was not pleased by the number of ramshackle structures that had been allowed to grow up behind the quays, attaching themselves to the city walls like barnacles on a ship. They were all manner of businesses: bait shacks, pot-shops, warehouses, merchants' stalls, alehouses, and the cribs where whores cheaper than the ones found in Littlefinger's establishments spread their legs. They had to go, much as it displeased him to get rid of an alehouse or a whorehouse. If they stayed Stannis would hardly need scaling ladders to storm the walls of the city.

He sent Bronn to burn them. To burn everything between the water's edge and the city walls. It would make him enemies, no doubt, but it would make the city safe once Stannis arrived.

It had been done easily enough. Tyrion wished he could make the walls around King's Landing twice as tall and three times as thick just as easily, but that was impossible. And pointless as well. Thick walls and tall towers had not saved Storm's End from Stannis, or Harrenhal from Aegon Targaryen, or Winterfell from Theon Greyjoy.

He could still remember Winterfell, as if he had just left it. It was not as grotesquely large as Harrenhal, or as solid and impregnable to look at as Storm's End. But there was no doubting Winterfell's strength. He remembered the first night they were there, Lenora had sought him out before supper and had explained to him that she had been wrong about Winterfell. _I always called it a castle_ , she explained to him. I _n my letters to him. I always called Winterfell a castle and he never corrected me. But this is not a castle._ She had shaken her head, her eyebrows furrowed as she searched for the correct word to describe her new home. _This is a fortress_.

And, as was usually her way, his clever little niece had been correct. Winterfell was a fortress. There was a great strength in those stones, a sense that within those walls a man might feel safe.

The news that Winterfell had fallen had come as a shock to him. He had not wanted to believe it when Varys had given him the news. _The Gods give with one hand and take with the other_. They had given Robb victory in every battle he fought, and in turn - they took his home.

He should have rejoiced, Gods knew that Cersei did. Robb Stark and his army had to turn north now. He could not take over the Seven Kingdoms if he could not protect his own home. He would march north and winter would come. During the winter the Northern Lords would get comfortable, they would remember what it felt like to be home and they would forget their battle by the time spring came. This loss of Winterfell would mean a reprieve for the West, for House Lannister, but ...

If he closed his eyes he could just barely remember Theon Greyjoy from his visit to Winterfell. The boy had been a proud young man, though much of his self confidence was a false pride. Tyrion Lannister was highly skilled at pretending to be confident when he was not, he could spot it easily in others. The boy was always smiling, always teasing, skilled with a bow. _Some_ at Winterfell seemed to care for him, but it was hard to imagine that any of them would accept him as their Lord. The Lord of Winterfell would always be a Stark.

Lenora had dragged him into their Godswood one morning. It had felt eerie, cold and foggy. He had instantly been reminded of all the stories his septa had told him when he was a child. This was a place of magic, of the Others, and wargs. It felt like a foreign world compared to the Southern world he was used to. Even their trees had been different. Tall sentinels armored in their grey-green needles, the great oaks, the hawthorn and ash and soldier pines. And at the center, the tree he had heard stories about - the Heart Tree. A pale giant with red leaves and a face carved into the trunk, one that looked as if it were bleeding.

When he closed his eyes he could almost smell the place. Earthy and brooding, the smell of centuries. He remembered how dark the wood had been, even during the day.

Lenora had taken it in stride. She had loved it for its foreignness, she had rejoiced in its strangeness and celebrated the newness of it all. But Tyrion had never felt so out of place as he had when he walked in that wood. Even with his sister and his father had never felt like more of an unwelcome intruder as he had in the Stark's Godswood.

That wood _was_ Winterfell. It _was_ the North. He wondered if the Greyjoys would feel it too.

The castle might well be theirs, for now, but never that Godswood.

Not in a year, or ten, or fifty.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Theon_

It was the silence that woke him. Though he did not immediately realize that. It was warm under the furs. His legs were tangled in the sheets and with Kyra's own long legs as well. She was curled up against him, her arm draped over him, her large breasts brushing against his back with each deep, steady breath she took.

She had not woken him up. He sat up slightly, the girl made a sleepy noise of displeasure, but without opening her eyes she quickly adjusted to his new position, still curled around him. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to think of what had woken him. Was it a noise? Had he heard something? Had he heard _someone_?

The wind blew against the shudders, somewhere within Winterfell's walls he heard the yowl of a cat, but there was nothing else. None of his men were calling in alarm, there were no battle horns. There was nothing.

He moved back and wiggled until he was lying down again and told himself to sleep. Winterfell was quiet. He had taken it. It was his. And now it was quiet. He had guards posted. At his door, at the gates, on the armory. All was well.

He would have said it was a bad dream, but he could not remember dreaming. Kyra, the wonderful girl, had worn him out. He had sent for her, told his men to go to Winter Town and find the most beautiful girl they could and bring her to the castle. Until she had entered under those orders she had never seen Winterfell before.

Eighteen years in Winter Town and she had never seen inside Winterfell's walls. She had been in awe. And Theon could not blame her. He could still remember the first time he had seen Winterfell, when he was just a boy. He had not believed that castles could be that big, could look that strong.

She was not particularly beautiful. Theon had seen prettier girls, he had even fucked some of them. But she had come to him wet and eager, and flexible as a weasel. And there had been a certain, undeniable spice to fucking a common tavern wench in Lord Eddard Stark's own bed. He could just imagine the look on the honorable Ned Stark's face if he could have seen what Theon did to Kyra that night.

He could just see the disgust on Lady Catelyn's face, if she had somehow been able to walk in on him. While he was doing all the things that he was sure that Ned Stark had never done to his cold, unfeeling wife.

But the honorable Ned Stark had had a bastard, Jon Snow. While fighting Robert Baratheon's war Ned had found a woman and fucked her, even though his own wife was waiting for him, pregnant at Riverrun. He had fucked her enough to get her with child. And cared for her enough that he had taken that child back to Winterfell with him and raised the boy among his own children.

From what little Robb had told him after he had married Lenora, there were certain things that a man did with whores that he did not do with his wife. And Theon had treated Kyra like a whore that evening.

It was probably the most exciting fuck the bed had ever witnessed.

He still could not sleep. Kyra murmured sleepily as Theon slid out from under her arm and got to his feet. She still did not wake though. He was thankful for that. He wanted to fuck the girl, not talk to her.

A few embers still smoldered in the hearth, but nothing else in the room moved. The world was still. He moved to the window and opened the shutters, leaning against the stone sill, his eyes searching the dark for the dark towers that made up the thick walls of Winterfell.

The night air touched him, cold as winter and goosebumps rose on the skin of his arms and his legs. But the yard was still and the walls were quiet. Above his head there was nothing but a black sky filled with stars, so many that a man would not be able to count them all, not in a thousand lifetimes. Stars and a half-moon.

He told himself that there was nothing wrong as he turned away from the window. He reminded himself that he should be elated. He had taken Winterfell with fewer than thirty men, it was a feat that he was sure the Iron Islands would sing about for generations to come.

He continued toward the bed, maybe he'd have Kyra again. She was still sleeping, but he could roll her onto her back. She would wake up slow, but soon her gasps and her giggles would drive away this silence that was worrying him so.

 _This silence..._

He stopped, a mere foot from the bed, his cock instantly going soft.

Since returning to Winterfell he had become so accustomed to the sound of the direwolves howling that he hardly heard it anymore. He blocked it out. But now, now that they had stopped some part of him, the hunter in him, had noticed their absence, even if his brain had not.

Theon rushed to the door of his bedchamber, not bothering with clothes and quickly opened it. Urzen, the guard he had placed outside his bedchamber before he brought Kyra in was still standing there. He looked surprised to see Theon standing there naked as his first name day, but Theon did not care. "The wolves are quiet," he told the man. "Go and see what they're doing and come straight back."

Urzen nodded and began to move away from the door, but Theon called him back quickly when another thought occurred to him. "And make certain that Bran Stark and his little brother are in their beds as well," he ordered. "Be quick about it."

As worried as he was about Bran and Rickon not being in their beds, truthfully the direwolves worried him more. The thought of them roaming loose around the castle left him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He had fought in the Whispering Wood alongside Robb, he had seen what sort of damage Grey Wind could inflict on a man and Robb had always had more control over his direwolf than his younger brothers had had over theirs. Grey Wind only killed who Robb wanted him to, Bran and Rickon had barely been able to get their wolves to come when called.

He hadn't been in the Wolf's wood the day the wildlings had attacked Bran and Lenora, but he had been there for the aftermath, he had seen what Summer and Shaggy Dog were capable of. Unconsciously his right hand lifted to rub his throat, as if to make sure it was still in tact and did not have a gaping bite mark in it.

As he waited for Urzen to return he moved around the chamber, quickly putting his clothes from the day before on. They were strewn all over the floor, exactly where he had left them when he tore them off, eager to get at Kyra as quickly as he could. His movement must have woken her because she stirred in his bed, "My Lord?" she muttered, looking at him with her eyebrows furrowed together.

"Go back to bed," Theon ordered her. "This does not concern you." She still looked suspicious, but she nodded and laid her head back on the pillow. A moment later her breathing evened out, deep and slow, she had fallen asleep again.

Theon finished dressing, the entire time he waited and listened, hoping to hear a howl. He had _too few men_ he realized as he grew tired of waiting for Urzen and left his bedchamber alone, setting out to check on Bran and Rickon's bedchambers. He had enough men to _take_ Winterfell, he did not have enough men to _hold_ Winterfell.

...

The boys were missing. The wolves were gone. Hodor and that wildling bitch had disappeared. Two of his guards were dead; one with his throat slit, the other torn to pieces by the two wolves and thrown into the moat, ironically sacrificed to the Drowned God the Iron Islanders loved so much. Though Theon was sure that had not been Osha's intention.

No one would tell him what had happened. Not to save Theon, not to save the boys, not save their own skins. He had rounded up all the castle folk and demanded the truth from them. And not one would speak. So a hunt it would be.

They set out a dawn, Theon and several Iron Islanders, Dagmer included, the man was carrying a large sack that Theon could only guess what was inside. He brought Farlen, the kennelmaster against the man's wishes and as many hounds as they could hope to control. He even brought Maester Luwin, the man would be no help during the hunt, he might even work against Theon, but he did not trust the old maester at Winterfell on his own.

As an afterthought he had even allowed one of Lady Catelyn's wards, a boy named Walder, come with them. They assembled by the Hunter's Gate and headed into the Wolfswood as soon as the sky began to grey with the dawn. Ten younger men, one old man, and one boy setting into the dark woods, armed with whatever they thought would protect them best from the direwolves.

Gelmarr had equipped himself with a longaxe whose reach would allow him to strike before the wolves were on him. The blade was heavy enough to kill with one strike.

Aggar wore steel greaves.

Theon had a bow, he would need nothing else. He had fought in the Whispering Wood, helped protect his King with an arrow. He hoped that he would not need to take Robb's brothers' lives with another. This was not the bow he was used to, he had left his with Lenora. But it would do its job and it would do it well.

He had thought that Osha would lead the giant and the children south, toward where Robb fought. To Riverrun and their mother. But her trail was North, she headed to the wall where Jon would be able to protect them.

The sun rose in the sky, but the woods, as always, remained dark. The higher the sun rose in the sky the more nervous Theon became, but he told himself to be patient. The four they chased were on foot, Theon would have them before the sun set.

Maester Luwin rode up beside him some point during midday. "Thus far hunting seems indistinguishable from riding in the woods, My Lord," he told him, his voice full of a feigned indifference.

Theon smiled at him, refusing to rise to the bait, "There are similarities," he told the old man. "But with a hunt there is always blood at the end."

Their path led to the mill, and then they lost it. No matter how much the hound sniffed, or how angry Theon got, they could not pick up a new scent. Only the one, only the one that had brought them to the mill in the first place.

Theon stood, glaring at the Miller, his wife, and the two brats they had taken in to help run the mill with all the men gone for the war. He was so angry. He had taken Winterfell, but he could not expect to hold it without Bran and Rickon. The North would never accept him unless he had Bran and Rickon Stark.

Dagmer called his name, trying to get his attention, finally he moved to stand directly in front of Theon, forcing him to look up at him. "Send the old man home," the older Ironborn ordered. "Send them all home."

"Why?" Theon asked, they had not found the boys yet, he did not intend to return to Winterfell without them.

"Send them home," Dagmer ordered again. Then he dropped his voice lower, to a whisper. "I have an idea of where the little lords went."

Theon nodded, "I will stay here with Dagmer," he announced. "The rest of you may return to Winterfell with the Hounds. I have no need of them now. I know where Bran and Rickon are hiding.

"Prince Theon," Maester Luwin called from his horse. "You will remember your promise? Mercy, you said." He was practically begging for the boys' lives.

Theon's jaw tightened, "Mercy was for this morning," he told the old man. "Before they made me angry."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was unsure of what she felt more of. She was feeling relief and worry in equal parts.

Relief because he was leaving the main host.

Worry because he would be so far away.

Relief because, if the Gods were good, it would be many moons before she saw him again.

Worry because he would be so far out of Robb's control.

Relief because Lord Roose Bolton made her feel so uncomfortable.

Worry because she did not trust him to act in Robb's best interest so far away from his King.

But someone needed to go. Her grandfather had left almost no one at Harrenhal, Robb wanted to continue west toward the Crag, but he could not leave Harrenhal in Lannister hands while he did so. And he trusted Roose, no matter how much Lenora distrusted the man, Robb believed he could count on him.

If anyone could take Harrenhal quickly, and hold it, it would be Roose Bolton.

And so, at his last supper at camp before marching east, Lenora had allowed Robb to invite the man and his favorite soldiers to feast in their tent. She smiled at the older man when she told him to sit at Robb's left in the place of high honor. She giggled at his compliments and sat to his left. Understanding that the best way to keep Roose on the path Robb set for him was to make him understand just how important he was to his King.

Roose was kind to her. He spoke more to her during the feast than he did to Robb. And for a few moments Lenora could almost see the man that Robb saw when he looked at him. She could almost understand why Roose Bolton was one of Robb's most trusted bannermen.

"I must congratulate you, Lord Bolton," Lenora told him, forcing her voice to stay light, as she reached for her wine goblet. It was empty.

"And why is that, Your Grace?" Roose asked as he held up the decanter of wine and offered to pour more in her goblet. Lenora nodded silently in gratitude and the man filled her cup.

She took a sip before she answered, "I have just now heard that you were recently married," she told him. "You must have done it in secret because I did not hear about it until Lord Karstark told me this afternoon."

Roose smiled at her and nodded, "Yes, Your Grace, I have remarried."

"And I hope it was for love," Lenora told him, watching him over the rim of her cup. "So often a man's first marriage is out of duty. His second is for love. Not all men are lucky enough to marry for love the first time around."

"Our King seems to have been one of the fortunate ones," Roose told her, glancing at Robb before turning back to Lenora. Robb was not part of their conversation, he was not listening in, but he must have heard Roose say the word _King_ because when Lenora looked up she met his sparkling blue eyes over Roose's head.

She could not hide the smile on her face as she continued speaking to Roose. "He certainly seems to think so," she agreed. "Though, his father and my father agreed to the match long before Robb thought himself in love with me. It was a marriage of duty, that bloomed into love." She took another sip of her wine, "But," she continued. "We were speaking of your marriage, not mine, My Lord. Tell me of your new Lady Bolton."

Roose smiled, as if he was hearing some joke that Lenora was not. "Her name is Walda," he told her.

"Walda?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "Now, Lord Bolton, correct me if I am wrong, but is Lady Walda by any chance from House Frey?"

Roose chuckled and nodded, "She is," he told her, though it was not a surprise. A name like Walda could only come from seeking favor with Lord Walder Frey. "You are as clever as you are beautiful, Your Grace."

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Lord Bolton," Lenora scolded, though she was careful to keep a smile on her lips. "It is not that hard to realize that _Walda_ is very similar to _Walder_." Roose nodded, silently giving her the point. "Is she beautiful?" Lenora asked, fishing. She wanted to know why Roose Bolton had decided to remarry, his first wife had died many years ago and he had never shown any desire to remarry. And she was curious as to why he had chosen a wife from House Frey. Roose Bolton was a proud man, from what she knew of him he would see marrying a Frey as beneath him.

"She is beautiful," he told her with a nod. "In her own _little_ sort of way, I suppose."

"She must be very beautiful," Lenora told him. "Otherwise you would have brought her here. Surely a newlywed bride would not want to be left from her husband for so long."

Roose shook his head, "An army camp or a march is no place for her, I assure you, Your Grace."

Lenora raised her eyebrows, "But it is a place for me?" she asked.

Roose smiled at her, his pale eyes scanning her body in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She forced herself to sit still and not shudder under his gaze. "You seem to not only be well suited for the ways of war, Your Grace, but made for it. You enjoy long rides, which is good because war marches are full of them. My new wife, would not be so well suited for a horse, and as war is no place for a wheel house - she would have no other way to travel."

"Your wife does not like horses?" Lenora asked. "That is understandable, few women do."

"Horses do not like my wife," Roose told her, still smiling that secretive smile.

And there it was, Lenora realized, the secret joke that she had not heard. There was something about Lord Bolton's new wife. Something he found amusing.

"And why not?" she asked, ready to get to the root of it.

Roose smiled, wide, though he did not show his teeth. "Lord Walter let me choose any of his granddaughters," he told her, taking a sip from his own cup. The older man did not drink wine, Lenora had noticed he had been drinking water the entire night. "He is so desperate to marry off some of his many grandchildren that he promised me the girl's weight in silver as a dowry."

Lenora nodded, her lips forming a silent _O_ shape, she now understood why he had said that horses did not like his wife. He shrugged his shoulders, his smile softening a bit. "So I have a fat, young bride."

Lenora nodded, a bit disgusted though she did not want him to see it. "I hope she makes you very happy," she told him.

Roose smiled and nodded, "Well, she's made me very rich."

He watched her for a moment and Lenora was sure that he could read her thoughts, that he knew just how disgusted she was in that moment. But if he could read her thoughts and feelings he did not let on. Instead he stood from his seat, water glass in hand and waited until everyone around the table quieted before he spoke.

First he nodded to Robb, "Your Grace," he said, "allow me a moment to say a few words?" Robb nodded and Lenora was sure that he was going to toast his King. But Roose Bolton was an intelligent man and he knew one of the best ways to please his King was to praise his Queen. So instead he turned to Lenora and smiled down at her. "Your Grace," he said, holding his hand out to her.

Lenora glanced at Robb, her eyebrows raised. He nodded and she smiled as she slipped her hand into Roose's and allowed him to pull her from her chair.

Once she was standing Roose continued, "I have often heard it said that the Gods created two kinds of hearts. A woman's heart and a man's. One that loves, and one that goes to war. But our beautiful Queen is the perfect example of the third kind of heart. A woman with the heart of a warrior. Not only do you love, but you go to war for those you love. King Robb could not have given us a better Queen than you, even if he had searched his whole life. I have no doubt while I march to take Harrenhal that you will take the best care of our King. And once this war is won, and the false King Joffrey no longer sits on the throne I am sure that the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms will know just how lucky we are to have you as our Queen."

Robb was grinning, he was so pleased with Roose's statement that he stood from his chair to clap the older man on his shoulders. Lenora was a bit quieter with her praise, inclining her head and curtsying with one hand as Roose still held her right hand. Her eyes narrowed as she sank into her curtsy, she was sure that Roose Bolton was playing a game; she just did not know which, or how to win.

When she rose from her curtsy she smiled, "Lord Bolton," she told him as she pulled her hand free from his grasp. "If only we all had your way with words."

Roose chuckled at her, "If only _we_ all had your way with a sword, Your Grace," he told her. The men around the table laughed as if it were a joke, but the careful way his pale eyes watched her told Lenora that the Lord was anything but jesting.

She nodded, "To tell you true," she told him, "I would choose the blade over the words any day. So you can keep your words and I will keep my sword."

It was a veiled threat, but one she was sure he understood as she walked away.

* * *

Author's Note:

200,000 words. Shit guys, that's a lot. And there's still so many words to come.  
It's crazy. Thank you so much for your support! Without you guys this story would not have gotten past the few thousand words of the first few chapters. So you're pretty amazing.  
Especially all of you who review. Those of you that read each chapter, but do not review, owe each and every update to the wonderful souls who do!  
Want to join that club? It's not very exclusive. We don't have any dues or fees. All you have to do is write out a little review in that empty box down there. Do that and you're in.  
Simple right?

 _RHatch89_ : Oh you guys are so worried about Robb and the Red Wedding! I just want to tell you guys what I have planned, but I don't want to ruin it. So I won't say anything, except that you are right, they are stronger together. Though, Lenora can be pretty strong on her own.

 _writingNOOB_ : Seriously, three of the four new reviews are about Robb. I have you guys so worried about him. It's fantastic. I suppose I didn't introduce myself, hello I am Chloe Jane and I am a sadist. I laugh at other people's fears. Just kidding.  
You are right as well, friend, this story is very much about Lenora and Robb. So I imagine that the Red Wedding will not be completely cannon. Though you will all have to wait and see.  
And trust that I know what I'm doing.

 _sltsky96_ : Don't be upset, I love Robb too. And try not to worry, we still have many, many chapters until we get to the Red Wedding and you see what I have planned.

 _Guest_ : Thank you! I'm glad you like it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've got for now!  
Have a fantastic day!  
Chloe Jane.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three: You Are a Wolf

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I have a poll on my profile page that you guys should check out. (In fact, two of you already have!)_

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Three: You Are a Wolf_

 _Arya_

She had to do it. Something had not felt right. They had been whispering at Harrenhal for days about how Lord Roose Bolton was on the march, getting closer every day. The Mountain, who Lord Tywin Lannister had left in control of the castle had not stayed for long before Lord Tywin sent word that he was needed in the Riverlands. He had left barely anyone at Harrenhal, just enough Lannister to soldiers to ensure that none of the castle folk and prisoners escaped. He did not leave enough to defend the castle against an attack.

And Roose Bolton meant to attack. They all knew it.

He was her brother's bannerman, the soldiers he brought were her brother's men. She could have stayed at Harrenhal and when they arrived she could have told him who she was, there was sure to be someone in the party who could confirm her identity. They would have brought her straight to her brother's camp, or her mother at Riverrun.

But something had not felt right.

And Arya Stark had survived this long using her gut.

When something did not feel right, she left.

When someone made her uncomfortable, she left.

When she was scared and frightened, she reminded herself that she was a wolf and she fought.

She had to leave Harrenhal, she knew that much, though she was unsure of why she had to bring these two with her.

The sky was dark above them, just as black as the walls of Harrenhal, if she turned in her saddle she would still be able to see the dark castle walls behind them, the castle was so large that it loomed over them, even now.

She did not turn.

The rain was falling, soft enough to see through, but steady. It muffled the sound of the horses' hooves and ran down her face.

It was cold.

She had set their path north, away from the lake. At the moment they were following a rutted farm road across the torn fields and into the woods and streams. Since she was the most comfortable on a horse she had taken the lead, kicking her stolen horse into a brisk trot, going as fast as she could with those two following behind her until the trees closed in behind them, hiding them from any watchful eyes in the castle.

Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. Though, she would have moved faster without them.

She should have left them.

She could leave them now.

But she didn't. No one spoke; Arya because she was worried of who or what their voices would attract, the boys because they were too afraid of what they had seen at the castle.

The boys were stupid.

Once they were in the woods and she would not be able to see the castle when she turned around she would look, from time to time, over her shoulder. She wanted to see if the boys had fallen from their horses (they hadn't) or if they were being followed (they weren't).

They would be pursued, she knew that much. It would have been one thing if they had just left. That might have gone unnoticed, that might have kept them safe. But she had killed a man, they had stolen steel, and horses. They would be followed.

Someone would find that guard with his throat slashed open, lying dead in his own blood and the cry would go out. They would send someone after the murderer. They would send someone after the traitor.

Arya Stark meant to be as far as possible from Harrenhal before that happened.

That would only work if the boys could just keep up.

She should have left them. But she had needed something from each of them. She had needed a sword from Gendry in the forge, he could not have given her one without being caught. She had to take him. And she needed food from Hot Pie in the kitchens, he would have been beaten if he had been caught. It was not as bad as dead, but she could not let Hot Pie get beaten for helping her, she had to take him as well.

Those were the lies she told herself, much like the names on her list that she whispered every night before she fell asleep. She would never be able to kill Cersei or Joffrey. And she would not have left the boys at Harrenhal without her, even if she could have gotten everything she needed without their help.

They had ridden for the Wall from King's Landing with her. They had seen Yoren die with her. And Lommy too.

And Gendry had kept her secret. He had sworn that he would not tell a soul that she was Arya Stark of Winterfell and he had kept his word.

They were her friends.

And at the moment they were the closest thing to family that she had.

So she had brought them. Though, she wished, that she could have brought Jaqen H'ghar with her as well, but the man was lost to her now. He had left her with nothing but a funny little coin. Though, the coin had already had its use, Arya could admit to that. "Valor Morghulis," Arya murmured quietly, testing out the words on her tongue to make sure that she had not forgotten them.

She hadn't, but she knew she wouldn't.

They were important.

Gendry had put up a fight when she first woke him and told him to steal her a sword. But she had been sure that he would listen to her. They were friends after all.

She should have killed that stable boy though, the one who had helped her saddle and bridle the horses. She had told him that the Bloody Mummers had asked for three horses, he was half asleep and his listened to her, if he had been anymore awake he would have told her no. She hoped that they would not hurt him in the morning when they saw the three missing horses, but she knew they would. She should have killed him, quick and painless.

She regretted that.

She had waited for what felt like hours for the boys to join her near the Ghost Tower at the postern gate. She was about to leave without them, sword and food be damned when they finally arrived. They moved louder than she did, if they were not careful they would be caught.

There was still the guard at the gate to take care of. Arya told the boys to stay with the horses, that she would take care of the guard. Hot Pie told her to hoot like an owl when she was ready for them to join her.

That was a stupid idea. "I am not an owl," Arya had told him, a bit indignant. "I am a wolf. I'll howl."

When she had walked toward the gate and the guard she walked quickly, to keep ahead of her fear. And it was as though Syrio Forel walked beside her, and Yoren, and Jaqen H'ghar, and Jon Snow. She reached behind her to the small of her back where she kept the newly stolen dagger, for a moment she thought maybe even the warrior princess Lenora walked beside her as well.

There was only one guard at the postern gate, but there would be sentries walking the wall. She knew one thing for certain, _he must not call out_. She would have to be fast, like a snake.

She made no effort to hide, but approached the guard openly as if she had been sent on someone's orders. He watched her come, curious as to what might bring a page to the dark gate at such a black hour. He was wearing chain mail underneath his fur cloak, she did not know if she would be able to drive her dagger through the steel into his heart. It would be his throat she went after.

"Lord Vargo sent me," she told him, naming the leader of the Bloody Mummers, once she was close enough that he would be able to hear her quiet voice.

"At this hour?" the guard had asked, he was suspicious. "Why for?"

"He told me to give all his guards a silver piece," she told him, "for their good service."

He did not believe her, but he _wanted_ to. And that was enough for her plan to work. He demanded the silver. She fumbled her way into her tunic and pulled out the coin that Jaqen had given her. It was not silver, but in the dark it would pass as such. She held it out to him and as he reached to grab it she let it slip from her fingers to the ground.

Her cursed her as he knelt to the ground, groping in the dark for the coin. His neck was there, waiting for her dagger. Arya slid her dagger out and drew it across his throat, the skin cut like butter. His blood covered her hands in a warm rush. He tried to shout, but he could not call out.

There was blood in his mouth.

"Valor Morghulis," she had whispered as he died.

Once he stopped moving a wolf had howled somewhere beyond the gate. She knelt to pick up the coin and put it back in her tunic. By the time she stood Gendry and Hot Pie had brought the horses.

They did not question her again once they passed the gates. Whatever they thought, it was clear that they believed that she knew what she was doing.

She looked down at her hands, they clutched tight to the reins. The night was dark, there was no moon and even if there had been it would not have shone on her through the thick trees.

But all the same, she was sure that she could still see the guard's blood on her hands.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

"You'll want to hit at night," Lenora told him from her seat across the table from him.

"You said that their garrison was small," Robb argued. "You said they were outmanned. You said that they could not even afford to repair the defenses on their own castle." These were all things she had told him about the Crag, the seat of House Westerling. They were all also reasons for why they could storm the Crag in the daylight.

And Robb so desperately wanted to fight in the daylight. He had not yet fought a single battle in the sun.

Lenora seemed to sense his desire, it was as if she could read it on his face, "And you miss fighting in the light?" she asked him, cooing at him as a woman might coo at a baby or a small child.

He huffed, a bit annoyed, he had asked for her help planning the attack because he trusted her. And with Roose Bolton marching to take Harrenhal he had needed someone with a good, strong battle mind to help him plan. He had not asked her to help him so that she could laugh at him.

She smiled at him, no longer teasing him, but sympathetic. "I know, my love," she told him, her voice gentle. "I know how it must feel, all this sneaking around in the darkness. You must think that it is cowardly."

Robb nodded, surprised that she was so easily able to guess at what he felt. He had not expected that.

Lenora nodded, silently watching him for a moment before she continued, "But you must see that it is the smartest plan. The Westerlings will only be guarding the Crag with a garrison, it is true. And they cannot afford to repair their castle's defenses, also true. And compared to the six thousand men you bring with you they are outmanned. But if you wait until daylight they will be able to see you coming. They can reach out for help."

"From who?" Robb argued. "Ashemark? We have that?"

Lenora laughed, "From who?" she asked. "How about from Banefort or Sarsfield or the Golden Tooth, Lannisport, Casterly Rock itself?" She shook her head, leaning across the table to get closer to him. "They know what you're doing now. They know that you are attacking around the Rock to draw my Grandfather out of the Riverlands and to meet you here, so that the bulk of the damage is done to his own lands. It's an intelligent plan, but an obvious one. You don't think any of the other unconquered vassal houses might be willing to send some men here, to the Crag, to meet you far away from their own House seats. It would be an excellent reward for them if they could beat you here with little to no damage done to their own lands."

Robb nodded, he could see the value in what she had to say.

Lenora smiled at him once she was sure that he would listen to her. "But march through the night, attack before dawn. They won't have time to ask for help." She reached across the table and grabbed his hand, holding it between her own. "I know that you want to fight in the daylight," she told him again, her voice sympathetic. "But you are a wolf. And when does a wolf hunt its prey?"

Robb sighed, she had him and judging by the smile on her face she knew it, "At night," he told her, rolling his eyes as her smile widened into a cheeky grin.

"During the hour of the wolf," she told him with a nod. "It's _your_ hour. I am just asking you to _use_ it."

Robb nodded at her and grinned, "How lucky I am that you are on my side," he told her, standing from his chair so that he could lean across the table and press a kiss against her smiling lips. "I would have lost this war if you were with Lord Tywin."

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, a rueful smile resting on her lips, "As much fun as my grandfather had planning battles with me he would never ask for my advice or my counsel." She shook her head, "No," she told him. "If I were with Lord Tywin he would have already married me off to one of his Lords and sent me safely away from any battles."

Robb smiled at her, wide and wolfish, "Then," he said, "how lucky you are that you are on my side."

"Yes," Lenora told him with a bemused smile. "How lucky I am."

Robb chuckled at her as he sat back down in his seat. "And how would you have the battle go, Nora?" he asked her.

"Have Smalljon Umber and Black Walder Frey lead scaling parties over the walls," she told him. "At different entry points, near the two side gates. The castle is on a cliff overlooking the Sunset Sea, it does not have a postern gate."

"And what would you have me do?" he asked her.

"Take your main force and break through the main gate with a battering ram. With your men coming from the sides and you from the front - you will make quick work of the garrison and the castle will be yours. Useless as that will be."

"Useless?" Robb asked, chuckling. "Useless? I will have another castle. I will have captured another Lannister bannerman. I would not call it useless."

Lenora shook her head, "You will get no herd animals from the Westerings. You will get no gold or silver. You will get very few men, mostly prisoners. And as far as my Grandfather goes - he did not come to you after Oxcross. He did not come to you when you sacked Ashemark. He does not care enough about the Westerlings to come give them their castle back. He will not come to you now."

"Perhaps not," Robb agreed with her. "And perhaps he will not come to me when I take the next vassal seat either. But eventually he will have to. And when he does I mean to have control over all of his western lands."

Lenora watched him for a moment, her grey eyes narrowed as she thought about what he said. Finally she nodded, "Just so," she told him. Two little words that he had come to realize meant that she approved.

He nodded too, "Just so," he repeated, grinning at her when a smile spread across her lips. "Now, Nora, come here," he told her, trying to force his voice to sound strong and determined though it was hard to do when he was grinning so widely.

"Why?" Lenora asked, staying in her seat, her arms crossed over her chest defiantly.

"Because all of this talk of war has made my blood rise," he told her, moving across the table so that he could lift her into his arms and carry her toward their bed. "And I mean to have you at least twice before I march to another battle."

She laughed, light as air, "Just so," she whispered, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth before he threw her onto the bed.

She giggled as he crawled up the bed to hover over her, his hands on either side of her head holding him up so that he did not crush her. He looked down at her, his brow purposefully furrowed. "What?" she asked, her own brow furrowing. "What's wrong?"

"I just realized something," he told her, staring down at her. "You forgot one thing with all your planning."

Lenora raised her right eyebrow, "I did?" she asked. "And what is that?"

"Where you will be during the battle."

She shook her head, "Waiting," she told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "With the Silent Sisters." Robb shook his head silently. Lenora watched him and mimicked, shaking her own head though she was less sure than he was, "I won't be waiting with the Silent Sisters?" she asked.

"No," Robb told her, his voice determined. He had been thinking about this for a few weeks. Lenora seemed satisfied with helping the Silent Sisters but he knew she longed to be part of the battle. She was the best swordsman he had ever seen. The battle at the Crag would be an easy one, she was not the only one who seemed to think so, many of his bannermen believed the surrender would come easy. And with Roose Bolton marching to Harrenhal she had just lost the biggest opposition to her fighting on the field. Robb would worry about her, yes, but as far as battles went this one would be the gentlest.

"Where will I be?" she asked. She bit her lip, she no doubt knew what she hoped his answer would be, but she did not want to guess and be disappointed when she guessed wrong.

"Where would you like to be?" Robb asked her.

She thought for a moment, worrying her lip between her teeth before her eyes darted up to his face, shining silver. "The main gate," she told him. "With you."

Robb nodded, "Done."

Her eyes widened, she had not expected that. "Really?" she asked him. "Truly?"

He nodded, "You'll have Grey Wind of course," he told her. "Between the two of us you will be safe enough."

She didn't care about Grey Wind though. Her hands flew to his cheeks and framed his face, pulling him down on top of her so that she could press her lips to his in a harsh kiss.

...

He did as she suggested, the Smalljon and Black Walder were given scaling parties, five hundred men each. They were to scale the walls and kill any guards or archers they came upon before climbing down the other side and onto the castle grounds. Here they would split, Black Walder's men would move toward the back of the castle grounds, looking for anyone who meant to run away or hide. The Smalljon would move toward the front of the castle grounds to meet Robb who would lead the force from the gate in.

Allowing her to take part in the battle had made Lenora so happy. But as he sat on his horse there with his small wife riding beside him Robb felt nervous. What if he had made a mistake allowing her to join him? What if something happened to her. She was wearing pants again and a tunic. She did not have much in the way of armor, only a breastplate. It was the same small, feminine looking one that she had packed at Winterfell so many months before.

He shifted in his saddle and she turned to look at him, "Something wrong?" she asked him. It was still dark, but off to the East, if he squinted the sky seemed to beginning to grey with the dawn. They were waiting for the signal from the Smalljon or Black Walder that they had scaled the walls.

He shook his head, "I wish you would have worn mail," he told her. As his squire was dressing him for battle he had begged Lenora to put on a chainmail shirt over her tunic but she had fought him on it every time.

And she fought him now. "I can't move as well in mail," she told him. "One of my advantages is that I am small and fast. Faster than anyone in armor would be. Mail would only slow me down." She was right, he could not argue with her. If anyone knew what would be most to her advantage it was Lenora. But she looked so small beside him, so easy to kill without any armor. She had turned away from him, but it was as if she could feel his eyes on her. "Stop worrying," she ordered him. "I will be fine."

He nodded, and turned away from her. "How's the horse?" he asked. He had lent her a horse because the girl loved Casterly too much to bring him into battle. The horse was made for it, big and strong, but Lenora could not bear the thought of him dying. Robb had laughed when she told him that, and she had acted as if he were crazy when he had said the same thing about her.

She shifted in the saddle, "Slower than Cas," she told him honestly. "I don't know this one, and he does not know me. It will take a while for us to understand each other." She nodded, "But he will do."

"Good," Robb told her. He wanted to say more, he wanted to beg her to change her mind, but there was no time. A moment later they heard it, the war horn. One of the scaling parties had made it to the top of the wall surrounding the castle.

Lenora turned to look at him, her left hand tightening on her reins as her right hand reached for her sword. "I love you," she told him. "Come back to me safe and whole."

Robb nodded, "I love you," he told her as well. "And you better do the same."

Then he rode away from her to rally his men, riding back and forth in front of them and shouting any last minute commands. Then when he was sure they were ready he turned to face the castle, his sword held high overhead, "Winterfell!"

They charged, most on horses though there were many men on foot, carrying the battering ram that would be used to smash open the main gate. When he got to the gate Robb commanded those carrying the battering ram. "One, two, three," he yelled, on three the men swung the ram into the gate, the wood and iron buckled under the force, but did not break. "Again!" Robb yelled, listening to the sounds of shouts from the wall above him.

Some of the shouts came from his own men. Others were the Westerling garrison, trying to organize. Lenora had been right, attacking at night had been best. As his men swung the ram again he looked around over his shoulder for Lenora. She was a ways behind him, atop her horse, his direwolf at her side. He nodded at the wolf as the ram hit the gate again, some of the wood splintering, leaving a gash in the wood, the wolf would keep her safe.

Three more swings it took to break the gate open. And then Robb led his men into the castle grounds. There were a fair number of soldiers waiting for them, but nothing compared to Oxcross or the Whispering Wood. Very few horses. Robb's force, most of them horsed, would cut through these men in quick time.

He spared one more look for Lenora before he began his attack. He could not see her.

His horse galloped forward, knocking a man to the ground and trampling him under his hooves. Robb pulled the visor of his helm down over his eyes and began to fight, swinging his sword at the men standing below him. From his horse his sword swung at neck level, quickly taking off a man's head in a spurt of blood.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Of all the things she had learned of war since Robb had marched her from Winterfell, the most surprising to her was that she hated fighting from a horse. She was too high from the ground which might have worked for some men, but it did not work for her. When she had practiced with her uncle he had never trained her on a horse. She was used to fighting a man on her feet, dancing around him and looking in his eyes as she won the fight. It was taking her too long to get used to the horse, she did not have the freedom she had on her feet and she seemed to be injuring more men than she killed. From her time with the Silent Sisters she knew just how much pain an injured man could be in so after a few minutes she jumped down from her horse.

Once both of her feet were on the ground she felt much more sure of herself.

A man ran at her from the left, his sword held with both hands over his head intent on swinging the sword down and cutting her in half from the top of her head to her feet. Lenora had no more than a second to react. She threw her sword up, above her head, her right hand held the handle, her left hand the blade.

When the man swung his sword down the blade hit hers, driving the edge into her left palm and cutting it open, but it saved her head. With a grunt Lenora extended her arms, pushing the man and his sword away from her. He seemed bewildered as Lenora advanced on him, her sword ready. He swung again, this time from the left and Lenora swung her sword arm out, catching the edge of the man's blade and sending it flying from his hand. He should have kept both hands on the handle, she thought as she advanced on the now weaponless man. He had not been comfortable with a sword, he did not know how to hold it. He did not know how to keep it.

He fell to his knees, begging like a child for her mercy. Asking her to spare him his life for the love he bore for her family. For a moment she hesitated, and then she saw it, the way his hand was moving at his side, searching for his sword. He meant to distract her, and once he had found his sword he meant to kill her. She felt very little regret when she pulled her sword arm back, just for a moment before she extended it, the point of her sword cutting through the man's vocal cords and throat. It was too easy, the movement was smooth like summer silk, his throat opened as easily as a warm roll. The blood that spurted onto her face was warm and smelled metallic. He made a gurgling noise as she pulled her sword from his throat, she could see the blood bubbling in the hole she had just created in his throat. And then he fell to the ground. If he was not dead yet, he would be soon.

She heard a growl behind her and she turned just in time to see Grey Wind jump on a Crag man who had been moving in on her. The wolf had been watching out for her, but she realized she would have to be faster, more in tune with her senses from now on. She could not stand still and watch every man die, it left her unprotected.

She spun looking around her to make sure that no man meant to attack her. She did not seem in immediate danger at the moment, so she moved forward to look for some. All around her she could hear the sounds of battle. Steel clashing against steel, horses whining and dying, men dying. There were archers on the wall, firing down into the fight below. Where were the Smalljon and Black Walder? They were supposed to be killing them.

Lenora moved toward the wall, running beside it until she found a narrow flight of stairs that would bring her to the top. If she had Bran's skills she would have simply climbed the wall. But that boy had been special. With a quick look over her shoulder to make sure that no one was following her she darted up the stairs to the wall. The archers were slow, they had to take the time to nock each arrow. They had to aim. Lenora kept low, ran quickly, zig zagged as she made her way along the top of the wall.

She stabbed the first archer she encountered in the stomach, he was wearing mail and she was unable to cut through the metal shirt. The man had the nerve to laugh at her and that was what drove Lenora to anger. She growled, low in her throat as she ducked a little lower and drove her shoulder into the man's side, grinning when she knocked him off balance and onto the ground. Then she stood, and used her right foot to kick him in the ribs and off the wall to the yard below.

The second one was a little cleaner. He had his arrow nocked, his bow drawn, he was aiming for her, but she was too close, she swung her sword, knocking the man's bow off its target, sending his arrow shooting away from her. As he reached for another arrow she moved in on him.

There was another archer behind him, ready for her, she could see the man over the first archer's shoulder. She grabbed the man's arm and with her sword pressed against his back, just below his shoulder blade, she used the man as a shield. When the second archer loosed his arrow it hit his companion in the chest. Lenora shoved her body shield forward, away from her and moved forward, quickly stabbing the third archer in his stomach. This one did not have mail, Lenora wrapped both of her hands around the handle of her sword, flinching when her left hand burned in pain and groaned as she pulled the blade upward, cutting the man open from his belly button to the bottom of his ribs. He fell when she pulled her sword out.

She did not see the man coming, but she heard him. He yelled as he rushed at her from behind, using his shield to hit the back of her head and knock her out.

As much as she fought the darkness, it came anyway.

...

She began to wake up to the sound of someone calling to her. It wasn't Robb, he would not have called her _Your Grace_ or _Queen Lenora_. She frowned and tried to wave them off, she wanted Robb. There was a shooting pain in her left hand, she grimaced. "That's right, Little Queen," the voice encouraged her. "It's time to wake up."

She opened her eyes and squinted against the sunlight, trying to determine who had woken her up. It was a man, a big one, and he was grinning at her. The Smalljon.

"You gave us quite a scare, Your Grace," he told her as he knelt at her side. "To come to this part of the wall and find you laying on the ground. I did not want to be the one to tell King Robb that you had died."

Lenora nodded, forcing a grim smile on her lips, "But I didn't," she told him, just in case he needed the extra reassurance.

"No you did not," he agreed. "You're made of tougher stuff than that. No man is going to kill you with just a shield. Knock you out, maybe, but it won't kill you."

"Did we win?" Lenora asked him.

"Aye, Little Queen, we won. They didn't have many men. That wolf tore apart a knight that had been serving the family for almost twenty years, right in front of their eldest daughter. And with Lord Gawen already King Robb's prisoner it did not take much for his son and the castellan to surrender. They did it shortly after I found you, after you went on an archer rampage."

He was laughing at her, she could tell. Though he was not teasing her. The large Northman wouldn't say it, but he was proud to have a Queen like her. She started to sit up, grimacing when she tried to push off her left hand and it protested in pain. "Well someone had to do _your_ job," she told him, teasing him back.

"It's a shame that you did not get up here sooner," the Smalljon told her.

Her eyebrows furrowed, "Why?" she asked him, confused.

He seemed surprised that she had to ask. "You didn't see it?" he asked her. "From what I heard it happened not far from you and that wolf." Lenora shook her head, whatever she hadn't seen was bad, she could tell. The Smalljon looked down at the ground as if afraid to give her the news, "I'm sorry, Your Grace," he told her. "King Robb took an arrow through the arm," he told her. "Soon after entering the gate. He fought bravely, despite the wound."

Lenora shook her head violently, it hurt, she groaned when she lifted her hand to find a gash at the base of her skull, when she pulled her hand away it back bloody, though none of that mattered if the Smalljon was about to tell her that her husband was dead. He watched her for a moment, his face grim before his face split into a grin, "He's alright, Your Grace," he told her. "The maester is seeing to him now."

Lenora nodded and using her right hand she pushed herself to her feet, she stumbled a bit, dizzy and the Smalljon reached out a hand to the small of her back to steady her. "I will go see him as well," she told him.

The Smalljon shook his head, "Forgive me, Your Grace," he told her. "But I would see you to the maester before you go to the king." Lenora wanted to argue, but the Smalljon continued speaking, "You were knocked unconscious. Your head is bleeding, your left hand is cut almost to the bone. The sight of you as you are now would not help the king heal. Let the maester see to your wounds first, then see the king."

Lenora sighed, she wanted to argue with him, but she could see that he had the right of it. "He's being taken good care of?" she asked him. She needed to know that before she agreed to wait to see him. If he was alone, or asking for her, she would not be able to leave him until she was fixed up. She would go to him, bloody and beaten, and take care of him herself.

The Smalljon nodded, "Lady Jeyne Westerling is seeing to that, Your Grace."

Lenora rolled her eyes, the Westerlings had surrendered. They were no doubt looking for a way to maintain their lands after the war ended. It would not matter to them that Robb had a wife, they would try to tempt him with their daughter. She could not blame them, many other Houses in the Seven Kingdoms would do that before the end of the war. "I am sure she is," she murmured, her tone dark.

The Smalljon nodded, "Of course, Your Grace," he told her. He paused, his eyes darting away from her. There was something else too. Before she could ask the lord answered. "There's been a raven, as well. It was sent from Riverrun to Ashemark. A rider brought it here," he told her. Lenora raised her eyebrows, wondering why he was telling her. "They have news," he said. "From Winterfell."

* * *

Author's Note:

Oh I was excited for this chapter for so many reasons. First of all, I loved writing Arya's point of view of her escape from Harrenhal. She's not a killer yet, she's a sullen angry little girl who can't decide if she wants to stay with her companions or not and I had so much fun writing it!  
And then there was the storming of the Crag. I was really excited to demonstrate how good Lenora is at planning things. Jaime taught her how to fight and Tywin taught her how to plan. And in this chapter you got to see both.  
And I had been waiting for the Crag for a while, despite Robb's injury it was probably one of the easier battles he fought in the Westerlands. I wanted Lenora to fight, but I needed an easy battle for get her feet wet in, you know? And the Crag delivered.  
Moving on! I have a poll on my profile page that you all should take. In the poll I reduce this story to little more than a romance, which hurt a bit because it's definitely not just a romance. But anyway, you guys are all stressing out about Robb and I am curious about how many of you think he and Lenora are going to make it to the end of the story.  
So leave a review here and then go take the poll there. I will wait.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _writingNOOB_ : Oh no! Don't be mad at Robb! He did not cheat on her. If you were to go back a few chapters to when Robb is teaching Lenora to shoot an arrow at Riverrun, before she tells him she's pregnant (and subsequently loses said baby) she asks him about women he's been with and he teasingly names a couple. All who happened before Lenora came to Winterfell. So yes, they were betrothed, but they were not married yet. I'm basing that over the fact that its cannon that the boys went to Winter Town and they all knew Ros. Jon even paid to ... talk to her. But he says that Robb was always better with the women. Which led me to think he'd probably been with them. But once Lenora came to Winterfell ... it's only been her.  
She's definitely onto Bolton. The one thing that King's Landing gave her that Winterfell did not give to Robb is that she's spent her life around cool, calculating men (Tywin, Petyr, to extent Renly) she's seen them and knows how the operate. And she recognizes that in Bolton, she might not know what he's got planned, but she knows he's planning.

 _Guest_ : Yes good? Okay, Yes good.

 _darkwolf76_ : Theon is a man whore and an asshole. And because of that I love writing his point of view. Because Robb is such a gentle man, he would never talk or think that way. So it was lot of fun to go into Theon's head. Especially since there are brief moments where you can tell he regrets it. At one point in the chapter he called Robb his King, present tense because as much as he wants to prove himself to his father and earn his love and respect, there is a part of Theon that cannot let go of all the years he spent with Robb. And that part is going to come into play sooner or later.  
Oh the impending doom! It's alright to feel it. I've been leaving hints in some of the chapters about what might happen. And this is a GoT story which means if you like someone they probably die. As to whether this is one of those stories that kill Robb ... you'll have to wait and see. The Red Wedding chapter is getting closer and closer.

 _HoplessRomantic44_ : Oh don't worry! Ultimately this story is a love story, because I like love stories. At this point you guys just don't know who is in love at the end.

 _Raging Raven_ : She is. I think the last chapter and this one and one a couple chapters away are combining into a turning point for Lenora. She's always been tough, but she's going to start taking control of her life now.

 _Melmela_ : Hello Pamela! When I first read your review I was half asleep and still in bed. And I saw that you introduced yourself and I stopped reading the review for a second because I was sure you were about to tell me you didn't like it. In my experience on this site, when people introduce themselves they're about to tear you a new asshole. So I was really happy when you didn't do that.  
I'm glad you're enjoying the story. And it really makes me happy to hear that you think Lenora is one of the better OCs in this category. It's hard to create an OC in a fandom that people love the cannon characters so much and have them be accepted. So it's awesome that you guys love Lenora as much as you do.

That's all I've got guys. Time to clean out my fridge, clean my house, and make some guacamole. I'm forcing friends to come over and watch the Cavs game tonight.  
Meet here tomorrow? Maybe.  
Chloe Jane.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four: Dark Wings

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and oh guys! Did I have a great idea last night. For my next GoT story. Once this one is done. It's fantastic if I do say so myself._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Four: Dark Wings, Dark Words_

 _Sansa_

The sky was filled with smoke. It was so thick that she could taste it in the air inside the Red Keep. The Imp had set his men to burn everything between the water's edge and the city walls. The fire had been blazing for days. On the other side of the river, Stannis' men were burning their fair share as well. Stannis was not there, he was on a ship sailing for King's Landing, and the majority of his host had not reached King's Landing yet, but his vanguard was there.

They had appeared two nights before. When she had gone to bed the Southern bank of the Blackwater Rush had been empty, when she woke up it was filled with banners. She had gone to the city wall to see them all. There were the red or green apples of the Fossaways, the turtle of Estermont, the fox and the flowers of Hour Florent, Ser Morrigen and his black crow flying across a stormy-green field.

It was frightening to see so many Houses banded together, preparing to attack King's Landing. But the most frightening standard, the one that still made Sansa shiver every time she thought about it was Stannis' own banner. Pale yellow and long, the tails streamed behind it like flickering flames, instead of the Baratheon stag he had the burning heart of the Lord of Light.

Perhaps that was why his vanguard burned the bank. As a sacrifice to their new god. She had heard that after he gained Storm's End he had burnt the Godswood and offered up the old sacred trees to his new god and his new councilor. They called her the Red Woman. She wondered if when he sacked King's Landing if he would burn the Great Sept for her too. When they had first arrived Sansa had been sure that the Great Sept of Baelor was the most beautiful building she had ever seen.

But after what had happened to her father, after what Joffrey did to him. She could not look at the building without remembering the way her father's blood had colored his velvet jerkin. She closed her eyes and she could still see his head rolling away from his body, his eyes staring up at the sky and seeing nothing.

The Great Sept was no longer a beautiful place, it was a place of horror. A place of blood. A place of death.

And Stannis could burn it all as far as she was concerned. Every statue. Every alter. Every inch.

She would help him if he let her. And she would take joy in it when she was done.

She never spoke the words out loud, but in her head when she thought of Stannis' attack of the city, his sacking the city was inevitable. She could not believe, even for a moment, that Joffrey and his army stood a chance, even with all the preparations that the Imp was making.

They said Stannis' vanguard was five thousand strong. His _vanguard._ They said that when his full host arrived he would have ten times as many men as Joffrey. He had more ships than Joffrey. More horses than Joffrey. More men than Joffrey.

Stannis Baratheon would win the battle, of that she was sure. And once he sacked the city he would send her home.

It was good that she had another plan to get home because Ser Dontos had done nothing to help her even though he had promised her that he would. When she had seen him that night in the Godswood he had been drunk again. He had told her that he could not get her out of the city now, even though they had all but forgotten her with the upcoming battle. He had nothing to give her - no plans, no comfort, nothing to protect herself. Only patience. That was all he could say, that she needed to be patient. That he had a friend who would get her out of the city as soon as the time was right.

As far as Sansa was concerned the time was right _now_. But neither Ser Dontos or his friend seemed to agree.

Well, she didn't need them. Once Stannis had taken over King's Landing he would be bound by his honor to send her home. To send her to her mother and her brother. Robb would of course bend the knee to Stannis, he was only fighting this war to kill Joffrey and Stannis would do that for him. Then, with all the fighting behind them they would head north to Winterfell and take it back from Theon. Robb would have his head. Arya would find her way home. And her family could be together again.

As together as they could be without her father of course.

She felt tears spring to her eyes and she quickly blinked them away, she could not understand it but she had been so weepy as of late. Any little thing could set her off. She felt bad for her new handmaiden, Shae, the woman had come in at the worst time. Sansa was always snapping at her, always yelling, always crying. But she was kind and gentle. And she made Sansa feel as though she did nothing wrong.

Whoever had sent Shae to her had been very kind.

She was standing in front of the door to her bedchamber but she could not bring herself to enter it. All of her handmaidens would be gone now, eating their supper in the kitchen. The last thing that Sansa wanted to do was sit in her bedchamber alone. She had been alone so much and it did no good for her.

Every time she was alone all she could think about was the day they had sent Myrcella to Dorne. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear the crowd, she could see the hatred in their eyes, she could feel the blood dripping down her cheek when one of them threw a rock at her. Every time she was still she could feel the men's hands on her, the ones that had chased her into the stall. Every time she was silent she could hear the ripping fabric as they tore open her dress. They would have raped her, she knew it.

And what scared her even more than all of that was that Joffrey had not even cared. She was his Lady, she was to be his wife. If anyone cared for her honor it should have been Joffrey. But he hardly cared that she had been missing and he did not care when the Hound returned her to him.

She could not understand his indifference. And she could not forgive it either.

Going into her bedchamber would mean that she would have little to do, but sit and remember the events she so desperately wanted to forget. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there were no air to breathe.

So she could not leave the Red Keep and she could not sit in her bedchamber alone. There was very little else for her to do.

She turned away from her bedchamber door and back to the twisting staircase. She climbed it to the roof, feeling that _here_ she might find some air to breathe, even with the smoke from all the fires.

There was so much smoke that it blotted out the stars. She could not see a single star, nor the moon. Though it was still early in the evening the sky was as dark as midnight. But, if she looked down instead of up, she could see everything from the Red Keep to the city gates. The flames from the fires were reflected by the smoke in the sky, making everything shine in an eerie orange light. The river running to the south and west looked black, as did the bay in the east.

She shook her head, they were called Blackwater for a reason, of course they looked black. Though they were darker now than she had ever seen them.

Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants, each carrying a torch. They crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. Down by the Mud Gate, if she squinted her eyes, she could make out the shape of the three catapults that had recently been erected. They were the biggest catapults anyone had ever seen, everyone said so. And she could see why, they stood taller than the city wall itself, by at least twenty feet.

If her father were still alive, if Joffrey was still kind to her - all of these things would have made her feel safe, but instead they left her feeling fearful. What if she was wrong? What if Stannis was unable to take the city? She would be trapped here with Joffrey forever if that happened.

A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her.

She screamed at the feel of the fingers around her arm. "Let me go!" she commanded as her fingers scrambled at the rough stone in front of her, trying to find something to hold on to. "Let go of me!"

"The little bird thinks she has wings, does she?" he asked. She knew him by the sound of his voice. And as much as she knew the man would hate it she calmed a bit once she knew it was him. No harm would come to her as long as _he_ stood guard. "Or do you mean to end up crippled like that brother of yours?"

Sansa twisted in his grasp. "I wasn't going to fall," she told him. "It was only ... you startled me, that's all."

"You mean I scared you," the Hound told her, he would have the truth from her, even if it had to pull it from her one word at a time. He looked at her face, the burnt side of his lip twitching, "And still do." It was not a question, he knew that he did.

Sansa took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down even more. "I thought that I was alone," she told him, looking away from him.

She heard the man snort, "The little bird still can't bear to look at me, can she?" he let go of her arm and moved a step away from her. "You were glad enough to see my face when the mob had you, though. Remember?"

If only he knew how much she remembered. She had thought that she was going to be raped and then killed. The Hound had saved her from that fate. And so, she made herself look at his face now. She made herself _really_ look. It was the polite thing to do and he would never be satisfied until she did. The scars were not the worst part, she realized, and she could overlook the way his lips twitched. It was his eyes that truly scared her, she had never seen a pair of eyes that were filled with as much hatred and anger as Sandor Clegane's.

"I should have come to you, after," she told him, stuttering her way through the words. "To thank you, for ... for saving me ... you were so brave."

"Brave?" The Hound parroted back to her. He laughed, half snarl. "A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats," he told her. "They had me thirty to one and not a single one of them would face me. They did not dare. Too scared."

"Does it give you joy to scare people?" Sansa asked him, her voice bitter and angry.

"No," the Hound bit out. "It gives me joy to kill people." His lips twitched and he watched the way she flinched away from him. He chuckled, dark and low. "Look as disgusted as you wish, but spare me the false piety. You were a high lord's get. Don't tell me that Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

Sansa shook her head, defending her father. "It was his duty. He never liked it."

The Hound laughed at her, cruel, "Is that what he told you? Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is." He drew his longsword, showing it to her, " _Here's_ your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor's steps. Lord of Winterfell, and Hand of the King, and Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old. But Ilyn Payne's blade went through his neck just as easily, just the same as a thousand others with less noble names." He paused, watching her for a moment, his eyes glittering in the firelight. "Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders, Little Bird?" he asked.

Sansa wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering as she took a step away from him. "Why are you so hateful?" she all but sobbed. "I was _thanking_ you."

"As if I were one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is _for_ , girl?" He swung his longsword slowly, bringing the point of it just under her chin and lifting her eyes up to meet his gaze. "Do you think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate?" He shook his head. "Knights are for _killing_. I've lost track of the number of men I've killed," he told her honestly. "Lost track a long time ago. They were all too afraid of me to try to kill me." He pulled his sword away from her throat and looked at it, the distant firelight reflecting off the steel, "So long as I have this there's no man on earth I need fear."

Sansa stared at him. _He is a dog_ , she realized. _Just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any many who tries to hurt his masters. A beaten dog_. "Not even the men across the river?" she asked, thinking it wise not to share her thoughts with him.

The Hound's eyes turned toward the fires across the Blackwater Rush, "All this burning," he muttered, shaking his head as he sheathed his sword. "Only cowards fight with fire."

"Lord Stannis is no coward," Sansa argued with him. He _couldn't_ be. She meant for him to save her.

"He's not the man his brother was either," The Hound told her. "Robert would never let a little thing like a river stop him. Neither would your brother."

"What will you do when they cross?" she asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Fight. Kill. Die, maybe."

She hoped he would. She hoped that they all would. It was the only way that she would make it back to her family. If the Lannisters and all their guards, all their soldiers, all their _dogs_ died. The Hound had saved her once. He had been kind to her a few times, as kind as a rabid dog could be. But she wanted him to die almost as much as she wanted Joffrey dead.

It was as if he could read her thoughts. His face darkened and he shook his head, "Fly away, Little Bird," he told her, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm sick of you peeping at me."

She did fly away, not because he told her to, but because she was tired of him. Tired and disgusted. And she was afraid of him.

And yet, a small part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of Sandor Clegane's ferocity.

If he had, he might have agreed to take her out of King's Landing before the battle.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

 _Dark wings, dark words._

Was there ever going to be a time when a raven did not mean bad news for the Starks? Lenora did not know the answer to that question, but she desperately hoped so. She could still remember the raven that had brought him the news that his father had been beheaded as a traitor. This raven would hit him just as hard. And he was injured. There was a part of her that did not want to tell him, she wanted him to live in a world where he did not know what she knew. But she could not do that.

He needed to know.

She went to his bedchamber as soon as the maester had seen to her wounds. He had stitched the gash at the back of her head nicely. It was well hidden under her hair, but if she reached her hand back there she would be able to feel the row of neat little stitches. He believed the cut would heal with little to no scarring.

The wound on her left hand was not as kind. She should have known better, the block had saved her life, but if the man had swung with just a bit more force he could have cut her hand in half. He had not made it all the way to the bones and as the maester had her bend and straighten her fingers he told her that she was lucky he had not cut any of the tendons in her hand. The stitches on her palm were thicker, not as neat. He had put a bandage over them to protect them and keep them from sight. He had warned that they might bleed more as they healed.

It had been barely and hour and her bandage was already bloody. She would need to change it sooner rather than later.

But first she needed to see Robb.

There was a guard standing outside the door to the bedchamber they had put him in. But when he saw her he smiled and bowed low to her. "Your Grace," he greeted her as he rose and straightened up. "All the men have been talking about you. They all say that you are as fierce as the Warrior out there. Gods but I wish that I could have seen you."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, she took pride in her fighting, she always had, ever since Jaime had given her a sword. But it still surprised her that these Northmen took pride in it as well. It had taken some of them longer than others, but it seemed that they had all, from bannerman to guard, claimed her as their own.

They took pride in her skill as a fighter even though it was a Lannister that had given it to her. "Next time, perhaps," she told him, gesturing toward the door. "Is he awake?"

"Aye, Your Grace," the guard told her though he did not step out of the way. "Though I do not think there will be a next time. Soon as King Robb finds out that you were injured he will have you back with the Silent Sisters if he doesn't send you to Riverrun to wait with his mother."

Lenora shook her head, "He could try," she told the guard with a smile as he finally stepped away from the door. "Thank you," she nodded to him and opened the door, walking in without being announced.

He was awake as the guard had told her, but he was not alone.

He was sitting in the bed, his back propped up by a mountain of pillows. And to his left, gently wrapping his arm in a bandage sat a young woman. A pretty, delicate little thing with auburn hair. She was dressed in cream colored silks, a southern dress with her small breasts laced tight and pushed up, no doubt for Robb's benefit. She did not look up when Lenora entered the bedroom, but Robb did.

"Lenora," he called out and it warmed her heart that he did not sound ashamed, but relieved. No matter how fair and pretty little Jeyne Westerling was he still preferred his bruised, dirty wife who was still dressed as a man.

Jeyne lifted her honey brown eyes from the bandage and quickly stood from her seat, sinking into a deep curtsy, "Lady Lenora," she started, but she shook her head, quickly realizing her mistake, "I suppose it's _Your Grace_ now, isn't it?" her voice was soft and breathy. She was the picture of a maiden, like one out of a song. She sighed when Lenora still hadn't spoken, "My apologies, Your Grace, I had thought to take care of the King while the maester saw to your own wounds."

Lenora nodded, her lips pursing. She was sure to Jeyne it looked as though she was trying not to be angry, but Robb knew her face, he knew that she was fighting back a smile. And when her eyes lifted to his, they were sparkling back at her, though his brows were furrowed with concern, "Your own wounds?" he asked her, echoing the younger woman's words. "What happened to you, Nora?"

"It's no matter," Lenora told him as she moved closer to the bed. "I was more concerned about you." She looked him over, making sure that there were no other injuries besides the arrow wound to his arm. She nodded at the wound, "At least they were kind enough to save your sword arm," she told him.

He chuckled at her and shook his head, patting the spot on the bed next to him as if Jeyne Westerling were not standing there staring at them as if they were something strange or foreign to her. "I don't know if it was kindness," he told her, "though I am grateful."

Lenora did not sit on the bed beside him, she moved around the bed, smiling a bit when Jeyne quickly skipped out of her way. She leaned over him, pressing a hard kiss to his lips before she sat down in Jeyne's empty seat and picked up the bandage she had left, preparing to finish wrapping his arm.

"Your Grace," Jeyne called out, reaching out as if to take the bandage from her hands. "I beg you, let me. You should be resting your hand."

"Your hand?" Robb asked, turning to look at Lenora's hands.

She sighed, placing his bandage down so that she could lift her hands for him to inspect them. He grimaced as he reached out and took both of her hands in his, flipping them so that her palms faced up and he could look at the blood soaked bandage. "What happened?" he asked her as he dropped her right hand so that he could use both of his hands to unwrap the bloody bandage on her left.

"I went to war," she told him with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came back injured." She nodded to his upper left arm. "You know something of how that goes, yourself."

He had finished unwrapping the bandage and was holding her left hand tight in his, staring at the messy stitching. "It looks like you ..." he paused, unsure of how to finish his sentence.

"Caught a sword?" Lenora asked him, raising her eyebrows. "That's close enough to what happened." Robb raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to explain the rest. She sighed, pulling her hand out of his grasp so that she could rewrap the bandage. "It happened at the beginning," she told him as she wrapped, explaining how she had used her sword to block a soldier's swing at her head and how it was her own blade that had done the damage.

Robb shook his head, his eyes closed. "I shouldn't have let you come," he moaned out.

Lenora laughed as she began to wrap his arm again. "No you shouldn't have," she told him. "Though not for the wound." He opened his eyes and looked at her from under raised eyebrows, she grinned wider. "You will not be able to send me back to the Silent Sisters now," she promised him.

That made him chuckle. And it was his laughter that reminded her of the bad news she had come to bear. Now that he was laughing, and safe under her hands she did not want to tell him. But she had no choice. None of his men wanted to be the one to tell him, it would be up to her.

She turned toward Jeyne, not wanting to take her eyes off her smiling husband, though it would be rude to address the girl without even looking at her. "Lady Jeyne, do you think that you could leave us?" she asked, smiling softly so that she would not seem rude.

Jeyne bit her lip and swayed a bit on her feet, as if unsure of herself, "My mother sent me to see to King Robb's wounds," she told her.

Lenora nodded, trying not to scoff. Lady Sybell could use some work on her subtlety. "And now that I am here, the king is no longer in need of _you_ looking after his wounds," she told the girl. "I am sure your mother will understand."

Jeyne nodded quickly and dropped into a low curtsy before she almost ran from the chamber. Robb laughed, "You didn't have to scare her, Lenora," he scolded playfully, though he was far from upset. "If I were wiser man I would say that you are jealous, my love."

This time Lenora did scoff. "Jealous?" she asked. "Of that girl? Your wolf would eat her up and spit her out."

"She is very," he paused, searching for the right word. "Sweet."

Lenora smiled, " _Pretty_ , you mean."

Robb shook his head, "I would use _simple_ to describe her, truly," he told her. "Her mother might be scheming, but I do not think the girl knows enough to scheme."

"An innocent woman?" Lenora asked, arching her eyebrows. "How rare!"

Robb nodded, "It's shame for her mother really," he told her. "That I am already in love with my scheming, sword fighting, wild wife. In another life Jeyne Westerling might have been just the sort of woman that I would marry."

Lenora smiled at him and shook her head, "Better than a Frey girl, I suppose," she agreed, turning to look toward the door.

She closed her eyes when his right hand grabbed ahold of her chin and turned her back to face him. "What's on your mind, Nora?" he asked her, once again displaying his unnerving ability to guess when she was afraid or worried about something.

She sighed, there would be no more stalling, she _had_ to tell him. And she had to tell him now. "There's been a raven," she told him. "From Winterfell."

His hand fell from her chin and his face became dark and stormy, "My brothers?" he asked, his voice as hard as stone.

He was putting up a wall, he could tell by her face what the news would be and he was trying his hardest to shield himself from it. Lenora's heart broke for him. She sighed, shaking her head, "The Wildling woman and Hodor tried to run with them, north to the wall, to Jon. Theon and his men found them and killed them."

"He killed them?" Robb asked, his teeth clenched tight.

Lenora nodded, swallowing around a lump in her throat. "And burned the bodies." She knew that it would be the worst part. Robb still held dreams of retaking Winterfell and when he did he would want to bury his brothers in the crypt with the rest of his family. But Theon had stolen that from him as well.

His fists clenched on the bed beside him and when she looked into his blue eyes they were glassy with his tears. His jaw line twitched as he fought hard against letting the tears fall from his eyes, "He will die for this," he promised her, as if it were her own siblings that Theon had killed. "He will die for this."

Lenora nodded and stood from her chair, quickly moving around to the other side of the bed so that she could sit beside him and pull him into her, cradling his head in her lap as she might have done for a child. It was then, with his face pressed into the thick fabric of her pants and her fingers running through his auburn curls that her strong, brave husband cried himself to sleep.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

She had scrubbed at the stain. She had tried to cut a hole in her bedsheets. When that hadn't worked she had tried to set the bedding on fire, mattress and all. The Stark girl was beautiful, Cersei could admit to that, but Gods she was a fool.

Cersei almost laughed when the maid she paid to spy on the Stark girl told her of what had happened in the girl's bedchamber that morning. _Almost_. No doubt she would have if it hadn't been for the insult to her son.

She sent the maid away, ordering her to see that Lady Sansa was washed and dressed promptly before she was brought to Cersei's chambers. She wished to have a word with the girl.

She was brought to her as Cersei sat down to break her fast. The girl was pale, her eyes rimmed red. No doubt she had been crying all morning. Cersei sighed and nodded to the empty seat across from her. She waited until the girl sat down before she offered her some food. She gestured at the table, there was porridge, honey, milk, boiled eggs, and crisp fried fish. "Are you hungry?" she asked the girl.

She looked ill as she looked at the food and quickly shook her head. "No, thank you, Your Grace," she murmured when Cersei arched an eyebrow at her, silently telling her that she was expected to speak out loud.

Cersei pursed her lips for a moment before she nodded, "I don't blame you," she told the girl. "Between my brother and Stannis everything I eat tastes like ash. And there you go, trying to burn down the castle. Tell me," she leaned closer to the girl. "What did you hope to accomplish by burning the mattress?"

She looked mortified and quickly ducked her head to hid her shame. "The blood," she told Cersei, her voice little more than a whisper. "The blood frightened me."

Cersei raised her eyebrows at that. Surely the girl had been prepared for it. Lenora had, the blood had disgusted her, but she had not tried to burn down the Red Keep when she flowered for the first time. She had dealt with it with grace, had celebrated what it meant. "The blood is the seal of your womanhood," Cersei told Sansa, her voice colder than it had been when she had this same discussion with her own eldest daughter. "Your mother might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more."

Sansa shook her head, though it seemed she was not disagreeing with Cersei so much as trying to pretend that they were not having this conversation. "My mother warned me," she told the queen, her voice somewhat defiant, for only a moment before it became meek again. "Only, I thought ... I thought that it would be different."

"Different _how_?" Cersei asked her, curious.

"More magical."

Cersei smirked at that. Of all the things a flowering was, especially the first, it was not _magical_. "Wait until you birth a child," she warned. "A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you will soon learn that." She paused for a moment, thinking of her children, remembering each of them when they were small, even Lenora, her heart ached a bit when she remembered all the time she had lost with her eldest daughter. It had been her own fault, she could see that, but it still stung.

Her children were her magic. But what had happened to them? Her eldest daughter was half a world away, held by her enemy and each day, no doubt, being turned further from her family. Her eldest son, was evil in a way she could have never predicted and completely beyond her control. Her youngest daughter shipped off to Dorne and lost to her now. She only had Tommen, though in time she most likely lose him too.

"The parts that look like magic often turn out to be the messiest of all," she warned Sansa as she took a sip of her watered down wine. "You're a woman now, Sansa. Do you even have the slightest idea what that means?"

"It means that I am fit to bear children now," Sansa told her, looking down at her lap, her lower lip trembling. "For the king."

Cersei smiled at her, it was not a kind smile, but it was all she could manage. "That prospect once enticed you more than it seem to now, Little Dove," she told the young girl. She did not blame the girl, but she wanted her to know that her mask was slipping. "You used to speak of your excitement at the thought of bringing little princes and princesses into the world." She rolled her eyes, "The _greatest_ honor for a Queen."

Sansa's eyes darted to her face for a moment before she looked away quickly. Cersei sighed. "Joffrey has always been difficult," she confided in the young girl. "Of all my children, he was the most painful. Much worse than my first, which was a shock. After having Lenora I was sure that I would never feel a greater pain than that. But then came Joffrey. I labored a day and a half to bring him into this world. You _cannot_ imagine the pain. I screamed so loudly that I was sure that Robert would hear me in the Kingswood."

That caught Sansa's attention. She looked shocked, "His Grace was not with you?" she asked.

"Robert?" Cersei laughed. "Robert was hunting. That was his _custom_. Whenever my time was near, my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsmen and his hounds. When he returned he would present me with some pelts or a stag's head, and I would present him with a baby."

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering that first time. When she had sworn for nine moons that the baby she carried was a boy. And it had turned out to be a girl. He had been so angry when he stormed into her chambers. Something had stopped him though, he had looked at Lenora. And with that one look he had softened, so much as to admit that he should not have run away. Cersei wondered if she had bothered to look at the child so early on, if it would have made a difference. Probably not.

"Not that I _wanted_ him to stay, mind you," she told Sansa, continuing with her story and pretending, not for the first time, that she had been happy and grateful for all those times that Robert had fled to the woods. "I had Grand Maester Pycelle and an army of midwives, and I had my brother. When they told Jaime he as not allowed in the birthing room, he smiled and asked which of them proposed to keep him out."

She smiled at the memory, that had been at Lenora's birth. Before things had changed between them. He had not been at any of the other births, he had not seen her birth _their_ children.

She turned back to Sansa, the smile falling from her lips, "Joffrey will show you no such devotion," she warned. "You could thank your sister for that, if she weren't dead, and your brother too. He's never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. And your brother, he may not say it often, but Joff cares for his sister, loves her. Your brother's marriage to Lenora was hard for him. Another shame dealt to him by _your_ family. More of a reason to shame you. But you are stronger than you seem. I expect you'll survive a bit of humiliation. I did."

She watched the girl for a moment, her hands clasped in front of her on the table, "You may never love the king," she told her, "but you will love his children."

"I love His Grace with all my heart," Sansa told her, quick and practiced.

Cersei sighed, sick to death of the girl's lines. "A pretty lie," she told the girl, shaking her head. "But a lie all the same. You had best learn some new lies, and quickly, Lord Stannis will not like the sound of that one. I promise you."

"The new High Septon said that the Gods will never permit Lord Stannis to win, since Joffrey is the rightful king."

Cersei smiled at that one and nodded, "Robert's _trueborn son_ and _heir_ ," she murmured. "Though Joff would cry whenever Robert picked him up. His Grace did not like that. Lenora always had smiles for her father. His bastards had alway gurgled at him happily, but not Joffrey. Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?"

"Everyone wants to be loved," Sansa told her, no question in her voice. She was sure that she was sharing a fact, not an opinion.

Cersei sighed, "I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," she sneered at the girl. "So permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is a poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. The more people you love the weaker you are," she told the girl, repeating the words she had told Lenora on their first morning at Winterfell. "You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to keep them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one, but your children," she commanded, her voice hard. "On that front a mother has no choice."

Sansa watched her for a moment, "But," she hesitated, "shouldn't I love Joffrey, Your Grace?" She asked, echoing Lenora's very words when she had asked her mother if she shouldn't try to love the Stark boy for the sake of any children that they might have.

Cersei watched her, for a moment feeling sorry for the child, the little girl who still believed in her love stories and songs of knight with their maidens fair. "You can try," she told the girl, her voice heavy with the belief that Sansa would fail, "Little Dove."

* * *

Author's Note:

Seriously guys. I have the best idea for a Jon Snow story. I know my OC, I know the story, I know the title. And I just hope that I don't forget it before I finish this story. I refuse to have multiple in progress stories at once so it will have to wait. And we've still got a long way to go on this one.  
A long way.  
Anyway ... I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you did you should write a review. It'll make me happy!  
Huge thanks to those who commented on the last chapter. You guys are wonderful, wonderful people.

 _writingNOOB_ : He didn't cheat. I decided that Jeyne's going to be pretty simple. There was never any evidence in the books that she was in on the scheme to get Robb to betray his agreement with the Freys, it seemed mostly to be her mother and her uncle. I need the scheming Westerlings, but I didn't need or want Robb to cheat.  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _DannyBlack70_ : You're back! Not going to lie I had missed your reviews. I'm so glad that you're back! I'm glad you enjoyed the catch up and you are wonderful for saying that this is one of the better ones in the category. That is a HUGE compliment that I do not take lightly.  
Robb is one of my favorite characters in the series too (him and Tyrion if I'm being honest) and I would never lower him to sleeping with Jeyne. Though I can't make any promises about the Red Wedding yet.  
Thank you for the information about the swords. I am the queen of useless information, but I must say that I have no knowledge of swords really. So now I'm off to do research so I don't make the mistake again. Thank you!  
And don't worry, I won't let the haters get me down. I'm going to keep doing this until people stop reading (and then probably after that ... because I really want to get to the end of Robb and Lenora's story).

 _HPuni101_ : Hello! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last few updates. And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too. I'm really excited about where this story is headed and it's wonderful to know that you guys are too.  
As for Jon ... he is coming back. Though it's going to be a while before he does. But he will come back. I can't not write about the Battle of the Bastards ... and you can't have the Battle of the Bastards without Jon Snow.

 _CaliforniaDreams_ : Hello! I'm glad that you are enjoying this story! You are more than welcome to ask any questions you like. I will answer some of them, tease you with some of them, and refuse to answer some. Don't worry, I won't ruin the story for you.

That's all I've got for now, friends!  
Perhaps we will meet back here tomorrow! (It's going to be a good chapter, I promise!)  
Chloe Jane.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five: 400 Gold Dragons

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and I really wish you guys could see my outline for this story. Seriously._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Five: Four Hundred Gold Dragons_

 _Joffrey_

The throne was uncomfortable. No one had told him that. When he was growing up and his mother and his uncles were preparing him for the day when he would eventually become King no one had told him that the throne was so damn uncomfortable.

And he spent so much time in it. No wonder why his father had gotten fat, a king spent so much time sitting that it was impossible not to become fat. But his father had still found time to leave the Iron Throne and have fun. Robert had had his hunts, his tournaments, his whores and his bastards.

When he was a child, Joffrey had sat for hours watching his father be king. It seemed to him that a king had very little to do with running the kingdom. That was what Jon Arryn was for. Robert had been the old man's ward growing up, that was how he had met Ned Stark, and when he became king he had named the man Hand of the King.

Robert had the crown and the throne, but Jon ran the country.

Robert made being king look like fun. But it was not fun. His mother had explained that to him when Ned Stark had taken over as Hand of the King. She had whispered to him and explained that Robert was a horrible king. That he should not have given Stark so much freedom and power. That the purpose of the Hand was to advise the king, to rule in his stead during the times when the king _needed_ to be away from his throne.

A hunt or a tournament, a feast or a whore, were not times when a king _needed_ to be away from his throne. Robert may have been a better king than the Mad King, but he had been an absent king. He shirked his responsibilities and was never there when his people or his kingdom truly needed him.

Joffrey did not mean to be an absent king. He meant to be better than his father.

And so he sat, for what seemed like hours, every day in that damned uncomfortable chair, his mother seated at his side as they listened to one petitioner after another. Farmers begging for an end to the war so that they might live in peace without fear of their lands being raided, lesser lords asking Joffrey to excuse their sons from the army so that they could be safe at home, greater lords competing with each other for a larger share in the glory.

It was exhausting. And trying on his patience.

He stifled a yawn and turned to look at his mother, silently praying that she would allow him to leave. He could not hear another petitioner, he was sure that he would go mad if she made him. She smiled at him softly and leaned closer to the throne, "At least one more, Your Grace," she suggested, her voice little more than a whisper. "These men have traveled so far to be heard. It is a duty to hear them, and do what you can to help ease any of their suffering."

Joffrey rolled his eyes, he didn't care for their suffering, _he_ was suffering. But he knew that if he left his uncle Tyrion would see to the rest of the petitioners. He did not trust that Tyrion had his best interests at heart. Tyrion wanted the people to love him. He would give too much, be too kind, and the people would praise _him_ instead of Joffrey for whatever they got.

He sighed and nodded, "One more," he agreed with his mother before he turned back to face the hall and beckoned the next man forward. It was always _one more_.

The man walked forward, his armor making noise as he moved. He was dirty. From the look of him he had been traveling for a long time. He quickly dropped to his knee in front of the throne and bowed, "Your Grace," he greeted, "I am Cordin, of House Banefort."

Cersei smiled from her place beside him and she spoke before Joffrey could, he clenched his jaw. "Arise Ser Cordin," Cersei commanded the young man. "I know your father, he fought bravely for us in the Whispering Wood."

Joffrey scoffed, "Not brave enough," he muttered, just loud enough to be heard in the throne room. "We lost that battle, in case you have forgotten, Mother. We have lost every battle of this whole war."

The man in front of him shifted slightly, no doubt he had felt the insult of Joffrey's words. Cersei's smile seemed to be nailed to her face as she ducked her head apologetically, "Be that as it may, I am sure that Lord Quenten Banefort is not at fault. He was taken captive by the traitor Robb Stark, just as your uncle Jaime was." She paused for a moment, visibly paling at the mention of her imprisoned brother. "Do you fault your uncle for our losses, Your Grace?"

"Well if he hadn't been captured we would damn well be doing better," Joffrey muttered, his tone sullen before he turned to the man in front of him. He was here to listen, not to argue with his mother. "Well met, Ser Cordin," he told the man with a nod. "I thank your father for fighting for our cause and am at your service. If you need any assistance it is yours, I assure you."

The knight nodded his gratitude, "I would not have come if I weren't in desperate need of your assistance, Your Grace," he assured the king before he told his tale.

With his father captured at the Whispering Wood his stepmother, his father's second wife had called him from the battles to return home and be the acting Lord of the Banefort until his father was returned to them. He had gone home unwillingly. He was better suited for battle than ruling and he would better serve his king on the battlefield than at their seat, but his mother had insisted. Joffrey rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a gesture that told the man to, in no uncertain terms, _get on with it._

He was sure that Ser Cordin Banefort had not ridden the long and somewhat dangerous ride on the Gold Road to flatter him. He had promised his mother that he would listen to one more petitioner and he did not mean to sit for an hour while this man prattled on.

"My stepmother, the lady Miranna, has been Lady of the Banefort for close to ten years," Ser Cordin continued, speaking faster now. "She is perfectly capable of running the castle. It is the traitor, Robb Stark, that she is worried about. Each day his host moves closer. First with Oxcross, then the sacking of Ashemark -"

"Are you here to remind of us of all of our losses, Ser?" Joffrey sneered at him. "Because I am already well aware of them."

"No, Your Grace," the man told him, quickly shaking his head. "It's just that, just a week ago he attacked the Crag. It was under defended and an easy victory for the Northmen."

"And that should alarm me?" Joffrey asked, looking between the man and his mother. "From my understanding the Crag has done very little to support the kingdom. It is one of my grandfather's lesser bannermen."

"Lord Gawen fought in the Whispering Wood as well," Cersei supplied.

"And lost at the Whispering Wood," Joffrey snapped at her before he turned away and back to Ser Cordin in front of him. "What would you have me do, Ser Cordin? March to the Crag even now with Stannis' army bearing down on King's Landing. Take the miserable little castle back for the might of House Lannister?"

"A King who cannot protect his people is not a King who can expect their loyalty," Ser Cordin bit out. It took a moment before he seemed to realize what he had said. He quickly dropped back to his knees, "Forgive me, Your Grace," he begged. "I did not mean that. It was harsh and inappropriate."

Joffrey held his hand up, tired of the man's groveling, "I cannot take the Crag back," he told the man, though he was sure that retaking the Crag was not what the man was after. "But I can supply your stepmother with some men, no more than half a hundred, to help guard the Banefort so that you can return to Lord Tywin's army where you belong."

The man nodded his gratitude and stood from the ground. He made to turn and leave, but Cersei called out to him. "Ser?" she called, waiting until he turned back to look at her before she continued. "How did you hear of the Crag falling?" she asked.

"The maester sent a raven," Ser Cordin told them. "After they had been sacked, begging for assistance. He said that they had surrendered to the Starks, but they remained faithful to Lord Tywin and His Grace, King Joffrey."

Cersei nodded as if she had expected that, "And did he -" she started, pausing for a moment. "Did he mention my daughter? Princess Lenora?"

Ser Cordin nodded, " _Queen_ Lenora he called her, though that is treason in itself. He said that she looked well, though she had been injured when she helped take the castle."

"Helped take the castle?" Cersei asked, echoing the man's words in a breathy whisper. "Surely he was mistaken."

Ser Cordin shook his head, "She had a gash on the back of her head from a shield, and took a sword wound to her hand. She was better off than the Stark pretender, he took an arrow to his arm. He is healing at the Crag now."

"She fought?" Joffrey bit out. "The bitch fought to take over the seat of one of my grandfather's bannermen?"

Cersei drew in a quick breath, no doubt angry at what he had called his sister, but Joffrey did not care. Ser Cordin nodded, "No doubt she was forced to by her husband. He must be using some kind of Northern magic to control her somehow."

Joffrey shook his head and quickly stood from his throne, ignoring the whispering Lords and Ladies of the court. No doubt they thought him weak for being unable to keep his sister loyal to her family. "Four hundred golden dragons," he muttered angrily before he stormed from the throne room.

He heard his mother's quick footsteps behind him and his jaw clenched. Perhaps she should go spread her legs for Tyrion, if the rumors were true that she had played the whore to Jaime then why not the Imp? She could create more traitorous bitches like his sister. "She is your sister," Cersei reminded him, speaking to his back because he had yet to turn around to face her. "Whatever he has done to persuade her to help him, he will be punished for that. But she is your sister."

Joffrey shook his head, " _Four hundred_ gold dragons," he hissed. He tried to breathe, to calm down, but every time he thought about it he got angrier. His fists clenched as he turned on his mother. "Did you hear me mother? Four hundred gold dragons!"

Cersei looked at him, her eyebrows raised in confusion as she shook her head. She did not understand. "What are you saying, Joffrey?" she asked him.

"I am saying that everyone in this damned city is whispering about my father and all his whores and all his bastards. And how much they all look like him. They whisper because Lenora looks like _him_. But the rest of us? We don't look at all like a Baratheon. We don't look at all like him. We look like _you_. We look like _Jaime_." He shook his head angry. "They call me a bastard, Mother!" he fired at her. "And it's your fault! And it's _her_ fault! For having his hair, and his eyes, for having his humor and his heart. Father loved her in a way that he _never_ loved me. And they all saw that!"

He moved away from his mother, reaching out to swipe a wine goblet from the table in front of him. It crashed to the ground, but the noise was not satisfying enough. This time he swung both his arms, knocking everything off the table with a roar. His mother flinched away from his anger. "And there she is, they call her his _trueborn_ , married to a traitor, giving his cause enough honor that men follow them. They call her _Queen_ willingly while they call me King because they _must_. Because they're afraid."

He turned on his mother than, she was watching him, tears shining in his eyes. "It does not matter that it's all a vile lie. They _believe_ it. Rebellions have been built on softer stuff than that." He shook his head, " _Four hundred gold dragons_ that's how much I had Littlefinger pay him to kill her. It was too much, I thought, she's nothing but a little girl. It should be easy work. The man was set up for life, all he had to do was kill her."

He turned away from his mother, shaking his head again, "But instead she is alive and well. Helping that traitor husband of hers take over more of my kingdom. They say that Robb Stark cannot be a king with Winterfell taken right from under his nose. But what does that say about me? Can I truly be a king when my own wench of a sister is chipping away at _my_ kingdom every day? When her husband has won every battle he has fought? When my own mother is named a whore and laughing stock from Salt Shore to the Wall?"

His back was turned on her, he had not seen or heard her move to him, but when he turned to face her she was standing directly in front of him. She raised her hand and a second later his cheek burned, his head twisted to the right and he tasted blood in his mouth. He brought his hand up to his lips and wiped at the blood as he turned to look at her. She looked shocked, as if she could not believe what she had done. But she also looked angry. He wondered if she was angry because he had hired a man to murder his sister or because he had called her a whore.

It did not matter, she had struck him. If anyone else had done that he would have their head or worse.

If Sansa, for example, ever thought to strike him, he would rape her, give her to his guards, and only then when she was utterly ruined and begging him to end it would he take her head.

But this was his mother, and no one had seen her slap him. His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, "What you just did is punishable by death," he told her, shaking his head slightly, feeling an odd bit of pleasure rise up in him with his mother looked down, as if afraid for her own life. Even _she_ feared him. "You will never do it again. _Never_."

Then, before she could say anything in her defense he turned and walked away from her, "That will be all, Mother," he called over his shoulder. "I am done for the day."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was in the library almost a fortnight after they had stormed the Crag. She wasn't reading, though there were quite a few books that she could have chosen from. She had come to the library for the windows, the room's western wall had several floor to ceiling windows that gave an astounding view of the Sunset Sea.

The sea was living up to its name now. She stood in front of one of the windows watching as the sun began to sink down below the horizon, painting the sky and the water in reds, oranges, and pinks. It was beautiful and as she watched she felt tears prickle in her eyes. It reminded her of Casterly Rock.

When Jaime had brought her to the Rock as a baby he had her nursemaids set up her nursery in a western facing room. For five years she had been able to watch the sun set into the Sunset Sea every night. And she had been sure that she would never see anything more beautiful.

Thirteen years later as she watched this sunset she was still sure that there was nothing more beautiful.

She was so wrapped up in the view that she did not hear the doors to the library open behind her back. She did not hear the footsteps as someone moved across the room behind her. She jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder and she turned, laughing slightly when she caught sight of Raynald Westerling, the eldest son of Lord Gawen and Lady Sybell.

"Ser Raynald," she greeted him as she turned back to the windows in front of her, wiping her hands determinedly at her cheeks, hoping that he had not noticed the tears in her eyes. "How are you this evening?"

Ser Raynald was perhaps a year older than Lenora. He stood a foot taller than her, his skin tanned by the western sun. His auburn hair was lighter than Robb's and straighter, much like his sister's. He was a handsome man, she had seen him several times at tournaments. She had probably fancied him at one point or another in her youth.

But now she was unsure of how she felt about the man. With his father one of Robb's prisoners, the surrender of the Crag had been Ser Raynald's decision. But something made her nervous. The Westerlings were a proud House, one that valued its honor. The Westerlings she had grown up hearing about would not have believed it honorable to surrender to the Starks. They would have died fighting before they surrendered.

Since they had surrendered they could still live in their castle, it did not belong to the Westerlings anymore, Robb had named a new Lord of the Crag, but they were guests, not prisoners. When Robb and his host left, if they had not sworn their allegiance to him, he would leave a group of guards and soldiers there, to keep the castle and ensure that the Westerlings did not go back on their word. Lenora could not wait until they left the castle. She was suspicious of everyone here.

Ser Raynald nodded to her, "I am well, Your Grace," he told her with a smile on his face. "I hope that you are as well."

Lenora nodded, "I am," she told him with a soft smile. "I snuck in here to watch the sunset," she admitted, almost sheepishly.

He nodded, "It is a beautiful one, Your Grace,"

"More than that," Lenora argued with him, shaking her head. "It reminds me of home."

"The Rock, you mean?" Lenora nodded, looking down at her hands. She held her left hand in the right, it was unbandaged, but still stitched up. She grimaced as she bent and straightened her fingers. The maester had told her to do that as often as possible as her hand healed.

Ser Raynald watched her for a moment, "I assumed that you were here for the sunset," he told her, looking away from her at the shelves that surrounded them. Half of them were empty. "Gods know that no one comes to the library for the books anymore." Lenora turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. "My grandfather sold the bulk of the library when my father was young," Ser Raynald admitted, "to supply his men with weapons when Lord Tywin called the Westerlands to fight for whichever side he chose."

Lenora tried to hide the disdain on her face, but she couldn't have done a very good job at it. She could not imagine what it would feel like to be so desperate as to sell the bulk of her library. It was clear that Ser Raynald was waiting for her to say something, but she was unsure of what the situation called for. "That's horrible," she settled on.

Ser Raynald nodded, "It was," he told her. "I spent my entire childhood listening to my father rage against his father's action. Father was so mad at Grandfather for selling the books. He swore that he would never do something as disdainful as that."

Lenora could tell where the story would end, she could see it in the harsh lines of the young man's face. "But then my Grandfather called his banners for the War of the Five Kings," she whispered.

Ser Raynald nodded, "The War of the Five Kings," he sneered. "I don't know if that's the right name for it."

"No?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. "And what would you name it, Ser?"

The man hesitated for a moment, no doubt weighing what he wanted to say against the likelihood of it insulting Lenora. "Seems to me that there's only one King fighting any battles," he told her with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "You have the squid prince claiming the North because he holds Winterfell, but he won't hold it for long. And King Squid sits on his island growing old. The king in Highgarden died on the eve of battle and no one knows how. Stannis and his Lord of Light haven't fought a battle yet. King Joffrey has not and will not leave King's Landing, he lets Lord Tywin fight his battles for him."

"The _false_ king Joffrey," Lenora interrupted. If they were going to claim they had surrendered to the Starks and continue being _guests_ instead of _prisoners_ Ser Raynald was going to have to get that distinction right.

He inclined his head to her, "Old habits, Your Grace," he assured her. "As for the fifth king -"

"Only Robb fights," Lenora finished for him. "It's a war of five kings, but only one king has been on a battlefield."

Ser Raynald nodded, "With his wild Lannister queen at his side."

Lenora shook her head, "Baratheon," she corrected the man, turning away from him to look out the window again. "Now Stark. But never a Lannister."

Ser Raynald studied her, "You never thought you were a Lannister?" he asked her, his brows furrowed. "Even when you were a young girl at the Rock?"

Lenora shook her head, "My uncles Jaime and Tyrion always took great care that I knew exactly who I was. I may have spent my first five years in a Lannister castle, wearing Lannister colors, but I always knew that I was Baratheon, just like my father."

Ser Raynald watched her for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowed, "Do you miss them?" he asked her finally. "Your family?"

 _Ah_ , Lenora thought, this was the root of all of his questions, all the poking and prodding about her life at Casterly Rock. She took a moment, thinking her answer through before she answered. "I miss who I thought they were," she told him finally. "I was never such a fool as to believe my mother _kind_ but I thought she was good. I thought my uncle honorable. I thought my brother would grow into whatever responsibility the Gods saw fit to give him."

She shook her head, blinking back tears again, "And in the last year I have seen each of those assumptions fall away. I don't miss them, I miss who they were when I was blind."

"And Lord Tyrion?" Ser Raynald asked her. "What assumption did you have about him?"

Lenora smiled and shook her head, "None," she told him. "Tyrion was the only one that I saw clearly. Tyrion is the only one I still miss."

She stood for a moment longer, but the quiet serenity of the sunset had been ruined. So she turned to Ser Raynald and inclined her head before quickly leaving the room.

...

"Is it true that she dresses like a man?" Lenora heard as she walked into Robb's chambers the next morning. She smiled, Lord Gawen's youngest son Rollam had taken to visiting Robb every morning and peppering him with questions.

The first day he had stood stiff by the door and question Robb about Grey Wind. The second day, he moved to a chair by the windows and asked about the war. The third day, he pulled his chair next to the bed and asked about Robb, himself. It seemed that today the spot was on the bed next to Robb, and the subject was Lenora.

She stood by the door, not wanting to interrupt the young boy's questions, but very much wanting to hear Robb's answers.

She could just imagine the smile on Robb's face when she heard him answer, "She does, armor and everything. When she wears breeches, she even rides like a man."

"My sister Jeyne would never wear breeches," Rollam told him, his voice solemn. "And she's not very good at riding in a dress, I think she would be worse riding a horse like a man."

"Well Lenora is not like most ladies," Robb supplied.

"No she is not," the boy told him forcefully. "My brother tells me that some of the Lannister men have started calling her the Black Lioness. Is that true?"

"I would not know," Robb told him, from where she stood Lenora could hear the pride in his voice. "Your brother would know more Lannister men than I do. What do you think?"

"I don't think she's a black lion," Rollam told him. "She's a stag. Not a lion."

"I think they call her that because she's turned from her family," Robb explained. "And most of her family _are_ lions."

"She hasn't turned from her family," Rollam argued, "she married you. My mother told me when a woman gets married her Lord Husband's family becomes her own. My mother is no longer a Spicer because she married into the Westerlings. The only way Queen Lenora could turn from her family is if she started fighting _you_. Then they could call her the Black Wolf."

Lenora smiled, this whole situation seemed so simple through a child's eyes. He did not linger any longer on the subject, because he believed it was settled.

"Is it true that she's a better fighter than most men?" he asked. Robb must have nodded, because Lenora did not hear his answer, but a moment later the boy was off again, "You're right. She has to be, the Kingslayer taught her how to fight."

"She doesn't like when you call him that," Robb warned him. "It's _Ser Jaime_ , at least when you're around Queen Lenora."

"She's young to be a queen," the boy mused as Lenora moved further into the room. Rollam did not notice her, but a smile spread wide across Robb's cheeks when he caught sight of her. "She's only a year older than my sister. And she knows _so_ much more than Jeyne."

"Be nice to your sister," Lenora commanded as she sat down on the bed, just behind the young boy. She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him back toward her, pressing kisses all over his forehead and cheeks. He was the only Westerling that she liked, and she was grateful to him for distracting Robb. The pain over losing his brothers seemed lessened in Rollam's presence.

"Your Grace," Rollam squealed as he swatted lightly at her, trying to hold her kisses at bay. "Please, you are a married woman."

Lenora smiled down at the boy, "I would much rather be unattached," she told him, sending Robb a wink over the top of the young boy's head. "And then you and I could run away together."

Rollam shook his head, his face grim, "King Robb would be sad," he told her, turning to glance at Robb for confirmation.

Robb waved his hand dismissively, a playful glint in his eyes. "She's more trouble than she's worth, Lord Rollam," he warned the boy. "I would not be sad to see her go. If you want her, you can have her."

The boy shook his head and Lenora prepared to pretend to be insulted, but it soon became clear that he was not denying Lenora, but rather Robb's words about her. "You are wrong, Your Grace," he told Robb, almost angrily. "Queen Lenora is not trouble. She's strong and she's brave. She's beautiful and she's smart. My mother says that she reads every day. She knows how to sword fight and rides very fast. And she's not afraid of your wolf," he said the last sentence as if it were the most important. Lenora had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at him and she was glad she did because a second later he turned to look at her, "Your Grace?" he asked.

"Yes, Lord Rollam?" Lenora answered, biting back a smile.

"Would it please you to accompany me on a ride on the beach?" he asked her. "We could be gone all day. And King Robb would feel terrible about what he said about you."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "That would please me greatly, Lord Rollam," she told him. Her smile widened into a grin when the boy took a hold of her hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it while glowering at Robb. Then he hopped off the bed and ran for the door, yelling that he would meet her in the stables.

Lenora turned to stare after him for a moment before she turned back to see Robb smiling at her softly, "You're good with him," he told her, a hint of sadness coloring his tone.

"So are you," Lenora told him.

Robb hesitated for a moment, "Is this what it would have been like?" he asked her. "If we hadn't lost -"

Lenora closed her eyes and shook her head, even now she could not bear to have him finish that sentence. "They don't talk as much at the beginning," she told him, trying to make a joke out of his question.

Robb smiled at her sadly, "I am so sorry, Nora," he apologized. "I never gave you enough time to mourn."

Lenora waved her hand dismissively, though she felt tears filling her eyes, "You gave me plenty of time to mourn," she told him. "Any more and people would have gotten suspicious. He -" she shook her head at the slip. "Whatever it was, boy or girl, it wasn't born yet. It wasn't alive. I hadn't held it in my arms or felt it move within me. It's as if it wasn't real." She paused, making sure to look Robb straight in the eyes so that he understood how important this next part was. "I would prefer to pretend that it wasn't real."

Robb nodded, much as he seemed to dislike her statement, he understood. "Nora -" he started, but he was cut off when Rollam came running into the chamber again, panting with the effort of it all.

"Queen Lenora," he gasped out. "The stable master needs to know if you mean to take Casterly out!"

Lenora smiled almost ruefully at Robb before she turned to the young boy and stood from the bed, "Yes," she told him. "We'll go tell him together, shall we?"

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

His sister had invited him to a private supper in her chambers. And Tyrion would have been lying if he said the invitation did not make him a little suspicious. He and Cersei seemed to have turned over a new leaf in their interactions with each other. But Tyrion would have been as big a fool as Joffrey's Ser Dontos if he had believed for a moment that the goodwill would last.

Cersei believed, at the moment, that Tyrion was doing everything he could to ensure the safety of her daughter and Jaime. And he was. But the woman's mind was so changeable from one moment to the next that he could wake up the next morning and Cersei would believe that she had some proof that Tyrion had been working against her the entire time.

He was not sure which Cersei he would meet for supper that night.

Pod dressed him for the ordeal in a tunic of plush velvet, in a Lannister crimson. The squire brought him his chain of office, but Tyrion chose to leave the chain on his bedside table. His sister hated to be reminded that she had demanded their father come to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King and that Tywin Lannister had sent Tyrion to her instead.

He wanted her in a good mood tonight. He wanted her in a good mood until after Stannis had attacked the city. The last thing he needed to do was rub her nose in his position.

As he was crossing the yard between the Tower of the Hand and Maegor's Holdfast Varys approached him. The eunuch walked quickly, his hands folded in front of him. Tyrion had the distinct feeling that the Spider had been hiding in the shadows, waiting for him to leave his tower, waiting to catch him alone in the smoke-filled darkness.

"My Lord," the taller man greeted, sounding a bit breathless. "You had best read this immediately." He reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled out a piece of parchment, handing it over to Tyrion. "News from the North," he supplied before Tyrion could ask or read what was written on it.

"Good or bad?" Tyrion asked, hesitant to read the news. When it was still unread he could imagine. He could imagine that it was good news, that Robb Stark had lost a battle and that his father marched back to King's Landing with Jaime and Lenora in tail. If it was bad news, if they had harmed Jaime, for example there would be nothing he could do to protect himself from Cersei.

"That is not for me to judge," Varys told him with a wave of his delicate, soft hand.

Tyrion sighed and unrolled the parchment, wishing that Varys would stop playing his game and simply tell him what the news was. He had to squint to read the words in the torchlit yard. "Gods be good," he breathed once he had finished. "Both of them?"

"I fear so, My Lord," Varys told him, inclining his head. "It is so sad. So grievous sad. And them, so young and innocent."

Tyrion snorted, his sister would not think they were innocent. They were Starks after all. He remembered how the wolves had howled when the Stark boy had fallen from the tower. _Are they howling now?_ He thought. He shook his head, the only way Theon would have been able to get to the boys was if he had killed the wolves first, of that he was sure. "Have you told anyone else?" he asked, turning to look at Varys.

The Spider shook his head, "Not yet, though of course I must."

Tyrion nodded, rolling up the letter and clenching it in his fist, "I will tell my sister," he told his companion. He had a theory. He wanted to see how Cersei took the news. He wanted to be able to study her face when she learned what had happened.

She looked especially lovely that night, he noted when he had been admitted to her chambers. She wore a low-cut gown of deep green velvet that brought out the color of her feline eyes. Her golden hair tumbled across her bare shoulders in one of Lenora's favorite hairstyles, _nothing_ , and around her waist was a woven belt studded with emeralds. Tyrion waited until he had been seated and served a cup of wine before he handed the letter to her. He did not speak, watching her as Cersei blinked innocently and took the parchment from his hand.

"I trust you're pleased," he told her as her eyes scanned over the parchment. "You wanted the Stark boy dead, I believe."

Cersei shook her head, making a sour face, "It was Jaime who threw him from that window," she told him. "Not me. _For love_ , he said, though it was not for love of me. It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did our sweet brother ever stop to think?"

"The boy saw you," Tyrion pointed out, it wasn't a question.

Cersei shook her head again, a bitter set to her mouth. "Jaime hasn't touched me since I was pregnant with Tommen," she admitted. "He hasn't _wanted_ to touch me since the night Lenora took ill and I did not help her. It was his love for Lenora that had him push the boy from the tower."

"I am sure that Lenora appreciates it," Tyrion told her, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "What with the boy being her future brother by law. And a child. If he did not see you together why did he have to be pushed in the first place?"

"He _heard_ us," Cersei told him, looking down in shame. "I had lured Jaime up to the blasted tower. I wanted him to scheme with me, to find a way to bring Lenora home with us. I wanted him to help me persuade Robert to make _him_ Hand of the King instead of Ned Stark. Lord Eddard was too smart by half, I was sure that he would figure out what Jaime and I had done. I wanted to know if he was worried."

"And he wasn't," Tyrion guessed, "At least not for himself."

Cersei nodded, "He did not worry for his own neck, he told me. He gave a long speech about how he worried that Lenora would be used as a pawn if the truth came out. Shuffled between Houses, used by everyone. Or worse killed before she could have a son and claim the throne for him. I asked him if he was worried for me, after all, I had been the one who cuckolded the king of Westeros."

She shook her head, looking away from him. "The boy was climbing the tower and he heard me. Jaime didn't think, he just threw him from the window. He was a _child_. I could have frightened him into silence."

She looked down at the letter in her hand thoughtfully, "Why must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? This was Greyjoy's work, I had nothing to do with it."

Tyrion nodded, "Let's hope Lady Catelyn believes that."

Her green eyes widened, this was the first time that thought had occurred to her. "She wouldn't," she told him, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Kill Jaime?" Tyrion asked, raising his eyebrows, "Why not? What would you do if Joffrey and Tommen were murdered?"

"I still hold Sansa," Cersei declared.

" _We_ still hold Sansa," Tyrion corrected her. "And we had best take good care of her. She's the only Stark left to have any hold over that brother of hers." He clapped his hands together, quickly changing the subject, "Now where is this supper you've promised me, sweet sister?"

Cersei peppered him with questions while they ate, during the first course she pointed out that they had heard no word from Bitterbridge and she asked him if he truly trusted Petyr Baelish to do as he had been ordered.

During the second course, the honeyed ham she lectured him for sending his clansmen into the Kingswood when they could have done so much more in the city.

During the third course, as they cut into a roasted swan filled with mushrooms and oysters she questioned him about the Antler Men a group of King's Landing soldiers that had turned traitors and declared themselves for Stannis. From there she moved on to the whispers that she had heard that he meant to take the Hound from Joffrey.

That had disappointed Tyrion, he had thought more of Varys, he had been so sure that the Spider would have kept his secrets. "I need Clegane for more important duties," he told his sister.

"There is nothing more important than the life of the king," Cersei bit back as she speared a piece of swan on the end of her dagger and ate it.

"The life of the king is not at risk," Tyrion argued. "Joff will have brave Ser Osmund guarding him, and Meryn Trant as well. I need Balon Swann and the Hound to lead sorties, to make certain Stannis gets not toehold on our side of the Blackwater."

"Jaime would lead the sorties himself," Cersei told him, her voice sharp and angry.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, "From Riverrun? That's quite a sortie."

"Joff's only a boy," Cersei tried again.

"A boy who wants to be part of this battle," Tyrion reminded her, "and for once he's showing some sense. I don't mean to put him in the thick of the fighting but he needs to be seen. Look at the Starks, the Northmen fight more fiercely because Robb Stark rides among them. They will respect the king who shares their peril, not the one who hides behind his mother's skirts."

She still looked unsure, Tyrion sighed, "If the city looks to be in the least danger of falling I will have him escorted back to the Red Keep immediately."

He had thought that would reassure her, but when he looked at her there was no sign of pleasure in her green eyes, only worry. " _Will_ the city fall?" she asked him.

"No," Tyrion told her quickly, too quickly to reassure her.

"You've lied to me before, Tyrion."

"Always with good reason, Sweet Sister," he assured her.

She still looked worried, but after a moment she brightened, as if she had just remembered something. "Dessert," she told him with a nod. She nodded toward one of her handmaidens, "I hope that you like blackberry tarts."

* * *

Author's Note:

So in my outline I have this story broken down by each chapter. It includes what points of view will be featured, important events, any quotes that I want to include, and a brief summary.  
The summary for this chapter included the phrase _Cersei slaps a bitch_ and I stand by that summary. It was a lot of fun writing the first part of this chapter in Joffrey's whiney immature voice.  
And I hope that you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
If you did ... do everybody a favor and go fill that empty box down there with a review. Reviews bribe me into posting! It's pretty simple, really.  
Many, many, many thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. I would knight you all if I was a queen and I had a sword to do so.

 _prince711_ : Sansa is pretty naive, but she won't always be. Her problem is that she's spent her whole life day dreaming and isn't quite ready to give up her dreams yet.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _Melmela_ : I'm good with the cannon characters too? That is a relief. I always get nervous when I start writing in a new cannon character's voice because I so desperately want to do them justice. So it's good to hear that I do.  
I'm excited for the Jon story too.  
As for a Jaime story ... I have played around with the idea. I would love to write one. But I have to wait for the idea to come to me. Like, I don't want to write one just for the sake of writing one. If I'm going to write a story about Jaime I want the story to be solid and amazing, not just okay. So I've got to wait until inspiration strikes. But I have not closed the door on it.  
And you're not the only one who loves Robb, Jon, and Jaime. I'm sure.

 _Raging Raven_ : Duuun dun, duuun dun, dun dun dun dun dun dun! (That's my best attempt at typing out the theme for Jaws.) And you should feel it, doom is coming, and it's not that far away. Not really.

 _DannyBlack70_ : Thank you! I love writing the Sansa bits, I think she gets a bit of a bad rep some times and I want to fix that. And I'm glad you liked the way I dealt with Jeyne. I'm not going to lie that I giggled a bit when I was editing the chapter and I read the line "in another life I might have married Jeyne," or something along those lines and I was like "Hah! You did Robb, you did marry her in another life and it didn't work out for you!"

That's it for now, friends. I hope you enjoyed!  
Chloe Jane.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six: Where Are You?

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane I'm so lazy I haven't gotten out of bed yet._

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Six: Where are you?_

 _Catelyn_

The Great Hall of Riverrun was empty. Empty and quiet. Outside the thick walls of the castle Catelyn knew that the smallfolk and the servants and the soldiers were all in the yard celebrating. Ser Desmond had brought twenty casks up from the cellars and they were all celebrating. They toasted Edmure's imminent return and they cheered for Robb's conquest of the Crag while hoisting horns of nut-brown ale.

But inside the keep, in the Great Hall, it was quiet and lonely. A lonely place for two people to sit to supper.

Catelyn did not speak. She sat, her spine straight as a rod, and stared into her wine goblet. It was the same wine she had drank the night before and it had been fine, better than fine even. But now, it tasted thin and sour on her tongue. Her food, barely touched, tasted like dirt and ash.

Brienne sat across the table from her, barely eating her own food, though she had put up more of an effort than Catelyn had. Even now she pushed some of it around the plate with her fork as if moving it would make it easier to eat.

One of the torches above the table had guttered out, but there was no one to replace it, Catelyn had given all the servants leave to join the celebration. It had been bitterly done, but she could not blame them for wanting to celebrate and dance and drink and cheer.

She would not blame them. They did not know. And even if they did, why should they care? They had never known her sons. They had never watched Bran climb with their hearts in their throats, pride and terror so mingled that they seemed to be one. They had never heard his laughter. They had never smiled to see Rickon trying so fiercely to be like his older brothers. They had never held the young boy in their arms and pressed kisses into his light brown curls.

She shook her head, turning her gaze from her wine goblet to her supper in front of her. Trout wrapped in bacon with a a salad of turnip greens and warm bread. She had managed barely a bite of each and that had seemed too much.

 _I am become a sour woman,_ Catelyn thought. _I take no joy in mead or meat, and song and laughter have become suspicious strangers to me. I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once._

She looked up from the plate, staring sadly at Brienne. "Brienne, I am no fit company," she told the young woman. "Go join the revels, if you would. Drink a horn of ale and dance to Rymund's harping."

The girl did not know what news Catelyn had received that morning, she only knew that it had been bad. All the same, she looked up at Catelyn, concern shining in her blue eyes. "I am not made for revels, My Lady," she told her, by way of excuse. "If you command it, I ..."

Catelyn shook her head, she would not have the girl uncomfortable and joining the revels because she thought she had been commanded to. "I only thought you might enjoy happier company than mine," she told her.

Brienne shook her head as well, "I'm well content," she told Catelyn. She looked down at her plate for a moment before she looked back up at Catelyn, that concern still shining in her eyes. "But you are in pain, My Lady."

It was that gentle prodding that did it. Catelyn had not intended to tell her, the only ones in the castle that knew at the moment were Maester Vyman and herself. But Brienne was concerned, and Catelyn could trust the young woman to keep what she was told to herself. "There was another bird this morning," she told the young woman. "The maester woke me at once. It was his duty, but it was not kind." She shook her head, swallowing around a lump in her throat, "Not kind at all."

"News from King's Landing?" Brienne assumed.

Catelyn shook her head. "It came from the North," Catelyn told her, her voice heavy. "From the traitor Theon Greyjoy."

That was all she could get out, all she could bare to say, though there was more of the story to tell. Brienne put her fork down, done pushing her food around her plate and pretending to eat. "What is it, My Lady?" she asked, her voice urgent. "What of your sons? Is it some news of them?"

Catelyn shook her head, a bitter sob tearing its way out of her mouth before she could stop it. The girl's question had been a simple one, but it was not a simple answer. She had not said the words out loud yet, fearing that it would make them real. But now, she had started to tell Brienne, she would have to finish it. "I have no sons but Robb," she told the blonde woman.

"My Lady?" Brienne asked, confused and rightfully so. Though she did not seem confused for long, a look of horror was quickly dawning on her face.

"Bran and Rickon tried to escape," Catelyn told her, thankful that she was able to get this sentence out without another sob. It was unbecoming of a Lady of her station to cry in public, even if the only person to see was a woman knight. "But they were retaken at a mill on the Acorn Waters. Theon Greyjoy had their bodies burned and hung in the courtyard of Winterfell." She shook her head, "Theon Greyjoy," she repeated bitterly. "A boy who ate at my table since he was young. Who grew up with my sons as if they were his own brothers."

She watched as Brienne lifted her hand off the table top, reaching out, almost as if she would place her hand on Catelyn's, but stopping. The poor girl concerned that her touch might be unwelcome in some way. "My Lady," she started and then she shook her head. Whatever she was going to say next she changed her mind. "My good Lady, your sons, they - they are with the Gods now."

Tears filled Catelyn's eyes as her head lifted sharply, staring Brienne in the eyes. "Are they?" she bit out, her voice so full of spite that Brienne's hand quickly moved back to her side of the table. "What God would let this happen? Rickon was only a baby. What could he have done to deserve this? And Bran, he was still asleep when I left Winterfell. I have not seen him with his eyes open since the day he fell. Now I can never return to him. I will never hear either of their laughter again. I will never kiss their cheeks, or soothe them when they fall ill."

She reached up, quickly wiping at her eyes before she held up her hands, showing Brienne the scars on her palms and fingers, "These scares," she told the girl. "They sent a man to cut Bran's throat as he lay sleeping. He would have died then, and me with him, Lenora would no doubt have been taken from us if it had not been for Bran's wolf. The beast tore out the man's throat."

She paused for a moment, thinking quietly. "I suppose Theon killed the wolves too, though he makes no mention of it. He must have, else wise ..." she paused, shaking her head. "I was certain the boys would be safe so long as the direwolves were with them. Like Robb with his Grey Wind. But my daughters have no wolves now."

Brienne raised her eyebrows, "Your daughters?" she asked. "My Lady?"

She smiled through her tears for a moment before the smile fell from her lips, "Sansa was a Lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so that I could brush her hair myself." If she closed her eyes she could see it now, her daughter's long red hair. "She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft. The red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper."

"And the younger daughter?" Brienne asked.

"Arya," Catelyn told her with a nod, "Arya, well ... Ned's visitors would often mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. Arya was a trial, it must be said. Half a boy and half a wolf pup. Forbid her anything and it became her heart's desire. She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. I despaired of ever making a Lady of her."

She looked up to see a small smile resting on Brienne's lips. She had a feeling that she might have been describing Brienne as a girl as much as she was describing her own daughter. "She collected scabs as other girls collect dolls, and would say anything that came into her head. I think she must be dead too."

That hurt to say, she felt as if her throat were constricting and cutting off her ability to breathe. "I want them all dead," she admitted to Brienne. "All of them. Theon Greyjoy first, then Jaime Lannister and Cersei and the Imp. Every one, every one. But my girls -"

"The queen," Brienne interrupted awkwardly. "The queen has two girls of her own. And two sons as well. The sons are of an age with yours. When she hears of your sons, perhaps she ... she will have to take pity."

Catelyn shook her head, "Send my daughters back unharmed?" Catelyn asked her, shaking her head slightly. "No, I fear that even if both my daughters are not dead they are lost to me. Cersei will never relinquish her hold on them. She is too smart for that. It is the only hold she has over my son. Though a weak hold at that."

She pushed herself away from the table, the smell of the food was making her feel sick to her stomach, she could not sit there anymore. She paused, sending an apologetic look at Brienne, "I am sorry, Lady Brienne," she told the young woman. "I must beg your leave. I would mourn my sons on my own."

Brienne nodded, "There is nothing to forgive, My Lady," she told her. "I am here to serve you as you see fit. If there is anything I can do, I beg you to ask."

Catelyn had been so sure that there was nothing Brienne could do for her that she had shaken her head. She did not know that later that night she would indeed be asking Brienne for her help.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

The supper had gone very well. She had smiled at her brother's jokes, pretended to accept his answers to all of her questions, and lured him into a false security with the food and wine. Her younger brother was a clever little thing, but he was not as clever as he thought he was. And she had discovered his weakness.

It should not be a surprise to him, she had told him the day he sent Myrcella away that she would get her revenge. He knew that she was angry at him. And _still_ he sent his men to kidnap Tommen when she sent him away from King's Landing.

He claimed to care about her children, he claimed to love them. But he was doing nothing to bring Lenora home. He had sent Myrcella away against Cersei's wishes. When she had finally seen reason she had sent Tommen away and the Imp captured him and brought him back to danger in King's Landing. And now he wanted to take away Joffrey's best guard _and_ put the boy in battle.

He could not care for her children, she was sure of that. If he truly cared for them he would not put them all in such danger.

He would change his mind about protecting her children when he learned what she had discovered. She had finally found it, the one thing that Tyrion did care for, the one thing that he did love. And he had been stupid enough to give her a golden lion necklace.

The fool.

"I hope that you like blackberry tarts," she told him as dessert was brought in.

"I love all sorts of tarts," her brother joked.

Cersei shook her head, moving away from the table. Her brother was always so crass, always sure that he was the most clever in the room. Tonight that would be his downfall. "Do you know why Varys is so dangerous?" she asked him.

She could practically hear Tyrion's eyes roll, "Because he has thousands of spies in his employ," her brother guessed. "Because he knows everything we do before we do it."

"Because he doesn't have a cock," Cersei cut in before the little man could guess anymore. She was tired of hearing his voice.

He lowered his voice into a whisper, as if he were telling her a secret, when he said, "Neither do you."

She finally turned back to him, lowering her voice to a whisper and hiss, knowing that he would be able to hear every word. That he would be hanging on to her every word as if it were a lifeline. "Perhaps I'm dangerous too," she told him. "You on the other hand are as _big_ a fool as every other man. That little worm between your legs does half your thinking."

"It's not _that_ little," Tyrion defended as if that was the most important thing she had said.

She laughed at him, cruel, and took a step closer to the table. She did not say anything to him, instead she took a sip of wine and smiled at him over the top of her glass. Her smile would make him more nervous than anything that she had to say. He watched her for a moment, shifting a bit in his seat. "You've never shown much interest in my cock before," he told her. For a moment she truly thought she had him, but then he raised his eyebrows, "Missing Jaime that much?" he asked.

It was a disgusting joke and she should have had him beaten for it. But she would not give him the pleasure of knowing that he had gotten to her. She moved to the seat next to him and sat down, leaning across the corner of the table to get as close as possible to him. "It's not your cock that interests me, so much as what you stick it in."

His eyes narrowed, "What are you trying to say?" he asked.

"Only this - _I have your little whore_."

For a moment his face tensed, she had him worried. Her eyes scanned his face as he forced a look of indifference onto it, "I thought you preferred blondes."

She chuckled once, "Such a droll little fellow. Tell me, have you married this one yet?" She gave him a moment to answer and when he didn't she smiled at him softly. "No? Good," she leaned back in her chair, "Father will be _so_ pleased."

He took a long sip of wine, stalling. "Why do you care who I fuck?" he asked her.

"Because a Lannister always pays _her_ debts," Cersei told him. Then for good measure she began to list the debts she was paying him back for. "You refuse to rescue my eldest daughter, you stole my youngest girl, you brought Tommen back to the capitol so that you could use him to control me, and you plot to have Joffrey murdered on the battlefield. No doubt you want him dead so that you can rule the Kingdoms through Tommen."

"This is madness," Tyrion told her, though his voice was tense and worried. "Stannis will be here within days. You need me."

That was laughable, she could not think of one reason why she might need him. Did he plan on leading sorties himself? "For what?" she asked him. "Your great prowess in battle?"

"Bronn's sellswords will never fight without me," he told her.

A lie and they both knew it. She did not even bother to acknowledge what he had said, it was so ridiculous. "Have no fear," she told him, her voice gentle. "You are safe from me. Though I won't say that I haven't thought of slitting your throat from time to time, but Jaime would never forgive me if I did." She was quiet for a moment, letting that fact sink in for him. As far as she was concerned he was only alive for the love she had for their brother.

"Pretty little thing," she told him after a moment. "Your whore. Lovely body, really. The bruises will heal in time." She smiled at the look on her brother's face. No doubt he wanted desperately to tell her that the woman did not matter to him. But he couldn't, his face told her the truth. She had him.

"Where did you find her?" he asked, each word a struggle for him.

"Varys isn't the only one who hears whispers," Cersei told him. Then she shook her head in mock disappointment, "Really, a Lannister lion necklace? You need to hide your secret whores more carefully."

She watched him for a moment, smirking when his hands clenched into fists on the arms of his chair. "She'll be treated gently enough," she told him as if that would soothe him. "So long as no harm comes to my children. _Any of them_. If any of them are harmed then your little cunt will die more painfully than you could possibly imagine."

A look of alarm crossed over her brother's face. "The children are safe," he told her. "Gods be good Cersei, they're my own blood! What sort of man do you take me for?"

"A small and twisted one," Cersei answered honestly.

He was quiet for a moment, she was sure that he was trying to find a way to outsmart her. There wasn't a way. She _had_ him and they both knew it. "For all I know, you've killed her already."

"Would you like to see her?" Cersei asked him, smiling. "I thought you might." She didn't look away from him, but she raised her voice, "Ser Mandon, bring in my brother's whore."

Tyrion glared at her for a moment, but the second the door to her chamber opened he turned to watch her be brought in. The girl had fought when Cersei had sent her men to get her from the whorehouse. She had fought and she had lost. Her eyes were wide with fear now, her face pale. Blood trickled from her broken lip and bruises covered her body.

He watched her for a moment before he stood from his chair and walked closer to her. "I'm sorry they hurt you," he told her, his voice was soft, but Cersei could hear it from where she sat.

"Bruises heal," she told her brother before the girl could speak. "The whore will live. So long as my children do."

He did not turn to look at her. He continued to stare at his whore as if she were the only thing in the room. "You must be brave," he told her. "I promise I will free you," he told the redheaded girl.

"Don't forget me, My Lord," she told him, her voice soft.

"Never," Tyrion told her.

Cersei snapped her fingers, it was all very touching, but she would not give her brother the satisfaction of any more time spent with his whore. He had seen that she was very much alive, if only a little injured. That was the purpose of this entire evening. So that he would know that she had power over him. That he could play with and manipulate her children, but that she could do the same with the woman that he loved.

Her men quickly pulled the girl from the room. Tyrion stood there for a moment, his back turned to her before he spoke. "I have never liked you, Cersei," he told her. "But you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You've ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don't know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you'll know the debt is paid."

She could remember a time when her father had come to King's Landing for one of Joffrey's name day celebrations. On his last day in the capitol he had brought Lenora and Joffrey into his solar and the two children had sat down while Tywin had told them about the sacking of King's Landing. She had stood outside the door, peeking around the frame and she had heard her father tell them that a battle is over in the instant one army breaks and flees. No matter that they're as numerous as they were a moment before, still armed and armored, once they had run before you they would not turn to fight again.

So it was this night. She had not realized it, but when she had let her brother get away with threatening her children she had run. It was too late to fight now. The only thing she could manage was to yell at him to get out of her sight.

He had stood there, watching her for a moment before he nodded. "Good night," the little monster had told her. "And pleasant dreams." Then he had waddled from her chambers.

Angry tears prickled at her eyes as she stared at the spot where he had once stood. She had never loved her brother, she couldn't - not after he had killed her mother to tear his way into the world. She had never believed that he had loved her. But she knew that he loved Jaime, the twisted little thing had practically worshiped their brother. And three of her children were Jaime's children as well.

Surely the monster would not do anything to Jaime's _own_ children.

But Jaime was so far away. And Cersei had pushed him. Her brother was a lion after all. She had pushed him and he had pushed back.

She turned from her chamber and moved toward the windows. The shutters had been closed to keep out the smoke from Stannis' and Tyrion's fires. But now she threw them open. It was not fresh air she sought, but the moon. It was out there, shining weakly though smoke that filled the sky, but it was there.

She had hoped for a full moon, but it was only a crescent, a little sliver of light in the sky. She squinted her eyes at it, wondering if Lenora and Myrcella were looking up at the same moon. She could still remember like it was yesterday, when the girls were still young, and it had finally dawned on Lenora that one day she and Myrcella would be married and sent away from their family in King's Landing.

She had been scared and worried, little tears streaking their way down her cheeks as she rushed into Cersei's chambers. She was maybe eight years old, still young enough to think that her tears could fix her problems. Cersei had asked her what was wrong and she had cried that she did not want to move to the North. She did not want to marry _that boy_. She wanted to stay in King's Landing forever. She did not want to leave her family.

How Cersei had wished that she could change her husband's mind, that she could promise her daughter that they would be able to be together forever. But she couldn't, and she would not lie to the child. So instead she pulled her daughter close and brought her to the window, lifting the small girl onto the sill so that they could both look up at the sky. "Do you see the moon, little love?" Cersei had asked her.

Lenora nodded, still sniffing back her tears.

Cersei had pressed a kiss to the top of her head, "Well, wherever you end up in the world. Whoever you marry. I promise you this, every night you look up at the sky at the moon and I will too. No matter where you are, no matter how far away, we will both be looking at the same moon. And that will keep us connected."

She had told the same thing to Myrcella the night before she left for Dorne.

She did not know if her daughters were looking up at the moon that night, though she hoped they were.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

They would be leaving the Crag within the week. And Robb would be lying if he did not say that he was glad of it. He did not like what being there had done to Lenora.

She hadn't changed, per say, she was still his. But he could tell that being here was difficult for her. The castle, though rundown, no doubt reminded her of Casterly Rock. He would find her during the evenings in the library watching the sun set over the ocean with this wistful look in her eyes that he had never seen before.

This place was bringing back memories for her, memories of her mother and of the time that she had spent growing up on this coast with her uncles.

Lenora was not a stupid girl, she knew what the war meant. She knew that Robb's forces were fighting against her family. But with the exception of the Whispering Wood when he had captured the Kingslayer, he had fought only distant uncles or cousins. Being here, so close to her mother's family seat she was reminded that sooner, rather than later, Robb would march against her grandfather.

As upset as she was that her brother had employed a man to kill her she could not turn her back on her family easily. Here on the western coast of Westeros, staring out at the sea that she had spent so much time near as a young child, it was getting harder and harder.

He left her alone when she went to the library every evening, but it was dark now and she was standing outside in the courtyard, staring up at the sky. He quietly walked through the yard toward her. She didn't seem to hear him, at least she did not turn around. But when he came to stand behind her and placed his hand on her shoulder she leaned into his touch, sighing almost peacefully.

"Where are you?" he asked her, his voice soft, he seemed to have interrupted a _moment_ and he did not want to interrupt it any further than he already had.

It took Lenora a moment to drag her eyes away from the sky above them. When she finally did there was a sad smile on her face, "Here," she told him, "at the Crag."

Robb shook his head, his right hand lifting so that he could cup her cheek in his hand, "No you're not," he told her. "Your body is here, but your mind is somewhere else." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "Where are you, Nora?" he asked her again.

She leaned into his hand for a moment, her eyes closing for a second. "I was looking at the moon," she told him once she had opened her eyes. Robb stayed quiet, waiting for more. She sighed, "And I was in King's Landing with my mother."

He had expected as much. When he had seen her standing alone in the dark like that he had assumed that she was thinking about her family. "What were you thinking about?" he asked her.

"When I was a child," Lenora told him, lifting her face out of his hand so that she could turn in his arms and look back at the sky. "We were five when our betrothal was announced. I don't know about you, but I didn't know what that meant. I just knew that I got a new gown for the occasion. It wasn't until I was eight that I realized that betrothal meant marriage and marriage meant leaving King's Landing."

Robb smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. The betrothal had not been as hard for him He had grown up knowing that he was to be the Lord of Winterfell once his father died. When he was old enough to understand what his betrothal to Lenora meant it had not been such a shock to him. Of course he would take a wife, Winterfell would need a Lady. It had been easier for him because he would never have to leave home.

A smile made its way onto Lenora's lips, soft and sad. "I ran into my mother's chambers screaming and crying because the last thing I could ever imagine doing was leaving King's Landing to live somewhere else. _Visiting_ would be fine, as long as I always had the Red Keep to come home to. I was not a stupid child, it had just never occurred to me that I would leave. My mother was married and she lived in King's Landing after all, I had assumed it would be the same for me. And then one day my septa made a comment, _When you're running Winterfell ..._ "

Robb chuckled, "That was when you realized you would have to leave King's Landing?"

Lenora nodded, "And my family. So I ran to my mother, hoping that she would be able to change my father's mind. I had lived in Casterly Rock for five years. I had just been returned to them as far as I was concerned. Didn't my parents want me? Didn't they enjoy having me around? Wouldn't they miss me?" She shook her head, "My mother wrapped her arms around me and brought me to a window. She lifted me up to sit on the sill so that we could both lean out and she told me to look at the sky."

"At the moon," Robb supplied.

Lenora nodded, "She told me that whenever I missed her I was to go outside and look up at the moon. She told me that she would look up at the sky every night. And that no matter where I went in the world, even up to Winterfell, it was the same moon. It would keep us connected."

"You miss her?" Robb asked her, forcing himself to keep his tone light. He did not want her to take his words as an accusation. She was allowed to miss her mother, even if they were on opposite sides of a war. As long as she didn't act on it.

"I miss all of them," Lenora told him, her voice quiet and resigned. "My mother can be harsh and she can be cold. But she could also love me like no one else could. And no matter what the situation she always had advice." She paused for a moment, her lips quirking up slightly, "It was not always good advice, but she believed in it."

"What else?" Robb asked her.

"I miss the trust I had in Jaime," she told him, being completely candid. "I always felt so safe with him, I felt invincible with him at my side. But I've lost that now. And I miss debating things with Tyrion. He was always so quick, he always has an answer for everything, and unlike my mother, his answers are usually right. Myrcella and I never had much in common, she was so much younger than me and a proper Lady from the day she was born. But she used to let me brush her hair in the evenings, I was so jealous of her golden hair. It looked like our mother's and I _wished_ that I had something that so easily identified me as my mother's child."

Robb smiled at that, Lenora wouldn't have realized it when she was younger, but she did have something of her mother's. A lot could be said about Cersei Lannister, but the woman was smart and she was fierce, stubborn and determined. And those were some of his favorite things about Lenora. "You've got her cheek bones," he told her instead. "I noticed that the first time I saw the two of you together."

Lenora nodded, "We all do," she told him. "Once the baby fat melts away even Tommen will have those Lannister cheek bones." She was quiet for another moment, "He's older than Rickon," she told him, for a moment forgetting that the boys were gone, Robb's heart clenched painfully in his chest, but a moment later the pain lessened. "But he's still a baby. His nurse tells him bedtime stories every night to get him to sleep."

"You haven't said anything about Joffrey," Robb reminded her.

Lenora shook her head, the wistful smile that had slipped onto her lips when she talked about Tommen quickly hardened into a frown and her jaw clenched. "He tried to kill me," she told him, her voice as hard as stone. "Whatever he is, he is not my brother." She turned to look at him, "In truth I came out here to say goodbye," she told him.

"To Joffrey?" Robb asked.

"To all of them," Lenora told him. "They were my family. I've loved them my whole life. But what my brother - what Joffrey has done," she shook her head. "To your father, to your family, to your sister no doubt, to me - it's unforgivable." She grabbed onto his arm desperately, her fingernails digging into his shirt sleeve. "You must promise me something," she told him.

"Anything," Robb told her, already prepared to give her the world if she asked for it.

"When we get to King's Landing. When this war is over and you have taken the city. You must give Joffrey to me."

"Nora," Robb started, shaking his head.

She interrupted him, "I mean it, Robb. He tried to kill me. He was afraid of me and in his fear he underestimated me. He failed. I am still alive. And when we take the city I want him to know exactly why he _should_ fear me. I want him to see what it looks like to kill someone with honor. I will not send a man after him. I will not pay for his head. I will take it myself."

"Could you really do that?" Robb asked her. "You say he is not your brother, but you grew up with him."

"You grew up with Theon," Lenora threw back at him. "Has anyone questioned whether or not _you_ will be able to take his head when he's brought before you?"

Robb shook his head, she had him there. "But he's your blood," he tried.

Lenora paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, "I was his blood. It did not matter to him that I had been there from the day he was born. I heard his first cries. Watched over him as he was bathed and fed and put to bed. And I was there for every day after that. And none of that mattered. If he does not think of me as a sister then I have his leave to not look at him as my brother."

"And what about the rest of your family?" Robb asked her.

Lenora's jaw clenched, "If they surrender then will have my forgiveness and my love," she told him. "But if they stand in my way then I will kill them too."

Robb stared down at her in surprise. He had come out here because he believed that being so close to Casterly Rock would be difficult for her. That it would make her question her decision to support him. But instead it seemed to have had the opposite effect on the girl. She was more sure of herself than ever. She knew exactly what she wanted. She knew where her heart was. And she was determined to see this war through.

She turned and looked at him, her eyes soft, "You haven't promised me, Robb," she reminded him, her voice gentle. "I need your word."

Robb nodded, "You have it," he assured her quietly. His men wouldn't understand it, none of his bannermen would, but he understood her. He understood why she needed this so desperately. "Joffrey's head is yours."

There were tears in her eyes and one sliding down her cheek when she nodded before she turned to look up at the moon again. Robb held her in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of her decision sink in and then giving her time to dry her eyes.

Then to distract her he straightened out his right arm so that it was no longer wrapped around her and extended it toward the sky, folding in all of his fingers except for his thumb. "My father once told me that no matter where you are in the world, if you hold up your thumb and squint one of your eyes the moon will always be the smaller than your thumb."

He didn't know why he told her that. It was a useless piece of information. He didn't even know why he remembered it, it had been so long since Ned had told him that. But whatever the reason it did the trick, Lenora extended her right arm as well, her thumb next to his and she closed one eye and then the other, testing out his theory and smiling when it worked.

"Ask me again," she ordered him once she had dropped her thumb. Robb raised his eyebrows, unsure of what he was supposed to ask her. "Ask me where I am," she clarified.

He nodded, "Where are you, Nora?" he asked.

She turned in his arms, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and rocking up on her tip toes so that she could press her lips against his. She kissed him for a few minutes, her tongue even slipped between his open lips to battle with his own. When she pulled away to take few deep breaths she smiled at him softly, "I'm right where I am meant to be," she assured him. "With you."

* * *

Author's Note:

And I'm back! Did you guys miss me last week? I missed you guys! And I missed Robb and Lenora. So I'm really glad that this was the chapter that I got to come back on. It was a major character development moment for Lenora all wrapped up in Robb/Lenora mush and feels.  
And I hope that you guys enjoyed it as much as I did!  
If you did you should write a review in that box down there, like all the cool cats who reviewed on the last chapter. They not only get my thanks, but they get answers to their questions because I'm a cool cat too.  
At least that's what my mother used to tell me.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I'm glad you liked it and I hope that this one was equally as awesome!

 _DannyBlack70_ : I have been looking forward to the Joffrey point of view since I decided to write it. And I'm glad it went over as well as it did! Thank you!

 _Doppelganger13_ : Hello new friend! I'm glad that you enjoyed reading the story so far and that you don't regret the couple hours it took to read! I hope that this chapter continued the trend!

 _ZabuzasGirl:_ Thank you for your review!

 _darkwolf76_ : Hello! Yeah, Joffrey has no redeemable qualities as far as I'm concerned. Absolutely none. He's a vile excuse for a human being. But Cersei and Jaime ... those ones are a little more grey. I truly think that once you get Jaime away from Cersei he has the potential to become a decent human being (as evidenced by how I portray him in this story) and Cersei, well Cersei's a bitch. But I love her. And for the most part you can trace all of her unforgivable behavior to a misguided attempt to protect her children. She's not evil like Joffrey, just cruel for her own entertainment, she's cruel and vicious, but she thinks she has a reason for it. And I hope that I portray that in this story.  
Will there be any baby Starks? At the moment I'm leaning toward no, at least not any time soon. If you pay attention to the GoT timeline we're getting a bit close to the Red Wedding and that's going to be messy enough, as it is, without adding a baby  
As for your other question. I can't answer it today, but there's a chapter coming up soon (within the next week) that deals with the Freys. They're not going to betray Robb because he broke a betrothal (obviously because he was already taken) but Lord Walder is already known to be a horrible bannerman, so I imagine that it would not take much for him to betray Robb, even without an insult to his daughters and his family.

 _amrawo_ : Hello new friend! I'm glad that you found the story and that you got caught up in a weekend. I'm sorry you had to wait a week for the update, but I hope it was worth it!

 _magclot23_ : Thank you. I was both super excited and super nervous about the Joffrey section. Excited because he's a little jerk and I could not wait to get inside his head. But nervous because I was worried I wouldn't do him justice. That it would fall flat. So I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 _casper6six6_ : Thank you for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter just as much!

 _sltsky96_ : You noticed that did you? Yes, Lenora's response to her miscarriage is very similar to how Cersei might respond to similar circumstances. It's very similar to how Cersei reacted when she found out that Lenora was a girl after she was born. Cold, detached, and distant. As angry and betrayed as Lenora feels, she is her mother's daughter. And that's something she is going to have to come to terms with before the end of the story.  
She's not going to get to a point where she can really talk about it with Robb any time soon. But I can promise that she will before the end of the story.  
And she will get to fight in more battles, she is too feisty to sit on the side lines now that she's gotten a taste of it.  
Thank you so much for your review. I'm glad you've enjoyed the story so far! And you definitely should write more. When I started this story I didn't realize it would get this much of a response, but I'm so glad I kept with it.

That's all I've got for now. Though that was nine reviews! I don't think I've ever gotten nine reviews on one chapter before. Hold on ... let me check. Nope. Never. That's the most reviews on a single chapter I've ever gotten. So thank you!  
See you here tomorrow, you cool cats!  
Chloe Jane.


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven: Only You

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

***Important Note: I posted this chapter yesterday, but I don't think it actually loaded. I got an error message, but it showed up in the chapter count under manage stories. But did not change the date for when the story was last updated. Anyway ... posting again today, fingers crossed that it works.***

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 _My name is Chloe Jane and it's been a while since I've given you a sex scene..._

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 _Chapter Thirty-Seven: Only You_

 _Jaime_

She had sent him a flagon of wine. It had been a strange sight to him when the turnkey brought it in. He was only fed one meal a day and only given water. This _gift_ was highly suspect. So he did not touch it for fear that someone meant to kill him.

She came to him sometime in the night. His cell had no windows. It was buried so far underground that no light ever shone on him. But he had been down here long enough that he knew they switched guards in the morning, at midday, and at midnight. The morning guard never spoke to him. The midday guard brought him food. And the midnight guard answered his questions, though all of his answers were lies no doubt. She came to him shortly after the midnight guard came on duty.

He must have been a sight for her, he was sure of it. His ankles and his wrists were chained together, then the chains on his wrists were chained to the chains on his ankles, making it impossible for him to stand or lay down straight. His ankle chains were bolted to the wall. He had not been allowed a razor since the last time that Lenora had been to see him. The hair on the top of his head was growing long and his beard had grown in. The lice were back again. In the corner of the cell, as far as he could walk while chained to the wall there was a pail overflowing with his own shit.

He should have been embarrassed. He should have felt some sort of shame at his conditions, that a Lady such as Catelyn Stark should seem him in these circumstances. But he felt no shame, not for her. If Lenora had visited him he would have felt shamed. He would have ordered _her_ to leave him, he would have told her that he did not want her to see him like this. But it was Catelyn who came to see him, instead of Lenora, so he tried to make himself look as comfortable and unconcerned as her could.

She came with a torch, his gaolers did not bring torches with them when they came this deep. The light was too bright for him, brighter than anything he could have imagined. He lifted his hands quickly, shielding his face from the light, "Lady Stark," he greeted her, his jaw clenching at the sound of his voice, it was hoarse. He had used it so little as of late. "I fear I am in no condition to receive you." He did not care about his condition, but he was a knight. Even knights had their courtesies.

"Look at me, Ser," the woman ordered him.

He sighed, "The light hurt my eyes," he told her honestly. "A moment, if you would."

He slowly lowered his hands and blinked at the light. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light he waved his hands around the cell, "I would invite you to sit, but your brother has neglected to provide me a chair," he told her, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"I can stand well enough," she told him.

"Can you?" he asked, squinting at her. She was around his age, perhaps a year or so older than him. But the woman looked so old now. Her face was pale and drawn, the lines in her skin deeper than the last time he had seen her. The war had been going on for almost a year and it had already aged the woman in front of him several times over. "You look terrible," he told her, being honest. "I must say. Though perhaps it's just the light in here."

She was staring at the chains on his wrists and ankles. He moved his wrists, allowing the chains to jingle against each other, "Are my bracelets heavy enough for you, or did you come to add a few more?" he asked her, still teasing.

"You brought this on yourself," she reminded him, feeling no pity for him, though he had not expected any. "When we brought you to Riverrun you were given a better cell. You repaid us by trying to escape."

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, if she had come looking for an apology she would not get one from him. "A cell is a cell," he told her. He wanted to act as if this cell did not bother him, as if he were content down here in the dark. "Some under Casterly Rock make this one seem a sunlit garden. One day perhaps I'll show them to you."

She bristled at his words, "I did not come here to be threatened," she told him.

 _No_ , Jaime thought. _You came here to threaten me. And now you're afraid because it does not seem to be working_. He did not tell her that though, instead he joked, hoping to make her angrier. "No? Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me? It's said that widows grow weary of their empty beds. We of the Kingsguard vow never to wed, but I suppose I could still service you if that's what you need. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we'll see if I'm up to it."

She stared down at him horrified and Jaime smirked back at her. He had heard the jokes. After Stannis had told everyone in the Seven Kingdoms about him and Cersei everyone had been ready to paint his as a vile, disgusting monster. If that was how Lady Catelyn Stark wanted to see him he would play the part. It did not matter to him. The only opinion he cared about was Lenora's and she had made it clear that he disgusted her.

"If you said that in my son's hearing, he would kill you for it."

He shook his head, "Only so long as I was wearing these," he rattled his chains. "We both know the boy is afraid to face me in single combat."

Her shoulders tensed and she stood a little straighter, "My son may be young, but if you take him for a fool, you are sadly mistaken. And it seems to me that you were not so quick to make challenges when you had an army at your back."

Jaime chuckled, low and dark, "Tell me," he ordered, "did the old Kings of Winter hide behind their mother's skirts as well?"

That struck a nerve, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched, "I grow weary of this, Ser. There are things I must know."

"Why should I tell you anything?" he asked her, a bit more defensive than he would have liked.

"To save your life," she told him.

He shook his head, his lips twitching up in a smile, "You think I fear death?" he asked her. That was a lie of course, a ploy. He did fear death. He did not fear the pain or the nothingness that he was sure came after it. He did not fear the Gods, Old or New. But he feared dying before he could apologize to his niece. He feared leaving the girl alone in the world with no one to defend her. He feared leaving this world without ever seeing her smile, so much like her mother's, again.

Lady Catelyn bought his trick because she shook her head. "If you will not speak with me, so be it," she told him. "Drink the wine or piss in it, Ser, it makes no matter to me."

She turned to leave, her hand was on the door to pull it closed when he stopped her. "Lady Stark," he called out, waiting for her to turn to look at him. "Things go to rust in this damp. Even a man's courtesies. Stay, and you shall have your answers ... for a price."

She was not the only one who needed to know things. He had questions too. As much as he wanted to anger this woman, as much as he wanted to take her questions and spit in her face. There were things that he desperately needed to know. Things that only she could tell him.

"Captives do not set prices," she told him.

But he already knew that he had won. Whatever it was that she wanted to know was so important that she would give him what he wanted in return. "Oh," he told her, "you will find mine modest enough. Your turnkey tells me nothing but vile lies, and he cannot even keep them straight. One day he says Cersei has been flayed and the next it's my father. Answer my questions and I will answer yours."

"Truthfully?" the woman asked, taking another step back into his cell.

"Oh, it's _truth_ you want? Be careful, My Lady. Tyrion says that people often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up."

Lady Catelyn assured him that she would be able to handle whatever truth he gave her. And then she poured him some of the wine. He drank the first glass in one long pull. It was sour, but it was better than the water he had grown accustomed to. He placed the glass on the floor and leaned his head against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest to get as comfortable as possible before he looked up at the woman. "Your first question, Lady Catelyn?" he asked her.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking for just a moment. "Are you Joffrey's father?" she asked him, the question bursting from her lips as if she had not control over her tongue.

Jaime rolled his eyes, bored with the game already, "You would never ask unless you knew the answer," he told her.

"I want it from your own lips."

"Joffrey is mine," he told her with a shrug. "As are the rest of Cersei's brood. The young ones, at least. Lenora is the only one I cannot claim, though I did raise that one."

"You admit to being your sister's lover?" she asked.

That question was tougher to answer. He had not been her lover since she had conceived Tommen. And even then, it had been unwilling. He had not willingly touched his sister since before Lenora was born. That little baby had changed everything. But that was not what Catelyn had asked. She was looking for proof that he was a monster, and he would give it to her. "I have always loved my sister," he told her. It was not a lie. "And you owe me two answers. Do all my kin still live?"

"Ser Stafford Lannister was slain at Oxcross, I am told," she answered.

Jaime rolled his eyes, "Uncle Dolt, my sister called him. It's Tyrion and my father who concern me. As well as Cersei."

"They live, all three," she told him as she refilled his wine glass and handed it back to him. "I am surprised that you do not ask about Lenora, you _raised her_ after all."

Jaime waved her off as he took another sip of wine, this time he did not empty the glass. "Your son is in love with the girl," he told her. "Neither he nor his men would harm her. No Lannister man would kill her. She is the safest person in the entire Seven Kingdoms." He took another sip of wine. "Ask your next."

Her eyes sparkled in the dark, "How did my son Bran come to fall?" she asked.

"I flung him from a window." Jaime told her, as simple as if they were discussing the weather. "He was spying on us." She argued, she swore up and down that Bran would never spy. Jaime took another sip of his wine, "Then blame the Gods," he told her. "The Gods who brought the boy to our window and gave him ears to hear something he was never meant to hear."

"Blame the _Gods_?" Catelyn echoed back. "Yours was the hand that threw him. You meant for him to die."

"I seldom fling children from towers to improve their health. Yes, I meant for him to die." He paused for a moment, signaling that it was time for him to ask her a question. "How is Lenora?" he asked. He could not be sure, but it must have been months since she had come to see him and he had realized that she was with child. He could imagine her now, her stomach round with the child she was carrying. Instead of making him happy the thought terrified him. All he could think about was what had happened to his mother when she birthed Tyrion. He wondered if Lenora thought about it too, if she was as frightened for herself as he was for her. Lady Catelyn did not seem to understand his concern, her eyebrows were raised silently. "With her _condition_?" he specified.

"Her condition?" Catelyn echoed. "I don't understand, Ser."

"Her _child_ ," Jaime explained, wondering at the fact that Lady Catelyn Stark did not seem at all concerned about her future grandchild. "You son is not expecting too much of her, I hope," he added. "They will need to find a castle for her soon, I expect, unless he expects her to have her lying in in a tent on a battlefield."

" _Lying in_?" Catelyn murmured before she shook her head. "You are mistaken, Ser," she told him. "Lenora is not with child."

Jaime moaned, low and deep in his throat. He was not mistaken, _she_ was. But if after so many moons Lady Catelyn did not know about Lenora's pregnancy that could only mean one thing. The girl had lost her child. She would be in so much pain. And all alone. She should have had her mother with her, the poor child, and instead she had to deal with the loss on her own. There was a pain in Jaime's chest, a tightening that made it difficult to breathe and his arms felt heavy with the ache to hold her and comfort her.

He cleared his throat, "Forgive me, Lady Stark," he requested. "I must have imagined that." He drained the rest of his wine glass and set it on the floor beside him. "I am suddenly grown tired," he told her. "I am afraid our game has come to an end."

He could tell that there was still so much that she wanted to ask him, but the woman was smart, she could see that she would get no more answers tonight. She nodded, "Enjoy the rest of the wine," she told him. "Perhaps I will send you more on the morrow."

Jaime nodded, already turning away from her so that he could attempt to lie down on the straw covered ground. "Perhaps," he agreed, though they both knew she would. And they both knew that she would be back the next evening with more questions.

Perhaps he would have the answers for her.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

They had been at the sept all day, singing. The city folk, poor and rich alike. It seemed the entire city was there, packed in tight, ever since the first report of enemy sails had reached the Red Keep. There were so many people packed inside the sept that if she listened closely Sansa could hear their voices all the way from the yard inside the Red Keep.

Inside the sept the only sound was their singing, but outside one could hear the whicker of horses, the clang of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze gates of the city. It was a fearful noise to be sure.

Inside, the women sang for the Mother's mercy. But outside the soldiers prayed to the Warrior, and they did so in silence. She had once heard that the Mother and the Warrior were two faces of the same God. If that was true she wondered which one would listen to their prayers.

She moved quickly across the yard, hoping not to be seen, but she slowed as she drew near the king. She had been on her way to the sept herself when her handmaiden, Shae, had found her to tell her that Joffrey had sent for her. Ser Meryn Trant was holding his horse steady for him so that the king could mount it. Both the boy and horse wore gilded mail and enameled crimson plate, with matching golden lions on their heads. The evening sunlight flashed off the golds and reds every time Joff moved. It was bright and shining, just like the king. And wicked too.

The Imp was mounted on a red stallion beside his nephew. He was armored more plainly than the king in battle gear that made him look like a little boy dressed up in his father's clothes. It made Sansa want to laugh, but she held it back, she was glad she did because a moment later the little Lord had caught sight of her and turned his horse her way.

"Lady Sansa," he called out to her from the saddle. "Surely my sister, the queen, has asked you to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor's?"

"She has, My Lord," Sansa answered him with a single nod. "But King Joffrey sent for me to see if off. I also meant to visit the sept as well, to pray."

"I won't ask for whom," Tyrion told her with an odd twist of his lips. It seemed that it was almost a smile. His eyes darted behind her for a moment, looking over her shoulder, but when Sansa turned all she could see was Shae. "Perhaps, My Lady, you would oblige me by doing your praying inside the holdfast," he told her. "With a battle so soon to start it would be unwise for you to go to the sept alone."

She didn't want to, but he was Joffrey's uncle and Hand of the King. She could not deny him. So she nodded, "As you will," she conceded quietly.

Tyrion's eyes narrowed at her, for just a moment, as if determining whether or not she was being truthful before he nodded. "This day may change all," he told her. "For you as well as for House Lannister. I imagine that you will be safe enough in Maegor's, so long as -"

He did not get to finish his statement, the king had caught sight of her. "Sansa!" his boyish shout rang out across the yard. "Sansa, here!"

She flinched and gritted her teeth. The boy called her as she would call a dog. What was worse was that he expected her to come. What was worse still, was that she would. The Imp watched her carefully, "His Grace has need of you," he told her, his voice gentle. "We'll talk again after the battle. If the Gods permit."

She nodded, and turned toward Joffrey, though she turned back to Tyrion a moment later, "I will pray for your safe return, My Lord," she told him. A lie, but it was what was required. This little man was to be her uncle by law soon. It was expected that she would wish for his return.

His eyes and his voice was soft and skeptical at the same time when he asked her, "Will you?"

She nodded, "Just as I pray for the king's," she confirmed before she turned away from him to walk to Joffrey. That one had not been a lie. She would pray for the Imp's safety the same amount that she would pray for Joffrey's.

 _Not at all._

Joffrey had not mounted his horse yet, he was still on the ground. He looked excited as Sansa threaded her way through the gold cloaks to stand in front of him as he beckoned. "It will be battle soon," he told her. "Everyone says so."

"May the Gods have mercy on us all," came her reply. Quick and practiced.

"My uncle is the one who will need mercy," Joffrey told her, smirking. "But I won't give him any." He drew his sword. The pommel was a ruby cut in the shape of a heart, set between a lion's jaws. "My new blade," he told her, unnecessarily. " _Hearteater_ , I've named it."

Sansa nodded, remembering his other sword, _Lion's Tooth_ , the one that Arya had taken from him and thrown in the river. She hoped that Stannis would do the same with _Hearteater_ before he killed Joffrey. "It's beautifully wrought, Your Grace," she told him.

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes darting from her face to his blade and back again. "Kiss it," he ordered her.

She stared at him for a moment, trying to determine if he was serious. When he did not back down she bent over the sword and touched her lips hesitantly to the cool metal. As grotesque as it was, she was sure that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than she would kiss the king. He seemed pleased though and he sheathed the sword. "You'll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle's blood."

Sansa was skeptical, the only way this sword would return with _anyone's_ blood was if a member of Joffrey's Kingsguard took the blade from him and killed someone for him. "Will you slay him yourself?" Sansa asked him, she knew that he wouldn't, but she wanted to needle at him a bit.

"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me," Joffrey told her, all confidence. His pouty lips drew into a smile. There had been a time when Sansa had loved his lips, but now they made her feel sick to her stomach.

"So you will be outside the gates fighting in the Vanguard?" she asked, hoping against reason that he would give her an affirmative answer.

"I wanted to, but my Uncle, the Imp, says my uncle Stannis's men will never cross the river. I will command the catapults," he stopped. Sansa had felt her lips twitch up at the corners, a small smile. He must have seen it because he shook his head angrily. "A King doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls," he told her, his tone irritated.

 _My brother discusses his battle plans with your sister_ , Sansa wanted to tell him. But there was a fine line between needling him and making him angry. She did not want him angry at her. "I'm sorry, Your Grace" she conceded, "you're right. I'm stupid. _Of course_ you'll be fighting in the Vanguard." She lifted her eyes to his face, he looked almost ashamed. "They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest," she told him, throwing more caution to the wind. She was not _too_ brave though. With one sharp look from Joffrey she was backtracking again. "Though he's older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown. _And_ he's only a pretender."

She turned away from him to walk back to Shae, but Joffrey was not done with her yet. "Your brother's turn will come," he warned her, his voice an angry hiss. "And you can lick _his_ blood off of _Hearteater_ too."

Sansa's eyes narrowed as he turned from her to mount his horse. _Or perhaps_ , she thought, _Robb will bring me a sword covered in your blood_. She stood as Joffrey and his men rode away from her. Shae came to stand by her side, walking so quietly that Sansa barely noticed her. "Some of those boys will never come back," Shae told her, almost sadly.

Sansa shook her head, "Joffrey will," she told her handmaiden, not bothering to keep her voice down. "The worst ones always live."

Shae shushed her quietly and reached for her hand, "Come, My Lady," she told her before she began to pull her out of the yard and back toward Maegor's Holdfast.

As they moved through the castle Sansa was amazed at how quiet it was. There were a few guards on the battlements, but for the most part the castle seemed empty. Away off she could hear the sounds of battle; the deep moans of war horns, the creak and thud of catapults, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch, the _thrum_ of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts. And beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

She shivered as Shae pulled her across the drawbridge to the holdfast. The castle within a castle where Queen Cersei had promised all the highborn ladies that they would be safe.

The two guards at the door were dressed in red capes with lion crested helms, she was supposed to believe that they belonged to House Lannister, but Sansa knew that they were just sellswords dressed up to look the part. A third guard was sitting on the steps, his sword laying across his knees, a _real_ guard would have been standing. He stood when he saw Sansa and Shae approach though and opened the door to let them inside.

The Queen's Ballroom was not a large room, it could only hold about one hundred people comfortably, and was just a tenth the size of the castle's Great Hall. But it was a pretty room. What it lacked in size it more than made up for in grace. Beaten silver mirrors backed every wall sconce, so that the torches would burn twice as brightly; the walls were paneled in carved wood, and sweet smelling rushes covered the floors. There were pipes and a fiddle being played in the gallery above. And a line of tall, arched windows along the south wall. Tonight they had been closed off with thick drapes. The velvet hangings admitted no light and muffled the sound of the battle beyond them.

Almost every highborn woman in the city sat at the long trestle tables, along with a handful of young boys. The women were wives, daughters, mothers, and sisters. Their men had gone out to fight Lord Stannis. Many would not return. The air was heavy with the knowledge. The worried and depressed looks were too much for Sansa, she could not look at the women without her chest tightening. They were praying for their men to _return_ while Sansa prayed that Joffrey would _die_.

As Joffrey's betrothed, Sansa had the seat of honor on the queen's right hand, not that she wanted it. It was as she was climbing the steps to the dais that she saw him. He was standing in the shadows by the back wall, he wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him.

It was the sword she recognized. Her father's greatsword, _Ice_ , near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him. Ser Ilyn Payne seemed to sense her gaze, because he turned toward her, staring her down with his pale eyes.

"What is _he_ doing here?" she asked the captain of the queen's new red cloak guard.

The man smiled at her, "Her Grace expects she'll have need of him before the night's done," he told her.

It was a true enough answer, but it made Sansa nervous. Ser Ilyn Payne was the King's Justice. There was only one service that he provided. She wondered whose head did Cersei mean to take off before the end of the night.

She was smart enough not to ask. And a moment later the royal steward had called for everyone to rise as Queen Cersei entered the ballroom.

The queen's gown was snowy white, like the cloaks of the Kingsguard, and the inside of her dagged sleeves was lined in gold satin. Her hair shown bright and gold in the torchlight and fell around her bare shoulders in gentle waves. She looked innocent, like a maiden, though there were points of color on her cheeks. The look made Sansa nervous, she wondered what game the queen might be playing at.

"Be seated," Cersei commanded with an almost soft smile on her lips. "And be welcome." She turned to Sansa once they were both seated. "You look pale, Sansa," she observed. "Is your red flower still blooming?"

Sansa looked down, ashamed, "Yes," she admitted.

The queen smiled, "How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here." She signaled for the first course to be served.

"Why is Ser Ilyn here?" Sansa blurted out after a moment. The captain of the guard had already told her, but she would hear the answer from the queen herself.

Cersei barely spared a glance at the mute man before she answered, "To deal with treason, and to defend us if need be. He was a knight before he was a headsman." She waited until a servant had placed a bowl of soup in front of her before she continued. She nodded toward the doors at the end of the hall, they were closed and barred. "When the axes smash down those doors, you may be glad of him."

Sansa would never be glad of Ser Ilyn Payne. She wished the Hound were there instead. The man was harsh, but she was sure that he would never let any harm come to her. She could not say the same for the headsman. "Won't your guards protect us?" she asked.

Cersei laughed, "And who will protect us from my guards?" she asked. "Loyal sellswords are as rare as virgin whores. If the battle is lost they will be the first to run, tripping over their new red cloaks as they tear them from their shoulders. Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked, Little Dove?"

She watched Sansa for a moment, her eyebrows raised, and then shook her head, "No," she answered her own question. "You wouldn't, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there's such a dearth of good sacking songs."

"True knights would never harm women and children," Sansa told her. She flinched at how hollow the words rang, even to her own ears.

"True knights," Cersei repeated with a nod and a smile. "No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be long now."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was returning to their chambers one morning after breaking her fast when she saw Robb walking down the corridor toward her. He smiled widely when he caught sight of her and his pace quickened to get to her faster. Lenora smiled at him, her smile quickly turning into laughter when he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest.

"Good morning," she told him, still giggling.

"Good morning," he replied, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips. "I woke up and you weren't in bed."

"Did you think you had lost me?" Lenora teased him, trying to pull away from him.

He shook his head, "I just missed you," he told her, refusing to loosen his hold on her waist. "Have you already broken your fast?" he asked her.

She nodded, "I tried to wake you up," she told him. "But you were sleeping so deeply and you looked so comfortable. I refused to be the one that woke you from that slumber. You need your rest besides."

Robb nodded, glancing over her shoulder and smirking at something. He bent down, burying his head in her hair, she thought he was simply hugging her, but a moment later his teeth scraped against the shell of her ear, "I'd rather have you," he whispered.

Her laughter died on her lips and she lifted a restraining hand against his chest. She recognized that whisper, low and full of desire, she had heard it many times before. And while she felt her lower stomach warm with desire she could not help but notice how inappropriate this would be. They were in a corridor of a castle that was not theirs. Anyone could come upon them. She shook her head, biting her lip despite herself as Robb's lips moved from her ear to kiss and bite their way down her neck.

"Nora," he whispered against her skin, biting gently on her collar bone. She felt the skin on her cheeks warm and she was sure she was blushing when she heard him whisper, "I _must_ have you."

His hands were on her waist and he was slowly, carefully walking her backwards. After a few steps he gently shoved her into a small alcove, partially hidden by a column. The alcove was empty, a small space really with nothing but a window overlooking the sea.

Once they were behind the column his hands fell back to her waist and he moved his lips up from her neck to kiss along her jaw line before finally landing on hers. It was not the best hiding spot, but Lenora allowed her reservations to melt away as she kissed him back, her lips moving against his just as desperately as his own. He tried to slip his tongue into her mouth, but Lenora pulled away, panting slightly.

"Here?" she asked, desperately trying to regain control of her breath.

"Here," he confirmed, leaning forward, trying to capture her lips again.

She shook her head slightly, "Someone could see," she argued.

Since she wasn't going to let him kiss her Robb moved his hands from her waist to the laces of her dress. She regretted choosing this dress this morning as he began to pull at the laces, almost lazily untying them. It was more of a southern style, it laced up the front and had a plunging neckline. Nothing inappropriate, but deep enough that she did not wear a shift, only a corset underneath. "That makes it more fun," he whispered to her as he loosened the laces enough that the dress opened, revealing the corset underneath.

He smiled and bent slightly, lowering his lips to the tops of her breasts that peeked out of the tight corset, kissing his way across one breast and then the other. The warmth of desire that had filled her stomach moved lower, pooling between her thighs. She gasped, her chest heaving slightly against him as he began to suck a love mark into her skin. "You are horrible, Robb Stark," she whispered, even as her hands moved down to the laces of his breeches so that she could begin to untie them.

"And you are irresistible, Lenora Stark," he told her, his hands making quick work of the laces on her corset and quickly pulling her breasts free, ducking his head even further to pull one of her nipples into his mouth.

Lenora's hips bucked forward and she pressed her chest closer to him, searching for more. She did not know if she was irresistible, but she did know that what he was doing was making it very hard for her to tell him no. She finished unlacing his breeches easily and pushed them down just enough that she was able to wrap her hand around his hardness. He lifted his lips to her mouth and kissed her, his tongue slipping into her own mouth and groan escaping his lips as she began to stroke him, up and down.

He pulled away slightly, less than an inch, "If you don't want this truly, you had better tell me now," he told her, panting slightly. Even as he told her that his hands had begun to gather her skirts, lifting them from around her legs so that it would be easier for her to move. "I will not be able to stop myself if we go further."

Lenora smiled at him and pressed another kiss against his lips, this time letting her tongue slip into his mouth as she very deliberately lifted one of her legs to wrap it around Robb's hips. He smiled against her lips as his hands found their way to the backs of her thighs, boosting her up so that she could wrap both of her legs around his hips and he could hold her up. He groaned again as he shifted slightly, bringing himself to enter her.

Lenora smiled and took a deep breath on that first, deep thrust. It had been a matter of hours since the last time Robb had had her the night before as they were getting ready for bed, and it was only now when they were joined together that she realized how much she had missed the feeling.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, her fingers bending to dig into his doublet as he began to thrust harder and deeper. She nipped at his bottom lip, smiling as he moaned into her mouth. It amazed her, that they were able to have so much fun together, that it felt so good to her. When her septa had first explained the marriage bed to her she had told Lenora that it would not be fun, that it would be a duty that she would _have_ to do for her husband. She had not imagined that she _would_ ever want to do it.

When she was a little older her mother had given her to believe that it _could_ be enjoyable for a woman, though not always. But as Lenora rocked her hips, desperately trying to meet every one of Robb's quick thrusts she could not think of a time when being with Robb had not been a spectacularly breathless exercise.

She pulled away from his lips for a moment, waiting until Robb lifted his blue eyes to meet her own grey ones. Then she smiled softly, "I love you," she told him before lowering her lips back to his.

He bit her lip, sucking it into his mouth for a moment before he released it, "I love you too, Nora," he told her as his right hand slipped away from the bottom of her thigh. She tightened her legs around him to stay where she was as he let his hand slip between them, battling with her skirts for a moment before he found his way underneath them, his thumb coming to press against that special spot of hers.

One day she would ask him how he knew about it. She swore it every time they made love, but she only remembered it during the act. And she would not stop what they were doing to ask him, because she was sure that the answer would be a name of one of the women he had known before they were married. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think about other women when they were connected so intimately.

He must have seen her brow furrow and he must have guessed the direction her mind was traveling because he craned his neck, stretching to be able to press a kiss against her forehead, "Only you, Nora," he whispered to her, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. "Since the day you came to Winterfell it has only been you. It will be only you from that day to my last day."

That had been what she needed to hear, she could feel herself coming to her end, tightening around him. She leaned forward, sinking her teeth into the fabric of his doublet at his shoulder to muffle her moan as she came undone. She hoped that they had been quiet enough that no one had heard them. However good she felt now she knew she would be embarrassed if someone came upon them.

Her own ending was the end of him. A heartbeat later he was moaning against her own shoulder as he thrust himself once more, as deep inside her as he could go. They stayed as they were for a few minute longer, occasionally rocking their hips, or bringing their lips together, calming their breaths and their own wild heartbeats.

Slowly, almost regretfully he released his hold on her legs and let her slid back down until she was standing on the floor. She smiled to herself as she began to put herself back together again, starting with her corset. Robb's hand slipped underneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his face. He smiled at her for a moment before he lowered his lips to her and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips. She smiled against him, the action was incredibly innocent considering what they had just done. After another moment she pulled away from him so that she could lace her dress up again.

Once both of their laces were put back to rights and her skirts were back around her ankles Robb grabbed her hand with a smile and pulled her back out to the corridor. She giggled as he pulled her, but the laughter quickly disappeared when a moment later her eyes fell on Ser Raynald and Rollam Westerling, no doubt on their way from the hall where they had just broken their own fasts.

Rollam smiled at them happily, "King Robb," he greeted, bowing low to Robb, "Queen Lenora," he turned his bow on her. "What were you two doing?"

Lenora turned toward Robb, her eyes widening when she caught sight of his hair, she could not remember running her fingers through his auburn curls but she must have, because his hair was decidedly mussed now. She turned back to Rollam, "I was showing His Grace the ocean," she told him, her voice squeaking slightly. "Through the window back there," she pointed over her shoulder to the alcove they had just vacated.

Ser Raynald's scanned her face, taking in the blush that burned on her cheeks and her hair that she had no doubt was as unruly as Robb's before he looked at Robb. After a moment he nodded, "I'll bet," he told them before he gently nudged his brother so that the two of them could continue walking. "Have a good morning, Your Graces," he added as they passed Robb and Lenora.

Lenora waited until they had rounded the corner before she turned to Robb and quickly punched him in the chest. He lifted his hand to where she had hit him and pretended to stumble back a few steps, "Ouch," he told her, a smile on his lips. "What was that for?"

"I told you someone would catch us," Lenora hissed at him, though even she could not keep a small smile off her lips.

"They didn't catch us," Robb assured her, moving closer to her so that he could place his hand on the small of her back and guide her further down the hallway.

"Ser Raynald," Lenora started.

"Is merely suspicious," Robb finished.

"And Rollam!"

"Is an innocent child who believes that you were simply showing me the ocean." Lenora struggled to hold onto her irritation for a moment longer before she sighed and allowed herself to lean into Robb's body. He chuckled, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, "I like the boy," he told her. She nodded, she liked the boy too. "I'm thinking about taking him with me when we leave," Robb continued. "As a squire, an attempt to keep his family in line."

Lenora was quiet.

"What do you think?" he pressed her when she did not immediately tell him.

"It would be better to take the heir, Ser Raynald," she told him honestly, "rather than the spare. But Rollam is a sweet boy. I would never say no to him coming with us."

Robb nodded, "Perhaps I should bring them all," he told her, "to Riverrun. We could give Lady Sybell and Ser Raynald tower cells, the two girls could become your ladies and Rollam could squire."

Lenora thought about it for a moment, "Taking them from their home would serve as a better way to hit at their pride," she murmured.

"But?" Robb asked her, he stopped walking so that he could turn to face her, his eyebrows raised.

"But Grey Wind does not like them," Lenora told him, her voice hesitant. She had noticed it during their stay at the Crag, the direwolf would snarl and snap at all of them except Rollam. "And anyone your wolf does not trust is no friend of yours."

Robb chuckled at her and shook his head, "The girls will get tower cells too then," he told her, pressing a kiss against her temple. If you did not like them that was all you needed to say," he added, making a joke of her mistrust.

Lenora allowed it, he could make jokes all he wanted as long as he listened to her and kept the Westerlings at bay.

* * *

Author's Note:

Oh I'm really looking forward to the next couple chapters. They're going to be a lot of fun I think. I hope that you had fun with this chapter (Robb and Lenora definitely did).  
Thank you for stopping by to read. And thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favorites or alerts lists.  
But most of all, thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. And HUGE thanks in advance to everyone who will review on this chapter. You guys are rockstars!  
Want to join the rockstar club? All you have to do is got down to that empty box down there and type out a little review. Takes a matter of seconds and it really makes me happy!

 _DragonGirl_ : I don't think anyone's ever quoted this story back to me. This may be a first. I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. Don't worry too much about the Red Wedding. No matter what happens I promise that this story is a love story at its core. It will get a happy(ish) ending.

 _DannyBlack70_ : I love that chapter for what it did for Cersei and Lenora. Despite how this story started and despite Cersei's faults and despite how much Lenora does not want to admit that she's similar in so many ways to her mother ... they have a strong bond. It's not easy to let go of that. As for the Red Wedding ... objectively you guys don't have much longer to worry about it, there's roughly fifteen chapters between this one and the Red Wedding. Fifteen. (I say roughly, but I counted.)

 _darkwolf76_ : I love that! The last chapter "really belonged to the mothers." And it did. I've used the phrase a couple of times in this story that the Mother and the Warrior are two faces of the same God, two sides of a coin, etc. The same goes for Cersei and Catelyn. They both love their children, they would both fight for their children, kill for their children, do unspeakable things for their children. And I was really excited to play with that in the last chapter. It originally was not going to work out with the two of them back to back like that, Cersei's point of view was going to be in a completely different chapter but the more I looked at it the more I realized they had to go together.  
Plus having her point of view in the last chapter allowed me to transition so easily into the Lenora scene with the moon that it was like too perfect to pass up. :D

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!

 _Phoenix Crest_ : You reviewed on chapter two... it might be a while before you get here. But thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the first two chapters and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story as you catch up to us!

 _Guest_ : Robb and Nora for the win! Yes!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!

That's all I've got for now! Thanks friends!  
Same place tomorrow?  
Chloe Jane.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight: Glory and Power

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you. The reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _My name is Chloe Jane and (in case you were wondering) there are only seventy-two more days until season seven starts! WHAT?_

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 _Chapter Thirty-Eight: Glory, Power, Birth, and Moonblood_

 _Catelyn_

She sent him another flagon of wine in the morning. After the night before she hoped that he would trust her not to poison the wine. She intended him to be very drunk by the time she visited him again after midnight.

It had been very hard not to poison his new flagon of wine. After he had so casually admitted to throwing her son out a tower window she had wanted little more than to wrap her hands around the man's throat and strangle him. _Her girls_ that one thought had stilled her hands when little else would have been able to calm her down. If Jaime Lannister died she would lose any hope that her daughters would ever be returned to her.

And with the exception of Robb, who was a man grown now and hardly seemed to have need of his mother, the girls were all she had left.

He was waiting for her this night, his back leaning against the wall, his knees bent and pulled in close to his chest. He had not opened the flagon of wine, but he did so as she entered his cell, he poured some of the wine into the glass and held it up to her, silently toasting her, as if he were a gentleman before he took a sip.

"Good evening, Lady Stark," he drawled, shaking his head slightly to move his dirty golden hair out of his eyes. She hated to admit it, but even dirty and unkempt it was still hard to deny the beauty of the man in front of her. When she was younger, early after Robert's Rebellion she had heard that Jaime Lannister was the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms. Robert himself had complained about it, angry that he was the king, but that all the maidens loved to stare at Jaime Lannister.

Ned had joked with him, he had told him that he was lucky then, to have the one woman in the Seven Kingdoms that did not want the Kingslayer. He had been talking about Cersei and now it still seemed unthinkable how wrong Ned had been about the golden haired Lannister daughter. Of all the women in Westeros it seemed that Cersei wanted Jaime more than the rest, and that she was the only one to get him.

It disgusted her to think about the two of them. But she was more disgusted when she thought of what he had done to her son. What kind of knight, what kind of _man_ could throw an innocent child from a tower window?

A _monster_ , that was the kind of man.

Jaime Lannister was as beautiful as an angel and as terrible as a monster.

She did not greet him, he did not deserve her pleasantries or her courtesies. She had more questions that she wanted the answers to and he would give them to her. "You threw my son from a tower," she told him, her voice hard and cold. "You wanted him to die." They had already been through this the day before, but she needed to hear it from him again.

He rolled his eyes, as if bored by her repeated question, "Yes," he told her, "I threw your boy from a tower. For listening to a conversation I had with my sister. And I meant for him to die from his injuries."

"And when he did not you knew you were in more danger than you had been before so you gave a man a bag of silver to make certain Bran would never wake." It was not a question, it was an assumption. She knew that he had. She was certain of it, Petyr had practically told her that the Lannister brothers were at fault for everything that had happened to Bran.

Jaime raised his eyebrows and shook his hair out of his eyes again, "Did I now?" he asked her, his voice almost teasing. "Lenora accused me of the same thing. I will tell you what I would have told her if she had given the time: I thought about it."

"Thought about it?" Catelyn echoed. He had promised her that he would be truthful the day before. She had assumed that the promise stood tonight as well, but now she was uncertain. She should have made him promise honesty before she asked.

Jaime nodded, "I won't deny it. Cersei and I spoke of it. But you were with the boy night and day. Your maester, your Lord Husband, Lenora, your other children attended him often as well. The boy was never alone. There were guards and those damned direwolves ... it would have required cutting my way through half of Winterfell. And why would I bother with all that when the boy seemed so likely to die on his own?"

"If you lie to me I will leave now," Catelyn warned him. "I will not answer any of your questions." She held her hands out to him, letting the torchlight shine on the scars on her fingers and palms. "The man who came to slit Bran's throat gave me these scars," she told him. "You swear you had no part in sending him?"

"On my honor as a Lannister," Jaime told her, barely sparing a look at her scars as he finished his glass of wine and poured himself another.

"You honor as a Lannister is worth less than _this_ ," Catelyn growled at him, suddenly angry that he still denied having any part in the second attempt on Bran's life. She moved across the cell quickly and kicked over his waste pail. Foul-smelling brown ooze crept across the floor of the cell, soaking into the straw.

Jaime frowned at it and backed away from the spill as far as his chains would allow. "They only give me fresh straw once a week, My Lady," he told her, his tone almost regretful. "It will be another five days before they come to change this." She did not feel any sympathy for him. He waited another minute, watching the spill to make sure that it would not spread any closer to him before he lifted his green eyes to her face. "I may indeed have shit for honor," he told her, "I won't deny it. But I have never hired anyone to do my killing. Believe what you will of me, Lady Stark, but if I had wanted your Bran dead I would have slain him myself."

Catelyn stared at him and felt her anger abating a bit. As much as she wanted to hold onto it she could see the truth in his words. Jaime Lannister was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms, he would never send someone else to do his dirty work. "Your sister then," she bit out. "Or the Imp."

Again Jaime shook his head, "Cersei would have told me if she had," he promised her. "And I, in turn, would have been obliged to do it myself. As for Tyrion, he is as innocent as your son in this." He smiled, ruefully, "My little brother has always been soft when it came to cripples and broken things, he would not harm your boy."

"Then why did the assassin have his dagger?" Catelyn asked, grasping at straws now.

"What dagger is this?" Jaime asked her, raising his eyebrows. Catelyn described the dagger to him and told him that the Imp had won it in a wager.

Jaime poured more wine, drank, and then poured some more. "I seem to remember that dagger, now that you describe it," he told her, staring down into his wine glass. "Won it, you say? How?"

"Wagering against you when you tilted against the Knight of the Flowers," she told him, though the words tasted bitter on their way out of her mouth. That was how Petyr had told her it had happened, but it felt wrong now that she said it. "Now, was it the other way?" she asked.

Jaime shook his head, "The only time Tyrion has ever bet against me was when I sparred against Lenora," he told her. "And he _always_ backs me in the lists, but that day Ser Loras unhorsed me. A mischance, I took the boy too lightly, but no matter. Whatever my brother wagered, he lost ... but that dagger _did_ change hands, I recall it now. Robert showed it to me that night at the feast. His Grace loved to salt my wounds, especially when drunk. And when was he not drunk?"

She wanted to argue, to discredit him. But what he said was along the same lines as what the Imp had told her as they rode through the Mountains of the Moon. The two brothers had not seen each other since they left Winterfell. If they told the same story, it would be because it was the truth. But Petyr had sworn to her ...

"Are you trying to deceive me?" she asked, almost wishing that there was a trap there somewhere.

"I've already admitted to shoving your precious son out a window, what would it gain me to lie about this knife?" Jaime asked her. He tossed back another glass of wine. "Believe what you will, but I am past caring what anyone will say of me."

"Except Lenora," Catelyn interjected, wanting to hurt the man before her as much as she was hurting.

He looked up at her sharply, "It's my turn," he told her. "Where are Robb and Lenora now?"

"The Crag," Catelyn told him honestly. "They have taken it. Lenora helped during the storming. She fought and was injured."

Something crossed the man's eyes, a darkness. His jaw clenched and he nodded. "But she is alright?" he asked.

Catelyn nodded, "She is healed. All reports say that she perfectly well."

He was quiet for a moment, staring at his wine. "You got more answers than I did yesterday," he reminded her, like a child playing games. "I am owed another answer. Have Robert's brothers taken the field?"

"They have," Catelyn told him.

Jaime smirked at her, "That's a niggardly response," he told her. "Give me more than that or your next answer will be as poor."

Catelyn sighed, loathe as she was to admit, he had been very honest with her. "Stannis marches against King's Landing," she told him. "Renly is dead, murdered at Bitterbridge by his brother, through some dark art I do not understand."

"A pity," Jaime told her with a shrug. "I rather liked Renly, though Stannis is quite another tale. What side have the Tyrells taken?"

She could see his mind working behind his eyes. He was an intelligent man with a mind for battle, the same mind as his niece. Even here in this shit-filled cell he would get all the information he could to guess which way the war would turn. "Renly at first," she told him. "Now, I could not say."

"Your boy must be feeling lonely," Jaime observed with a scoff.

"Robb is a man grown and a King," Cersei snapped at him, still defensive. "He's won every battle he's fought."

"He hasn't faced my father yet, has he?" Jaime asked, getting to the truth of the matter quickly.

"And when he does he will defeat him, same as he did you."

"He took me unawares," Jaime pointed out. "A craven's trick. A true knight would have met me in open battle."

"How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore?" Catelyn asked. She had not meant for that to be her next question, but there was a part of her that needed to know the answer, with it she might have a better understanding of the man who sat before her.

He poured the last of the wine in his glass. She was sure that at one time the man would have been able to drink more than a flagon of wine without getting drunk, but after so many months of only having water his tolerance had lessened. He seemed quite drunk now.

"So many vows ... they make you swear and swear. Defend the king. Obey the king. Keep is secrets. Do his bidding. Your life for his. But obey your father. Love your sister. Protect the innocent. Defend the weak. Respect the Gods. Obey the laws. It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other." He took a large sip from his glass and leaned back, his head against the wall behind him as he stared up at the ceiling above, "I was the youngest man to ever wear the white cloak," he told her, a bit of pride slipping into his tone.

"And the youngest to betray all it stood for, Kingslayer," Catelyn reminded him, hoping to destroy his pride.

" _Kingslayer_ ," he pronounced slowly, carefully, glancing down at the wine still left in his cup. The right corner of his lips tugged up in a half smile and his eyes closed as if he were remembering something. He swallowed and opened his eyes, "And what a King he was!" he told her, his voice biting and sarcastic as he lifted his glass to the ceiling in a mock toast. "To Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and _Protecter_ of the Realm. And to the sword that opened his throat. A _golden_ sword, don't you know. Until his blood ran red down the blade. Those are the Lannister colors, red and gold." He lowered his glass to his lips and took a large sip.

"Only a man like you would be proud of such an act," Catelyn told him softly.

"There are no men like me," Jaime told her, smiling ruefully. "Tell me, Lady Stark, did your Ned ever tell you the manner of his father's death? Or his brother's?"

Catelyn shrugged her shoulders, "They strangled Brandon while his father watched and then killed Lord Rickard as well," she told him.

Jaime shook his head, "No doubt Ned wished to spare you," he told her, his tone almost sympathetic. "But I was there. It was not that simple."

Catelyn wanted to tell him that no man's death was simple. And that she did not care how Brandon and Lord Rickard had died. _Dead was dead_ and it had been so many years ago. But he was talking again, telling her the story. And despite herself she listened.

He told her how after Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna Stark, her brother Brandon and his men had rode to King's Landing to demand that Rhaegar die for his crime. Aerys sent his guards to arrest the young men for plotting his son's deaths and then kept them as ransom as he ordered their fathers to come to King's Landing and answer the charge. Then he killed them, fathers and sons both.

"Murdered them," Catelyn agreed with him. "Without trial."

Jaime had smirked at her, "There were trials," he told her. "Of a sort." He told her how Lord Rickard had demanded a trial by combat, how the older Lord's eyes had landed on young Jaime, no doubt thinking that _he_ would be Aerys' champion. "But _fire_ was the champion of House Targaryen," he told her before he explained how Lord Rickard was suspended from the rafters of the throne room while two of Aery's pyromancers kindled a blaze beneath him. "All Lord Rickard needed to do to prove himself and his son innocent of treason was ... well, not burn."

He told her that once the fire was blazing Brandon was brought in. His hands were chained behind his back and there was a wet leathern cord tied around his neck that was then attached to a device the king had brought from Tyrosh. His legs were left free and his longsword was placed on the floor before him, just out of reach. As Lord Rickard was roasted slowly before his son's eyes Brandon struggled to reach his sword, all he had to do was set his father free. But the more he struggled the tighter the cord around his neck got. He strangled himself while his father cooked in his armor.

"I must have looked away at some point," he told her with a shrug as he finished his wine. "Because afterwards Ser Gerold Hightower himself took me aside and said to me, 'You swore a vow to guard the king, not to judge him.' That was the White Bull, loyal to the end and a better man than me, _all agree_."

"Aerys," Catelyn told him, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. "Aerys was mad, the whole realm knew it, but if you would have me believe that you slew him to avenge Brandon Stark ..."

"I made no such claim," Jaime interrupted her. "The Starks were nothing to me. I will say, I think it passing odd that I am loved by only one, and reviled by so many for my finest act." Catelyn could tell by the soft look on his face that the _one_ was Lenora. She wondered what Jaime had told her of the day he killed the Mad King. Jaime continued, "As for your Ned, he should have kissed the hand that slew Aerys, but he preferred to scorn the ass he found sitting on Robert's throne. I think Ned Stark loved Robert better than he ever loved his brother or his father ... or even you, My Lady. He was never unfaithful to Robert, was he?" Jaime laughed at her, "Come, Lady Stark, you must find this all terribly amusing?"

"I find nothing about you amusing, Kingslayer," Catelyn growled.

"That name again," Jaime told her, pointing at her. "You know, I've never lain with any woman but Cersei. In my own way, I have been truer than your Ned ever was. Poor old dead Ned. So who has shit for honor now, I ask you? What was the name of that bastard he fathered?"

Catelyn took a step backward, toward the door. "Brienne," she called out.

Jaime shook his head, "No that wasn't it. Snow, that was the one. Such a _white_ name ... like the pretty cloaks they give us in the Kingsguard when we swear our pretty oaths."

Catelyn ignored him as Brienne walked into the cell, "You called, My Lady?" the girl asked, not sparing a look for the man on the floor before them.

"Give me your sword," Catelyn ordered, holding out her hand.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

Tyrion was nervous, he was not too proud to admit that. He was not his brother. And he was not his father. He had no mind for battle. He had a plan and he hoped that it was a good one, but he could not be sure until he saw it in action.

He meant to lure Stannis into a false sense of security. He meant for Stannis' entire fleet to sail up the river toward King's Landing. He wanted them to _taste_ victory before he put his plan into action. There were many parts to this plan, some of them were already in play.

As soon as Stannis' flagship passed under the Red Keep one of Bronn's men had set the oxen to work. The smiths of King's Landing had all done their work and they had done it well. The chain was heavy, and the great winches turned slowly, creaking and rumbling as they moved. By the time the chain was visible under the water the entirety of Stannis' fleet would have entered the river, and then with the chain in place two or three feet above the water the ships would have no where to go.

But from here, inside the city walls no one could see the chain. It made the men nervous to see Stannis' fleet sailing so far up the river, their drums beating threateningly. "Where's our fleet?" Lancel asked, sounding alarmed as he, Joffrey, and Tyrion stared out over the water, watching as Stannis' ships sailed in without any fight from the king's fleet.

"Away," Tyrion told his cousin, rolling his eyes.

"Why isn't it here now?" Joffrey asked, impatiently. "They're coming." When Tyrion did not answer him right away Joffrey became more irritated, "Ser Meryn," he called to his white-cloaked guard behind him. "Tell the Hand that his King has asked him a question."

"The king has asked you a question, Imp," Ser Meryn growled.

Tyrion did not look away from the water before them, he was hoping that he would catch sight of the chain. Only once it was up would he enact the second part of his plan. "Lancel," he called out, playing the king's game without turning toward his young nephew. "Tell Ser Meryn to tell the king that the Hand is extremely busy."

And Lancel, Gods bless him, tried his best, "The Hand of the King would like me to tell you to tell the king that -" he stuttered out.

Joffrey did not have time for it though, the next time he spoke he addressed Tyrion, "If I tell Ser Meryn to cut you in half he will do it without a second thought," the boy practically screamed.

This time Tyrion turned from the river, for just a moment to look at his nephew, "That would make me the quarter man," he told the boy before he turned back to the river. "That just does not have the same ring to it. Cut me in half and I won't be able to give the signal. No signal, no plan. No plan and Stannis Baratheon sacks this city, takes the Iron Throne, and puts your pinched little head atop a gate somewhere."

Joffrey took a step toward him, but Tyrion was too worried about the battle to be concerned with his insolent nephew. "It might be quite amusing," he admitted, "except that my head would be up there too. I rather like my head and do not wish to see it removed from my body just yet."

He waited, a moment later he saw it, not the gleam of the chain, but the fire down by the mouth of the Blackwater Rush that Bronn had told him would mean that the chain was in place. He turned his gaze up river, the small fire was not for him, but for someone else. It took a few minutes, but soon, out of the darkness, one of Joffrey's ships came into view.

He heard Joffrey sigh with relief for a moment before he realized that there were no others. Just the one. "There's only one ship, where are the rest of them?" he asked, his voice just a whisper. When Tyrion did not answer right away he yelled, "Where are the rest of them?"

He waited, watching as the single ship made its way down the river, moving slowly between Stannis's ships. Many of them moved to attack the ship, to run into it, but their confusion seemed to hold them back. This ship was purposefully empty; no soldiers, no archers, only a skeleton crew rowing it down the river. It did not even have a captain.

Tyrion turned to his right and reached out blindly, waiting for the torch. He had promised the head pyromancer that he could come outside to witness the battle and he could practically feel the old man's excitement as he handed Tyrion the torch. Tyrion did not share his joy, he stared at the flames for a moment, completely terrified of what he planned to do. But there was no going back now, whatever monster this made him, he meant to keep King's Landing safe. "Gods have mercy on us all," he whispered as he turned forward, and threw the torch off the wall.

That was the signal.

Somewhere outside the city gates Bronn stood waiting in the dark for the signal. He lit his arrow on fire and took aim, loosing it over the river. The sellsword's aim was true, his shot was good. The single fiery arrow sailed over many of Stannis' ships, an omen to what was to come though none of them knew it, and landed in the water. They would expect it to fizzle out. What they did not expect was that in less than a heartbeat, with the roar of a thousand lions, the water and Joffrey's ship would burst into jade green flames.

In the initial explosion the wildfire ate Joffrey's boat, it danced across the water where the extremely flammable liquid had been leaked and attacked any of Stannis' ships that were close to it. Splitting them in half, burning men where they stood. The explosion was so bright that Tyrion was blinded by it when for a brief second the entire city of King's Landing seemed to be lit with a glowing green light.

The light lessened a bit, allowing Tyrion to uncover his face and to look out over the river. It was still on fire. The wildfire would continue to burn until there was absolutely nothing left. Until every ship and man it came into contact with was burned. It was still roaring, loud and fierce but over top of the roar of the fire he could hear the screams of Stannis' men as they drowned, as they burned, as perhaps, they did a little of both.

It was oddly beautiful, all the wreckage and the flames. If he ignored the screams of dying men he could almost understand why the pyromancers loved the wildfire so much. There was a beauty in its devastating heat. But he could not ignore the screams and he could not ignore the battle. Many of Stannis' large fleet had gotten by unscathed, either too far up the river or too far down and he had another trick up his sleeve, one more.

He grabbed another torch and sent it flying over the wall. And as many of Stannis' ships turned, or backed up, attempting to exit the Blackwater Rush and finding it impossible because of the chain Tyrion had raised he sent another of Joffrey's ships into the fray, this one manned with a crew. He watched, smiling as one of Stannis' ships, the captain no doubt eager to prove that he was not coward enough to be afraid of the fire moved in on Joffrey's ship, quickening its speed so that it could ram it.

This would sink the ship, but the Gods were good to Tyrion tonight. The ship that attacked Joffrey's _Seaflower_ , was aflame. It took just a heartbeat before the normal yellow and red flames touched the _Seaflower_ 's deck and then a second eruption of wildfire lit up the night sky. This one was closer inland, it was closer to where Stannis foot soldiers had camped on the edge of the river. If the first explosion had not terrified them, Tyrion was sure the second one would. They would think twice, maybe even three times before they tried to cross the burning river now.

Which was good, Tyrion wanted them scared. He had no more wildfire, he was all out. He had played his trick and laid his plan. But there was still a battle to fight. Between the two explosions the main channel was aflame, but a good many of Stannis' men had made for the South bank and looked to escape unscathed. And at least eight ships had made it to the North bank and landed under the city walls. Landed or wrecked, but it came to the same thing, Stannis had men ashore.

Tyrion squinted and he could see dark shapes moving through the charred ruins of the riverfront wharfs. It would be time for another sortie, he realized. Men were never so vulnerable as when they first staggered ashore. He would not give them time to form up on the North Bank.

He scrambled down from the box they had put him on so that he could see above the wall. "Tell Ser Jacelyn Bywater that we've got enemy on the riverfront," he told one of the runners Bywater had assigned him. He would have much rathered send Lancel, just to get the young man out of his hair, but Cersei had claimed their cousin for her own messenger.

He turned to a second runner, "Bring my compliments to Ser Arneld and ask him to swing the catapults thirty degrees west." The angle would allow them to throw further.

He frowned when he turned to lay his eyes on Joffrey, his nephew had lifted the visor on his helm again, the better to see the flames. There was a psychotic grin resting on the boy's lips. It made him feel sick to his stomach. But the last thing he needed was his nephew taking an arrow to the eye. He reached up and clanged the visor shut, "Keep that closed, Your Grace," he ordered, "your sweet person is precious to us all."

Stannis' men were boarding rafts now, they meant to move across the river and attack the city walls. Tyrion's archers and his catapults were doing damage to Stannis' host, but there were so many men that they did not do enough. At some pointLancel had left Tyrion's side and run for the Red Keep, no doubt to tell Cersei how the battle was going. Tyrion would not fault the boy for it, it was his job, after all, but he thought the young knight a coward, hadn't he wanted to do something important during the battle.

A runner approached him, "My Lord, Hurry," the young man gasped. "They've landed men on the tourney grounds. Hundreds! They're bringing a ram up to the King's Gate."

Tyrion cursed and turned toward Joffrey, "Are you ready to battle, My King?" he asked the boy. He nodded behind his helm and Tyrion gestured that he should lead the way. Ser Meryn and Ser Osmund Kettleback moved in to follow their King. Tyrion reached out for Ser Osmund and caught him by the wrist, "Whatever happens, keep him safe. Do you understand?" he ordered.

The knight nodded, "As you command," he told him with an almost amiable smile.

Tyrion nodded and let go of the man's wrist before they followed the king toward the King's Gate. It was amazing, Joffrey's effect on the men as they moved past them. All around them men were fighting and shooting arrows, and screaming, and dying. But their spirits seemed stronger, and they fought harder once they caught sight of their King.

For perhaps the first time in his life Tyrion was grateful for his nephew.

They made quick work of the distance between where the Mud Gate and the King's Gate. Tyrion had ordered that the roads of King's Landing be empty so that the soldiers could travel freely throughout the city. Even so, by the time they reached the gate he could hear the booming crash of wood on wood that told him that the battering ram had been brought into play.

The groaning of the great hinges sounded like the moans of a dying giant. And the square on the inside of the gate was littered with wounded and dying men. But there were unharmed horses, and sellswords, and gold cloaks, enough of them to form a strong column. "Form up!" he shouted to them as the gate groaned and buckled a bit under another blow. "Who commands here? You're going out!"

"No," he heard from the shadows behind him. A man stepped out of them, a tall one. Sandor Clegane lifted his helm off his head and threw the metal to the ground at Tyrion's feet. The steel was scorched and dented and the left ear of the snarling hound had been sheared off. There was a bleeding cut above his left eye.

He glared at Tyrion before he turned to one of the squires, "Someone bring me a drink," he growled.

It was a gold cloak that handed him a cup. He took a swallow of it and spit it out, flinging the cup away. "Water? Fuck your water. Bring me wine." A squire ran forward and thrust a flagon of wine at him. He quickly tore out the cork and drank half the flagon in one long pull.

Tyrion glared at him, "Can I get you some iced milk and a bowl of raspberries too?" Tyrion asked him sarcastically.

"Eat shit, dwarf," the Hound growled at him.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall," Tyrion told him, hoping to shame the man into following orders.

"The Blackwater's on fire," the Hound told him, his voice cracking a bit in fear. "I've lost half my men. Horse as well. I'm not taking more into that fire."

"Dog!" Joffrey yelled out, lifting his visor so that he could yell at the man in front of him. "I command you to go back out there and fight."

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane," Tyrion told him, his voice calm. "It is your job to beat them back if they mean to take this city. _Your_ King's city."

The Hound took another sip of wine, contemplating Joffrey and Tyrion in front of him before he growled, "Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city. And fuck the king." And then, without glancing backwards at them he strode away through the wounded men and disappeared into the dark.

They were losing time, more of Stannis' men were landing on the bank and storming the city wall. A sortie needed to be led. Tyrion looked around him, wondering who he could trust to do it. Certainly not Ser Meryn or Ser Mandon.

It was then that Lancel returned, running toward them, "Your Grace," he called out to Joffrey, "The Queen has sent me to ask you to return to the Red Keep."

Tyrion shook his head, quickly turning to his nephew in hopes that he would be able to convince the boy to stay with him. "If you won't defend your city why should they?" he growled at the boy.

To Joffrey's credit he looked confused, and to Tyrion's surprise he turned to him, "What would you have me do?" he asked.

"Lead them," Tyrion gave his advice. Get down there and lead your people against the invaders that want to kill them."

Joffrey turned to Lancel, "What did my mother say exactly?" he asked. "Did she have urgent business with me?"

"She did not say, Your Grace," Lancel told him, inclining his head and refusing to make eye contact with Tyrion as he glared at him.

Tyrion turned to stare at his nephew and willed him to make the right decision. Joffrey sighed and turned toward his guards, "Ser Osmund, Ser Mandon, stay with my uncle and represent the king on the field of battle," he ordered and then with one ashamed look at Tyrion he brushed past him and walked through the courtyard, Ser Meryn and Ser Lancel following behind him.

Tyrion watched as the soldiers in the yard turned to see their King leave. They were afraid now and felt as though their King had abandoned them. Pod approached him, carrying his helm in his hands, his eyebrows knit together.

"I'll lead the attack," Tyrion announced, quietly to himself. He paused for a moment, second guessing the words that had slipped off his tongue. But he knew they were the right ones. The next time he spoke it was louder, more sure of himself. "I will lead the attack," he yelled to the men around him. "Pod, my helm," he ordered, reaching out for it before he turned to Ser Mandon. "Ser Mandon, you will bear the king's banner. Men form up!"

No one seemed to listen to him, some even laughed before they turned from the gate to move further into the city after their King, ready to turn tail and hide. "They say I am half a man," Tyrion yelled out at them. "But then, what does that make the lot of you?"

That shamed them enough to turn around and look at him. A handful of men formed a line. Then a knight, mounted and helmetless. A few sellswords after him. Then some more. His force was growing before his very eyes. He had them trapped, _if the dwarf fought they had to as well_.

"You won't hear me shout Joffrey's name," he yelled to them. "And you will not hear me yell for Casterly Rock either. Don't fight for your king! And don't fight for his kingdoms! Don't fight for honor! Don't fight for glory! Don't fight for riches because you won't get any! But this is _your_ city Stannis means to sack. And it's _your_ gate he's ramming. And if he gets in it's _your_ houses he burns. _Your_ gold he steals. And _your_ women he will rape. Those are brave men knocking at our door, let's go kill them!"

They cheered then, and when he mounted his horse and began to ride toward the gate, he felt them as much as he heard them behind him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

The torches bathed the Queen's Ballroom in silver light and musicians played as the second course was brought out to the women, a salad of apples, nuts, and raisons. It might have all made for a delicious meal and a pleasant evening at any other time if it weren't for the fact that the food was also flavored with fear. Sansa was not the only one who did not seem to have an appetite. Shae barely ate at her table below the dais, Tommen ate a few bites before he pushed his plate away from him, and one young girl - a new bride to one of the knights wept uncontrollably.

Cersei had the Maester bring her, and any other woman who cried, some dream wine and put her to bed. "Tears," she had sneered to Sansa as she drank another sip of wine. "The woman's weapon, my Lady Mother used to call them. The man's weapon is a sword. And that tells us all you need to know, doesn't it?"

The queen was drinking a lot that evening, Sansa noted, though it made her look prettier, her cheeks coloring more with each glass. "Men must be very brave, though," Sansa told her. "To ride out and face swords and axes, everyone trying to kill you ..."

"Jaime told me once that he only feels truly alive in battle and in bed," Cersei confessed as Sansa stared at her, the queen was more drunk than she thought. The entire reason the kingdoms were at war was because Stannis believed that Jaime had been in the _queen's_ bed. And now she was talking about it. Cersei lifted her cup and took a long swallow, "I would sooner face any number of swords than sit helpless like this," she told Sansa, shaking her head, "pretending to enjoy the company of this flock of frightened hens."

"You asked them here, Your Grace," Sansa reminded her.

"Because it was expected of me," Cersei bit out. "And it will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey." She took another sip of her wine. "Do you know what they're calling my daughter?" she asked.

 _A bastard_ , was on the tip of her tongue, thinking of Myrcella, but Sansa was not stupid enough to say it. "No, Your Grace," she said instead.

"Lenora, the Black Lioness, that's what they call her. They say that she's a Warrior Queen, that your brother has asked her to ride beside him, to fight beside him. They say that the most inspiring part of your brother's storming of the Crag was watching Lenora tear her way through several Westerling archers. My daughter doesn't use tears, my daughter uses a sword. Jaime did her a favor when he put one in her hand. And your brother did her a favor when he gave her the freedom to use it. If she were here she would never find herself locked in this holdfast with these crying hens. She would be out there, inspiring the men. Leading them. Fighting with them."

 _And yet, your ordered Ser Lancel to bring Joffrey back to the Red Keep_ , Sansa thought. Joffrey could have inspired the men too.

Cersei turned away from her, holding her glass out for more wine. Once it had been refilled she turned back to Sansa, "Of themselves, the hens are nothing," she told her, nodding toward the women in front of them. "But their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers and brothers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment."

"And if the castle should fall?" Sansa asked. Cersei had alluded to what happened when a city was sacked, but she had not _told_ Sansa anything. She wanted to know what would happen.

Cersei turned to her, "You'd like that wouldn't you," she accused her, a smirk on her lips. "If I'm not betrayed by my own guards, I may be able to hold here for a time. Then I can go to the walls and offer to yield to Lord Stannis in person. That will spare us the worst. But if Maegor's Holdfast should fall before Stannis can come up, why then, most of my guests are in for a bit of a rape, I'd say. And you should never rule out mutilation, torture, and murder at times like these."

Sansa gasped, she had not expected that. She turned wide eyes on the queen beside her, "But these are women, unarmed, and gently born."

Cersei nodded, "Their birth protects them," she admitted. "Though not as much as you might think. Each one's worth a good ransom, but when a man's blood is up anything with tits looks good." She nodded down toward Sansa's belly, "You will be glad of your red flower then," she told her. "A precious little thing like you will look very, _very_ good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten."

She took another sip of wine and turned toward one of the curtained windows. "Were it anyone else outside the gates, I might hope to beguile him. But this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his horse." She laughed at the shocked look on Sansa's face. "Have I shocked you, My Lady?" she asked, teasing. "You little fool. Tears are not a woman's _only_ weapon. You've got another one between your legs, and you'd best learn to use it."

Sansa took a long sip of wine, thankfully spared from answering when a runner from the battle arrived to give the queen more news of what was going on in the city. When he left Cersei had moved on to other subjects.

"When we were little," she started, finishing another glass of wine and holding it out to be refilled. "Jaime and I were so much alike that even our Lord Father could not tell us apart. Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other's clothes and spend whole day each as the other. Yet even so, when Jaime was given his first sword, there was none for me. I wanted one too. We were so much alike that I could not understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace and I was taught to smile and sing and please. Jaime was heir to Casterly Rock while I was sold to a stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever he liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime's lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood."

She drank more wine and shook her head, "Yet another thing that Jaime managed for Lenora that he never managed for me," she told Sansa, almost bitterly. "My daughter may have married your brother, but if she goes to his bed it will be willingly. He will never force himself on her."

Sansa stared at her, surprised. "You were Robert's Queen," she told her, trying to understand why Cersei misliked that so much.

Cersei held her hands out to the sides and inclined her head, "And you will be Joffrey's," she sneered, lifting her wine glass to her lips. "Enjoy."

She was quiet for a minute, her eyes looking over the women in front of them. They landed on Ser Ilyn Payne and a smirk made its way onto her lips, "When you asked about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied to you. Would you like to know the truth, Sansa? Would you truly like to know why he is here?" She waited for a moment before she whispered, "He's here for us. Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive."

" _Us?_ " Sansa asked, wondering why the queen included her.

"You heard me," Cersei told her with a nod. "So perhaps you should pray some new prayers, Sweetling. The Starks will have no joy from the fall of House Lannister, I promise you that." Then she reached out, and under the pretense of brushing some of Sansa's hair back from her face, the queen's cold fingers brushed against her neck, just where Ser Ilyn's blade would strike if Stannis sacked the city and the headsman came for her.

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Author's Note:

No Robb and Lenora in this chapter, but I didn't want there to be any. I was really excited about the Battle of the Blackwater. And I hope you guys were too.  
If you enjoyed it there will be more in the next chapter (But Robb and Lenora will be there too!).  
Anyway, if you liked this chapter do me a solid and go write a little review in that lovely empty box down there. I love hearing from you guys. Seriously, I do. It's like magic that makes me excited to update again.

 _RHatch89_ : I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you liked this chapter as well. Don't worry ... I'm also rooting for Robb and Lenora.

 _Viesc_ : Hello! Welcome friend! I'm so glad that you found this story and that you're enjoying it. And I'm really glad that you caught up. We're at like 250,000 words at the moment so that's pretty awesome to read in a week! Thank you for stopping by and reviewing!  
Thank you for telling me that you didn't get an update email. I was wondering why like no one reviewed on the last chapter at first. I think it might have something to do with why it didn't publish the first time I tried. Maybe fanfiction is glitching a bit. Though if that's the case they really should fix it.

 _Stannisfan_ : Thank you for your constructive criticism. I'm glad that I'm glad that the style and the descriptions work for you. I know that so far the story has stuck very close to cannon and that was intentional. This is my first GoT story and I was a little nervous when I started it so I wanted to stick close to what I knew. That being said, I didn't just write 250,000 words for the sake of adding another character in there. Lenora is going to change things quite a bit and she's going to do it pretty soon.

Hopefully you stick around for it!  
That's all I've got for now.  
Did anyone see the Cavs game last night? This Cleveland girl's heart was full. (Even more full when my husband surprised me with tickets to Sunday afternoon's game. I fly up on Saturday night, see the game with my dad on Sunday, and fly home late Sunday night for work on Monday. It's going to make Monday a pain in the ass, but it'll be worth it.)  
See you here tomorrow?  
Chloe Jane.


	39. Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dead, Dead, Dead

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and I'm really excited about the chapter I just wrote, but won't post yet. (hint ... there's a wedding)

* * *

 _Chapter Thirty-Nine: Dead. Dead. Dead._

 _Tyrion_

He had ordered his men into a wedge. He may not have grown up with a battle mind, but in the days leading up to Stannis' attack on the city he had meant to train his brain into one. He had read a lot about the great battles of the past and from everything he had read he determined that this formation would be the best for a sortie.

He was still surprised when the men around him moved, following his orders, and forming a spearhead with him at the point. He looked to his right and Ser Mandon Moore nodded at him, the flames shimmering off his pale armor, he held Joffrey's banner proudly, a crimson and gold standard with stag and lion dancing hoof to paw.

He looked to his left and was surprised to see Podrick Payne, sitting atop a horse with a sword in his hand. He shook his head, "You're too young!" he shouted to Pod. "Go back!"

But the boy was stubborn. If possible he settled himself further into his saddle, "I'm your squire, My Lord," he argued.

There was no time for fight or discussion. He would have to come. Tyrion sighed, "With me then," he ordered the boy, as if he knew anything about surviving a battle."Stay close." And then he kicked his horse into motion, leading his men into battle.

They rode knee to knee, following the line of the looming city walls. They went from a walk to a trot, wheeling wide around the base of the tower. Arrows and stones were flying blindly from the city walls above them, no doubt hitting some of the King's Landing men. But the Gods were kind to Tyrion and nothing hit him. Ahead of them loomed the King's Gate and a surging mob of soldiers wrestling with a huge ram, a shaft of black oak with an iron head. Archers off the ships surrounded them, loosing their shafts at whatever defenders showed themselves on the gatehouse walls.

"Lances" Tyrion ordered as he sped his horse to a canter.

The ground was slippery, a dangerous mix of mud, blood, and corpses. His horse stumbled over one of the many dead bodies and for a terrifying moment Tyrion was sure that he would fall from his horse before he made it to the enemy. But his horse regained its footing and he rewarded it by quickening their pace. He held his battle axe above his head and shouted, "King's Landing!"

Other voices joined his cry and together his horse-filled arrowhead streaked across the beach, with human screams and pounding hooves, and sharp blades kissed by fire.

Ser Mandon got the first kill of the sortie, dropping his lance at the last possible moment and driving Joffrey's banner through the chest of a man in a studded jerkin. He lifted the man full of his feet before the shaft snapped.

Tyrion got the second. Just ahead of him a knight whose surcoat showed a fox peering through a ring of flowers. _Florent_ was his first thought, but _helmless_ was his second. He smashed the man in the face with all the weight of his axe. Cheering to himself as the swing took the man's head off.

Pod did as he had been told and rode beside Tyrion, hacking and slashing. He was not particularly practiced, but with the height and force of the horse behind him he had no trouble cutting down a few of the foes they passed.

Over the noise on the beach Tyrion could dimly hear cheers from the city's walls. He wondered what a sight they made. A spearhead of soldiers, led by the Imp. It must have been a sight. Ahead of him Stannis' men dropped their battering ram as they either turned to flee or turned to fight. Tyrion rode down an archer, opened a spearman from shoulder to armpit and gutted a knight wearing a swordfish-crested helm.

Ser Mandon flashed past him, death in snow-white silk. Tyrion followed him, jumping his horse over the battering ram. Their enemy was fleeing. He turned to look for Podrick, but he could not see the boy anywhere. An arrow clattered against his cheek, just barely missing his eye and he kicked his horse back into action. Wherever Pod was, he hoped the boy was safe, but he could not simply sit and look for him.

The men that had commanded the battering ram were gone, but there was still fighting on the riverbank. Ser Balon Swann's men, no doubt, trying to push back Stannis' men as they swarmed ashore off the burning ships. "We'll ride for the Mud Gate!" Tyrion commanded.

Ser Mandon, who was still at his side as Joffrey had commanded, held his sword above his head and shouted out Tyrion's order for any men who had not heard him, " _The Mud Gate!_ " And they were off again, moving quickly around the city walls, hoping for the same success as they had seen at the King's Gate.

Behind him Tyrion could hear the men shouting. Some yelled for _King's Landing!_ Still others chanted, " _Halfman! Halfman!_ " he wondered who had taught them that. Even through his helm, even with the chanting he could still hear the battle sounds all around him. Anguished screams, warhorns, trumpets, the hungry crackle of the wildfire that still blazed on the river. Now that he was out here and had seen it for himself Tyrion could no longer blame the Hound for being afraid. There was fire and death everywhere.

Stannis' men were still crawling from the river. Though most of them were not fit to fight. They were burned and bleeding, some were choking on water, they were staggering, and Tyrion was sure that most of them were dying. He led his men through the thick of them, delivering as quick and clean a death as he could to any that his battle axe could reach. The battle shrank to the size of his eye slit. Knights twice his size ran from him and his horse. And still, he was faster and stronger. Still they died. "Lannister!" he yelled as he slaughtered a man. He turned toward sky and waved his axe up at the distant stars, for a moment sure that he could hear even _them_ cheering for him.

He felt drunk, though he had had no wine since that afternoon.

The _battle fever,_ he thought, remembering a time when Jaime had explained to him what it felt like to be in battle. He had never thought to experience it for himself, but he imagined that this was what Lenora felt when she had a sword in her hand. If that were the case it was no surprise why his niece had been determined to be as good a swordsman as Jaime. He had never felt stronger, never felt more alive than he did in this moment.

He could still remember Jaime's words. "You don't feel your wounds then, or the ache in your back from the weight of the armor, or the sweat running down into your eyes. You stop feeling, you stop thinking, you stop being _you_ , there is only the fight, the foe, this man and then the next and the next and the next, and you know they are afraid and tired, but you are not. You're alive and death is all around you, but their swords move so slowly, you can dance through them laughing."

Tyrion had not believed Jaime then, but he could understand him now. He was indeed laughing as he rode his way through Stannis' men. _Let them kill me if they can_ , he thought.

And they did try. A spearman ran at Tyrion. He swung his axe and lopped off the head of his spear, then his hand, then his head, trotting around him in a circle while laughing wildly. An archer, bowless, thrust at him with an arrow, holding it as if it were a knife. Tyrion's horse kicked the man to the ground and rode over him, killing him beneath his hooves. He rode past a banner planted in the mud, one of Stannis' fiery hearts and he chopped the staff in two with a swing of his axe.

A blaze of white appeared at the edge of Tyrion's vision and he turned expecting to see Ser Mandon. But this was a different white knight, Ser Balon Swann. He raised his mace to point down river, bits of brain and bone clung to its head. "My Lord," he yelled out over the noise of the battle. "Look there!"

Tyrion turned his horse toward the Blackwater the surface was a roil of blood and flame. The sky above was red and orange and a garish green. Twenty galleys were jammed together on the river, maybe more, it was hard to count in the dark. Their oars were crossed, their hulls locked together with grappling lines, they were impaled on each other's rams, tangled together and packed so closely that it was possible to leap from one deck to another to another and cross the Blackwater. Tyrion had made them a bloody bridge. Hundreds of Stannis Baratheon's boldest and bravest were moving quickly across this makeshift bridge.

Parts of the bridge were sinking, parts were on fire, and the whole thing was creaking and shifting and looked as though it was about to burst asunder at any moment. But that did not stop them. Tyrion turned back to Ser Balon, "Those are brave men," he yelled at him, admiration coloring his tone. "Let's go kill them!"

He led them through the guttering fires, Ser Balon and his men right behind him. Ser Mandon fell in with them, taking the place on Tyrion's left, his shield a battered mess.

A spearman wearing the red crab badge of House Celtigar drove the point of his weapon through the chest of Tyrion's horse before he could dismount and the horse fell, spilling Tyrion from the saddle. Tyrion's axe went spinning, followed by Tyrion himself. As he lay in the mud he could hear his horse beside him, not dead yet, screaming in pain. Somehow he managed to draw his dagger and slit the poor beast's throat to end its pain.

Then he was on his feet again, fighting his way closer to the boats on foot, staggering and slashing as he did. It was only then that he realized that his view of the battle had widened, his helm had fallen off when he fell from his horse. It was too late to look for it now. Men came rushing at him. Some he killed, some he wounded, but no matter what there were always more.

He lost his knife and gained a broken spear. He clutched it and stabbed, screaming curses as loud he could. His two white shadows were always with him; Balon Swann and Mandon Moore, beautiful in their pale plate. Surrounded by a circle of spearmen, they fought back to back, they made battle as graceful as a dance.

His own killing was a clumsy thing.

He moved toward them and tripped over the body of one of his men. He fell again. Over the sound of the battle he heard someone yelling to him. "Here!" he yelled back. "Here, I'm here! Help me!" His voice sounded so thin that he could barely hear himself, but Ser Mandon heard him.

"My Lord," the knight ordered. "Take my hand! My Lord Tyrion!"

When Tyrion looked up he saw the knight in front of him, holding his arm out. His lobstered gauntlet was sticky with blood, but it did not matter, Tyrion reached out for it, wishing his arms were longer. It was only at the last, as his hand landed in Mandon's grip and the knight pulled him to stand that something niggled at him ... Ser Mandon was holding out his _left_ hand, why ...

Was that why he reeled backward, or did he see the sword after all? He would never know. The point slashed just beneath his eyes and he felt its cold hard touch and then a blaze of pain. His head spun as his body fell away from the knight and back to the ground.

Ser Mandon raised his sword again, prepared to strike a second time. But Tyrion watched, dazed as a spear was rammed through the man's throat, killing him where he stood. Tyrion fell to the ground, his eyes closing. And someone was kneeling over him. "Jaime?" he croaked, choking a bit on the blood that filled his mouth. Who else would save him, if not his brother.

"Be still, My Lord," someone told him. "You're hurt bad." It was a boy's voice, though that made no sense. It sounded almost like Pod.

Tyrion forced his eyes open as his head dropped to the side. He meant to see who had come to his aide, but instead he saw a new force come riding across the mud, fresh soldiers on fresh horses.

 _Ours or theirs_? He wondered before his eyes closed again.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

It was Lancel who came with the message. Her young cousin turned lover who told her that the battle was lost. She did not look at him, she did not look at Sansa, she did not look at the women who had come to her for protection. She looked down at her wine glass, it was empty now, and spun it around in her hands. This was always a possibility, but it was not supposed to happen.

"Did you hear me, Your Grace?" Lancel asked her, his voice had an echoing, far away quality to it. Like when she was a child and she and Jaime used to swim in the Sunset Sea, they had a game where one would stick their head under water and the other would yell something to see if they heard it. That was what Lancel sounded like now.

"Tell my brother, Ser," she ordered him. Her voice was just as distant as his. She should care, but the only person in this room she cared about was Tommen. And she would take care of him.

"Your brother's likely dead," he told her. She glanced up at him sharply, all those years she had spent wishing Tyrion would die and now he had. She thought she would feel joy. But all she felt was an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her brother was dead. Soon her sons would be dead. And then she would be as well.

 _Dead. Dead. Dead._

Ser Lancel's surcoat was soaked with blood seeping out under his arm. When he had arrived inside the ballroom the sight of him had made several women scream and cry. "He led the sortie to protect the King's Gate. Others say he rode with Ser Balon's men toward the Mud Gate. But no one has seen him of late. Ser Mandon's likely gone as well, and no one can find the Hound." The young man shook his head, "Gods be damned, Cersei, _why_ did you have me fetch Joffrey back to the castle? The gold cloaks are throwing down their spears and running, hundreds of them. When they saw the king leaving, they lost all heart. The whole Blackwater's awash with wrecks and fire and corpses, but we could have held if -"

"Why are you here?" Cersei bit out at him, interrupting him. She did not want to hear his complaints, she wanted to hear if there was any hope of her and her children making it through the rest of the night alive.

"I mean to collect the king and bring him back to the battle," Lancel told her. "If the men could see him, I _know_ they would fight again. Stronger than now."

Cersei shook her head, that would not happen. "Where is my son?" she asked. She had ordered him back to the castle, but they had not brought him to Maegor's Holdfast. As much as she wanted him where she could see him she knew that he could not hide with the women, if they had won he would have been the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms. He was somewhere nearby, but she did not know where.

Lancel shook his head, "There's fighting on both sides of the river now," he told her, continuing with his report. "Some say that Lord Stannis' men are fighting each other now, but no one is sure. It's all confused over there. Ser Balon's fallen back inside the city. The riverside belongs to Stannis. They're ramming at the King's Gate again and your men are deserting the walls and killing their own officers. There's a mob at the Iron Gate and the Gate of the Gods, city folk fighting to get out of the city. And Flea Bottom's one great drunken riot."

It was now that Cersei dared a look at the red headed girl sitting beside her. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but her lips turned up a bit in the corners. She had not changed her prayers, she was happy that they were losing. That _Joffrey_ had lost. She still hoped for escape. Cersei shook her head, she would wipe that smug look of the girl's face if it were the last thing she would do. She turned away from Sansa to look at the captain of her Red Guard, "Raise the drawbridge and bar the doors. No one enters or leaves Maegor's without my leave."

"What about the women who went to pray?" her captain asked her.

She did not care one bit for the women. Praying was a waste of time, the Gods did not listen to their prayers or care for them. "They chose to leave my protection. Let them pray; perhaps the Gods will defend them." Then she turned back to Lancel, "I will ask you again. Where is my son?"

"The castle gatehouse," he told her. "He wanted to command the crossbowmen. There's a mob howling outside, half of them gold cloaks who came with him when we left the Mud Gate."

She did not care that they would laugh at him now. He was no safer on the castle walls than he was at the City Walls. She wanted him inside the holdfast where there would be three sets of walls between him and Stannis. "Bring him inside Maegor's _now_ ," she ordered.

" _No!_ " Her cousin was so angry that he forgot to keep his voice down. He yelled the word and several of the women at the closest tables turned to look at him. He was so angry that he forgot who he was talking to. He had shouted at the queen and on any other day than today during a battle, he would have been imprisoned for it. But tonight, he did not care. "If I bring him in we'll have the Mud Gate all over again. Let him stay where he is. He's the _king_ -"

"He's my _son_ ," Cersei interrupted as she rose to her feet. "You claim to be a Lannister as well, cousin, prove it." She turned to the captain of the Red Guard, "Osfryd, why are you standing there? I told you to raise the drawbridge and bar the doors _now_. Now means today."

The guard quickly ran from the dais, another guard following him. Some of the frightened hens below her followed them, crying or praying. They did not know what was happening outside the castle gates, but they knew enough not to want to be trapped inside the holdfast. Cersei did not care, let them run, there was nowhere safe anymore.

"Cersei," Lancel pleaded, "if we lose the castle, Joffrey will be killed in any case, you know that. Let him stay, I'll keep him by me, I swear -"

Cersei had reached out for Tommen's hand and pulled her sleepy son out of his chair as Lancel pleaded to keep Joffrey in harm's way. When she turned back to him, her eyes narrowed into a glare he still did not back down. "Get out of my way," she hissed at him before she slammed her open palm into his wound. Her cousin cried out in pain and fell to the floor as if he had fainted.

Cersei spared him one disgusted look as she pulled Tommen around her fallen cousin and began to leave the room. "Oh Gods!" she heard one old woman wail. "We're lost, the battle's lost! She's running!"

She did not care to calm them down. All she cared was for her son. She did not even slow as women began to stand from their seats and move toward her as if they would question her. From somewhere behind her she hear Sansa Stark call out. "Don't be afraid! The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city!" It made her smirk, the girl had wanted so badly to be Queen once. Well now she would get a taste of it. Let _her_ rule over this roost of frightened hens. And let _her_ be the first one raped when Stannis' men stormed the castle.

"Where are we going, Mother?" Tommen asked her as she led him from the ballroom.

She turned to look at him, her little boy looked so frightened. She knelt down in front of him, still holding his hand in hers. She lifted her free hand to cup his cheek, "Don't worry, Sweetling," she told him, her voice soft and gentle for perhaps the first time that night. "I will keep you safe."

"But where are we going?" the boy pushed, he was determined to have an answer.

"On a little hunt," Cersei told him.

"A hunt?" Tommen asked. "But Stannis and his men have the King's Wood."

She smiled at him and shook her head, "No, my sweet boy, we're not hunting animals. We're looking for things."

"What things?"

"Something from Joff's chambers, and Lenora's, and Myrcella's," she told him.

"Why?"

"Because I think it might make you feel better," she lied to him. The hunt was for her. If she was going to die away from her children she would surround herself with their belongings. But she could not tell Tommen that, it would only serve to frighten her boy. "Don't you miss them?" she asked.

Tommen shrugged his shoulders, "Lenora and Myrcella," he told them. "But I just saw Joffrey this afternoon."

Cersei smiled softly at him, "Well _I_ miss Joffrey. Will you come with me when I find something of his?"

Tommen nodded. He still did not understand what was going on, but he would do as his mother asked. Cersei nodded and stood from the floor, leading the way.

They went to Joffrey's chambers first. She looked around the room for a few moments before she settled on the wooden toy sword that Robert had given him for his second nameday. Joffrey had loved that sword, he had toddled his way around the castle for months beating cats and servants alike with the sword. It was one of the few times she could remember Robert smiling at the boy. He would chuckle every time he saw him with the play sword clutched in his tiny baby hands.

They went to Myrcella's chambers next. Even though her youngest daughter was old enough to be sent to Dorne, the girl was still such a child. Her chambers were filled with all the dolls and toys that she could not bring with her. Tommen selected a doll that had been made in Myrcella's own image, a beautiful thing with pale skin and golden hair. Delicate and soft.

Lenora's chambers were harder. When she had left for Winterfell she was a Lady, a woman grown. She no longer had toy swords, or dolls in her chambers. They had been left much the same as she had left them. Cersei had been unable to enter them after they left her daughter up north and she had refused any suggestion to clear them out after Robert died, she was _that_ sure that Lenora would be returned to her family in King's Landing soon. But she had not returned and now Cersei was desperate to find something of her daughter's to hold onto.

It was Tommen who found it, a crown of blue winter roses from one tournament or another, looped over one of the bedposts at the head of the bed. Cersei nodded as she lifted it off the post, Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of the Flowers, had given it to her when he crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty. Her daughter had once had such an infatuation for the young knight that she had kept the crown, even after the flowers dried.

Armed with their treasure Cersei led her youngest son back down the stairs. The drawbridge was raised, but there were ways out of the Holdfast for those who knew them. Cersei took one now, out the back and into the Godswood, she pulled her son quickly though the woods, she did not like being outside. The thick walls of Maegor's had blocked the sounds of the battle, but here in the Godswood she could hear it, and so could Tommen. She did not want the boy frightened.

Soon enough they had entered the Great Hall and Cersei led her son to the Iron Throne. She sat on the uncomfortable throne and pulled her son into her lap. He was clutching tightly at Myrcella's doll and he had Joffrey's play sword tucked under his arm. Lenora's flower crown lay on his lap, hanging over one of his legs to rest on Cersei's lap as well. She wrapped her left arm around him tightly, her right hand dug into the pocket of her dress, searching for the small vial she had gotten from Grand Maester Pycelle that morning. Milk of the poppy, enough to put her son into a deep sleep that he would never wake up from.

As she searched for it, she distracted him by telling him the story that she had told all of her lion cub children. The story of the little lion in the King's Wood.

The story did not last as long as she would have liked. Sooner than she wished the story was over. She uncapped the vial and, sniffing back any tears that dared fill her eyes, she held it up to her son. "I will keep you safe, My Love," she told him, encouraging him to drink. "I promise you."

But before her son drank any of the milk the doors to the throne room were thrown open and soldiers marched in. Cersei stood quickly, taking her son with her. All their treasures fell to the ground at their feet. Cersei's eyes darted over the surcoats and the banners. The golden rose of high garden led them in. But there was the Marbrand's tree, Tarly's huntsman, Redwyne grapes, and Lady Oakheart's leaf as well. All of Renly's force that had not immediately backed Stannis.

A knight at the front of the group reached up and pulled off his helm, Ser Loras of Highgarden. For one terrifying moment Cersei was sure that _this_ was how she and Tommen would die. That Highgarden had finally backed Stannis and had come into the battle as his reserve.

But then the men parted and Tywin Lannister walked through them toward her with his helm in his hand. "Father," Cersei breathed, turning the small vial upside down and spilling its contents before she dropped it to the floor. She would have no need of it now.

"The battle is over," her father announced to her with one of his rare smiles. "We have won!

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

His fist clenched around the parchment in his hand, crinkling it and possibly tearing it in some places. He turned his head to look at Lenora, she was sitting in the corner of their chambers sewing by the window while Rollam struggled to read a story to her. Every once in a while she would put the dress she was working on down so that she could lean over and help the young boy with a word when he asked for help.

She was very good with him. And he was good for her. He wondered what this news would do to her. He wondered if she would be happy to hear it. She had seemed so resolute the week before in the yard outside the castle. She had told him that she was saying goodbye to her family and he believed her. But this man was her uncle. And after almost a year he was finally free.

 _Free by his own mother's hand._

His fist clenched again and he took a deep breath, forcing his hands to relax and his face to soften. "Nora," he called out, waiting for her to look up at him before he continued. "Send the boy away," he commanded.

Lenora's brows furrowed but she nodded and leaned closer to Rollam, whispering something to the boy. He quickly stood up and after gathering his book he left the room with a quick bow to Robb as he passed. Once Rollam was gone Lenora put down her sewing and stood, walking over to him. Even though he was working hard to relax his face there was no hiding from Lenora. "What's wrong?" she asked him, studying his face carefully.

He sighed, looking away from her for a moment before he turned back toward her, "Your uncle is free," he told her, watching her intently.

It was impossible not to notice the way her eyes lightened, sparkling silver. Her brows relaxed and the lines between them disappeared. The worry lines that creased her forehead from time to time softened and her lips quirked up at the corners. Her shoulders relaxed as she swung her hands in front of her body and then behind them before clasping them tight to keep them from moving. The news made her happy, though she wanted so badly to compose herself and hide it from him.

"What made you decide to free him?" she asked, misunderstanding his statement.

A chuckle rose at the back of his throat, low and dark. "I didn't free him," he told her, his voice gentle.

She shook her head, she didn't understand, "What?" she asked him. "I don't understand. If you did not set him free how is he? Did he escape somehow?"

"No," Robb told her, still laughing even though the circumstances were far from humorous. "Someone freed him."

"Who would do that without your consent?" Lenora asked him. But as he watched her face he saw the flash of understanding, "Your Mother," she whispered. He nodded, _his mother_. She was quiet for a moment, thinking. "She had just found out about the boys," she told him, making an excuse for her. "And with no one knowing if my mother has Arya or not. No doubt she thought that this was the only way she could get Sansa returned to her. She did this for Sansa, really her only child left now that you've decided that you don't need your mother's help anymore."

Robb nodded, she really did not need to make excuses for his mother. He had considered them all. He knew she did this for Sansa. He knew that she was driven by grief. He knew that she had only been thinking about her family.

But she should have considered him. She should have realized what this would do to his war effort. She should have left the Kingslayer where he was.

He looked up, Lenora was still watching him. "You'll forgive her, won't you?" she asked once they had made eye contact. "When you see her you will be gentle to her."

Robb sighed, Lenora had once told him that he could not disappoint her and as much as she had meant it at the time she was wrong. He could disappoint her. And he was about to. "I have forgiven her," he told her, his jaw clenched when he saw the bright smile slip onto her lips. She was proud of him. "But I cannot be gentle with her when I next see her."

Her smile fell quickly, " Robb," she started.

He cut her off. "I understand her reasons, but Nora! He was my most valuable prisoner. I could have used him to bargain for an end to this war. And she set him free, and means to hold him to terms that only the Gods know! If she were anyone but my mother she would lose her head for this! _Her head._ "

"She's your mother," Lenora argued, trying to drive that point home to him. "Whatever she did, she thought it was right."

"No," Robb told her, shaking his head angrily as he turned away from her. "She knew it wasn't right. That's why she did it in the middle of the night. That's why she told no one. That's why she didn't discuss it with me first. She knew what she was doing and she knew it was stupid. And she did it anyway."

"Maybe she didn't think at all," Lenora argued. "Perhaps it was that she was driven almost mad with grief for the boys and she had set him free before she even knew what she was doing."

Robb shook his head again, "She visited him twice. The turnkey said so. She brought him wine and got him drunk. And visited him two nights in a row, after midnight. She set him free on the second night. It was meditated. She knew exactly what she meant to do."

Lenora watched him for a moment, her eyes no longer a happy silver, but now a stormy grey. "What will you do?" she asked finally.

"My uncle Edmure has her confined to her chambers," he told her, shaking his head. "Her door is guarded and she is allowed no company."

Lenora's eyes widened, "Confined without company?" she repeated. "Guarded? Robb she is grieving. She's lost her husband, her daughters, her two youngest sons. Her father is dying! She will go mad if you leave her alone like that, a prisoner in her own childhood home."

Robb shook his head, he would not have Lenora pleading for softer treatment of his mother. "What would you have me do, Nora?" he asked her. "It was treason, what she did. My mother is a traitor. When I tell my bannermen what she did some of them will want her thrown in the Kingslayer's old cell. We hung men a month ago for doing this. She cannot be left unpunished."

He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Gods," he moaned, shaking his head. "I'm going to have to tell my bannermen. What will they think of their King now? Winterfell taken, the boys killed, and my mother freeing our prisoners."

He was quiet for a minute, thinking of his Lords Bannerman's reactions when they heard the news. Lord Rickard Karstark had wanted Jaime Lannister dead since the Whispering Wood. And now the man was free. Lord Karstark would think Robb weak if he did anything less than behead his own mother for freeing him.

"She has spoken to Edmure about it," he told her, his voice defeated.

"Did she say anything to defend herself?" Lenora asked.

Robb shook his head, "She thinks she has done nothing wrong. She _believes_ that he will use his freedom to return the girls."

"Lannisters do pay their debts," Lenora told him, "his freedom will be a debt that he will have to repay."

She still had faith in him, that much was clear. But Robb did not have her faith. "Even if he does send the girls back I would not have traded him for them," he told her.

"They're your sisters!" she yelled at him, raising her voice for the first time.

"I'm fighting a war!" he shouted back. "And using him a certain way could have ended this war! Instead, perhaps, I _might_ get my _child_ sisters back!"

She stared at him for a second, her eyes narrowed into a glare. And then she crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. "You better go tell your bannermen," she told him, her voice hard as steel and about as unforgiving. "I suspect you will want to ride for Riverrun as soon as possible to deal with her. So I will tell the servants to begin packing. We can leave by dawn tomorrow."

Robb stared at her and took a deep breath, this was not what he had wanted. He did not want to fight with her. He did not want her angry at him. "Nora," he breathed softly.

She turned to look at him again and shook her head, "If it were the other way," she told him. "And I was back at King's Landing. I had Jon as a prisoner and you had Myrcella and Tommen I would make the trade in a heartbeat for them, Because they are my family and that is what you do for family."

He couldn't tell her that she was wrong. Because if they hadn't been fighting a war he would have agreed with her. But he was fighting a war. He was responsible for all of his men and all of the people in the North who had named him King. He needed to win for them. And he could not see a way to win now that he had lost the Kingslayer.

"She told Edmure that he said he would come back for you," he told her.

Her eyes widened. She had not expected that. He nodded. "That's what he drunkenly told her before he escaped. That he would send the girls back to her, but then he would come and take you. He does not mean to give either you or I a choice. He said that he _will bring you home to your family_."

She was so angry at him that he half expected her to tell him that it was good news. He half expected her to tell him that she wanted to be returned to her family. But instead her jaw clenched and she wrapped her arms tighter around her chest. "He can try," she told him, her tone as stubborn as her jaw. "But I won't go willingly."

* * *

Author's Note:

Yay! Jaime's free and I get to play with him again. That's fun! I'm happy.  
What did you guys think of this chapter? I hope you liked it. If you did you should write a little review down there and that box. It's a super friendly box. It'll even thank you for your review.  
And I'll thank you too!

 _Guest_ : I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too! (I'm pretty sure the wait wasn't too long!)

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you dear! Hope this one was equally as awesome.

 _darkwolf76_ : Hello friend! I'm glad that you liked chapter thirty-seven and I hope you liked chapter thirty-eight too. And also this one. As for Jaime ... he might try to get Lenora from the Starks, but I think for now ... he's got a babysitter so he's probably on his was to King's Landing. (But don't worry ... he's not going to Dorne. That's a bullshit story line that I'm not even going to touch.)

 _Stannisfan_ : Glad to have entertained you on your bus ride!

 _Raging Raven_ : Yaaasssss! (right back at you!)

That's all I've got. But huge thanks to all of you who have reviewed.  
Quick question: Is Fanfiction still glitching out and not sending alert emails?  
See you back here tomorrow?  
Chloe Jane.


	40. Chapter Forty: To Serve the Starks

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and I read the entirety of _13 Reasons Why_ in pretty much one sitting yesterday. It was ridiculous.

* * *

 _Chapter Forty: To Serve the Starks_

 _Sansa_

She took care as she dressed that morning. She choose her best dress, one of purple silk and let her handmaidens do her hair up in the Southern style. She did not particularly like it, having her hair piled on top of her head like that, but Cersei had insisted. There was to be a celebration in the throne room and the queen did not want Sansa walking around with her hair down, reminding everyone of her northern heritage.

So her maids piled her hair on top of her head and twisted it and braided it tightly. And they tightened the laces on her dress as much as they could. And finally, she was ready to leave her chambers.

The throne room was more crowded than she had ever seen it. And it was brighter and more colorful as well. A sea of jewels, furs, and bright fabrics. There were so many lords and ladies that they were pressed all the way to the back wall, jostling each other like fishwives on a dock. For the first time since she came to King's Landing she did not have a place of honor on the floor, instead she was to stand in the gallery above with some of the lesser lords and ladies and the richer city folk.

It was a demotion that was meant to shame her. But all she felt was grateful that she was further away from Joffrey.

King Joffrey sat above everyone amongst the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne. He was dressed in crimson samite, with a black mantle studded with rubies, and his heavy golden crown on his head.

Sansa wiggled her way through a press of knights and squires to a place at the front of the gallery, her hands wrapping around the railing just as the trumpets blasted their announcement that Lord Tywin Lannister had entered the hall.

Sansa looked down on the man from where she stood. He was a foreboding looking man. Looking at him now it was hard to imagine that this was the man that Lenora had told her stories about while they were both at Winterfell. Lenora had told her that Tywin Lannister was kind, but the man before did not look kind. _Well, kind when it serves him_ , had been the princess' exact words.

Sansa could not imagine a time when being kind could serve Lord Tywin Lannister anymore than being surly. He had the look of a man who always got what he wanted. Just like his son Jaime. She smirked a bit, Ser Jaime Lannister was certainly not getting what he wanted now, he was still her brother's prisoner.

Lord Tywin rode his warhorse down the length of the hall and dismounted only once he had reached the Iron Throne. His armor was burnished red steel, inlaid with golden scrollwork that glittered in the sunlight. The Lannisters did love their House colors. And their sigil. A roaring lion with rubies for eyes crowned his helm and a golden lioness sat on each shoulder to fasten his cloth of gold cloak that was so long that it draped over the back of his horse. Even the horse's armor was red and gold, as if it were some sort of honor to be a Lannister horse.

The Lord of Casterly Rock and his horse made such an impressive picture that it was a shock when the beast dropped a load of dung right in front of the Iron Throne. Sansa laughed, bringing up her hand to cover her mouth as Joffrey stepped around the pile so that he could embrace his grandfather.

Once he had pulled away Joffrey turned to the lords and ladies of the hall, "I, Joffrey, of the House Baratheon, First of my name and the _rightful_ king of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm do hereby proclaim my Grandfather, Tywin Lannister, the savior of the city!"

The men and women around Sansa cheered loudly and clapped though Sansa stood as still as she had before. She had not imagined the smirk Joffrey sent her way when he said the word _rightful_. The Starks had the blood of the First Men in them, the Northmen, if anyone was the rightful king of the First Men it was Robb.

By now Joffrey had turned back to Tywin and made a show of asking him to serve as Hand of the King. Lord Tywin had nodded his head solemnly and agreed as if it were an honor. As if the last three of the Mad King's Hands had not died. As if Jon Arryn had not died. As if her father, Eddard Stark, had not died, and as if his own son who had been the Hand of the King in Lord Tywin's stead did not currently lay dying somewhere in the Red Keep. Sansa hoped that this Hand would die too.

Squires moved forward to take off Lord Tywin's armor and once it was removed Joffrey pinned the seal of the Hand onto Tywin's chest. Then Lord Tywin moved onto the dais and took a seat with the queen at the council table. His horse was led away and the dung was removed.

Joffrey looked to Cersei and the queen nodded, telling him that he could continue.

Trumpets greeted each of the battle heros as they walked through the large oak doors and made their way toward the throne. Heralds cried their names and their deeds for all to hear, and the noble nights and highborn ladies cheered as if they were at a tournament. Or a cockfight. The place of honor was given to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and his handsome sons, Ser Loras and his older brother Ser Garlan the Gallant. The three of them dressed alike, in green velvet trimmed with sable.

Joffrey descended from his throne again to greet them, a great honor that he had not bestowed on any of the other heros. He fastened a necklace around each of their throats, a chain of roses made of yellow gold, hanging from each chain hung a golden disc with the lion of Lannister picked out in rubies. It was a ghastly thing, but each man wore it as if it were an honor. "The roses support the lion," Joffrey announced as he fastened the last necklace, "as the might of Highgarden supports the realm."

He stepped back from them, though he did not return to his throne. "If there is any boon you would ask of me, ask and it shall be yours."

 _And now it comes_ , Sansa thought, bouncing a bit on the balls of her feet. She could not contain her excitement.

"Your Grace," said Ser Garlan, speaking first, "I beg the honor of serving in your Kingsguard, to defend you against your enemies." Ser Garlan was five years older than Ser Loras and a taller, bearded version of his more famous younger brother. But he did not lack in skill, from what Sansa had heard the man was almost as good a swordsman as his brother.

Joffrey drew Ser Garlan the Gallant to his feet and kissed him on his bearded cheek, "Done, brother," he told him. Sansa wondered if any of the surrounding men and women were confused by the term _brother_. None of them seemed to be though Sansa was sure that they weren't in on the secret as she was.

Lord Tyrell had bowed his head and asked to be put on the King's Small Council. Sansa wondered what sort of skills the man brought to the table, but his skills did not matter to Joffrey, his wish was granted and the fat man rushed his way onto the dais to take a seat near Lord Tywin.

Finally it was Ser Loras' turn. Sansa smiled, she had always wanted to be rescued by a handsome prince and now she would be. "Your Grace," he started. "I have a sister, Margaery, the delight of our House. She was wed to Renly Baratheon, as you know, but he was taken before their marriage could be consummated. She remains innocent. Margaery has heard tales of your wisdom, courage, and chivalry, and has come to love you from afar. I beseech you to send for her, to take her hand in marriage, and to wed your House to mine for all time."

Joffrey pretended to look surprised and Sansa's breath caught in her throat. What if he changed his mind? "Ser Loras," Joffrey told him. "Your sister's beauty is famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I too, have heard tales of her beauty and grace. It would be an honor to return her love, but I am promised to another. And a king must keep his word."

Cersei stood from her spot at the small council table, her gold skirts rustling around her. "Your Grace, in judgement of your Small Council, it would be neither proper no wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne, even now. Sire, your councillors beg you, for the good of your realm, set Sansa Stark aside. The Lady Margaery will make you a far more suitable queen."

The women around Sansa had the grace to look shocked, some even whispered words of comfort or apology. But the majority of the people in the hall seemed thrilled with the idea of Joffrey marrying Margaery. They cheered and shouted their pleasure like a pack of trained dogs. "Margaery!" they cheered. "Give us Margaery!" and "No traitor queens! Tyrell! Tyrell!"

Joffrey raised his hand and his people fell silent. "I would like to heed your wishes, Mother, and the wishes of my people. But I took a holy vow."

The new High Septon stepped forward, "Your Grace," he said. "The Gods hold betrothal solemn, but your father, King Robert of blessed memory, made this pact before the Starks of Winterfell had revealed their falseness. Their crimes against the realm have freed you from any promise you might have made. So far as the Faith is concerned, there is no valid marriage contract 'twixt you and Sansa Stark."

The people began cheering again and Sans wondered if they truly believed all this pageantry. Could they not see that this was all put together to humiliate her and to explain to them why Joffrey could set her aside. Queen Cersei would not have spoken out against Sansa unless she already knew that Joffrey would pick the Tyrell girl. In a dark corner of her mind she also wondered if the High Septon's explanation would be used to do away with Robb and Lenora's marriage if her brother and his wife were ever caught and brought to King's Landing.

Joffrey was stalling. He had not said it yet. Sansa's grip on the railing before her tightened and her fingernails dug into the wood. What if he didn't say it? What if he meant to keep her? But he must say it. She glanced down at the queen and Lord Tywin. _Please_ , she begged silently. _Please make him say it, make him say it._

Lord Tywin was staring at his grandson, his green eyes tight and narrow. Joff gave him a sullen glance and shifted his feet before he helped Ser Loras off the ground. "The Gods are good," he announced. "I am free to heed my heart. I will wed your sweet sister, and gladly, Ser." Everyone in the hall cheered and clapped.

Sansa was grateful that she was up in the gallery instead of on the floor. The ceremony would go on for hours, there were still more heros to be given honors, there were close to three hundred men to be knighted. And then there were the prisoners of the battle to deal with. If she had been down on the floor she would have had to stay for all of it.

But here in the gallery she could slip away. She would not be unnoticed, but at least the king could not force her to stay.

She tried to arrange her face into a look of appropriate sorrow as she moved through the knights and the ladies around her. She was almost sure that she had fooled them until Lord Petyr Baelish called out to her.

"My Lady," he called out, making her turn toward him. "My sincerest condolences."

Inside her sleeves Sansa dug her fingernails into her palms until they bled and tears flooded her eyes, "They're right," she told the man. "I'm not good enough for him."

"You shouldn't say that," Lord Petyr told her, shaking his head, "you'll be good enough for _many_ things. He'll still enjoy beating you, and now that you're a woman he will be able to enjoy you in other ways as well." Sansa did not need to ask him what he meant by that, and now the tears that were sliding down her cheeks were not fake tears, but true ones, born of fear.

"But if he's not marrying me -"

"He'll let you go home?" Lord Petyr finished for her, there was no laughter in his tone, but Sansa could tell that he thought she was a fool. He was mocking her. "Joffrey's not the sort of boy who gives away his toys," he warned her. He reached out, his hand wrapping around her upper arm, "You have a tender heart, just like your mother did at your age. I see so much of her in you. She was like a sister to me. For _her_ sake, I will help get you home." He whispered the last part so that only she could hear it.

Sansa was sure this was a trick. Lord Petyr Baelish was a member of the king's Small Council. Joffrey had just awarded him Harrenhal. And he, himself, had just told her that Joffrey would not want to let her go. Petyr Baelish did not seem the sort of man who would act against the king's wishes unless there was something for him in the deal. She could not see what he would get out helping her escape King's Landing. And so, she could not trust him. "King's Landing is my home now," she told him, pulling out one of her practiced lines.

Lord Petyr chuckled, "Look around you," he commanded. "We're all liars here. And every one of us is better than you."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He was laughing. For the first time in almost a year he was laughing. The feeling of the laughter bubbling in his throat felt strange, the sound of the laughter was foreign to his ears. But it felt so damn good. He laughed again, testing it out. It still felt as good as the first.

The wind moved through his hair and the boat moved along the river with the current and Jaime lifted his chained hands above his head and crowed out a cheer. He was _alive_ and the sun was shining.

"Quiet," the wench ordered him with a scowl. Jaime wanted to tell her to smile, that these circumstances demanded a smile. But he knew she would not. Smiles would not suit her face half as well as a scowl did. Jaime squinted at her, trying to imagine the large girl out of her studded leather jerkin and into one of Cersei's silken gowns. He snorted, it would be better to put a dress on a cow than on this girl.

But Gods could this girl row. Under her man's clothes were a man's muscles, he was sure of it. She had rowed their boat for half the night and well into the morning and she still showed no sign of tiring. She was big and strong like a peasant, but she spoke like a highborn lady and she could read and she wore two longswords and a dagger. He wondered if she could use them. He meant to find out as soon as she took off his chains.

He still wore iron manacles on his wrists, but Lady Stark had been kind enough to cut the chains around his ankles so that he could walk. He had more freedom now than he had in weeks. "You'd think my word as a Lannister was not good enough," he had joked as they bound him. He was very drunk by then, Lady Catelyn had known what she was doing when she sent him that wine.

He remembered very little of their escape from Riverrun, just bits and pieces really. The pieces were small enough that if anyone were to ask him how to escape from the castle he would not be able to tell them. There had been some trouble with the gaoler, but the big wench had overpowered him. They had climbed countless stairs, he had tripped over his own feet a few times but the wench had a hold on his upper arm and she did not let him fall. They threw a dirty cloak over him and threw him into a boat at one point and he was sure that Lady Catelyn had ordered someone to raise the portcullis on the Water Gate. She told them that she was sending Ser Cleos Frey back to King's Landing with new terms of peace for the queen.

They had listened to her, even though Cleos Frey was not in the boat. He must have drifted off then because he did not remember anything else until he woke up, half convinced he had dreamed the entire thing. The wine made him sleepy and it felt good to stretch out, he hadn't been able to do that since they had moved him to his new cell. Years ago he had learned to catch sleep in his saddle on long rides, this was no different. Though Tyrion would laugh at him when he told his little brother that he had slept through his own escape.

But now he was awake, and his stretching had made him resent these manacles more than he had resented them the day before. "My Lady," he called to the wench. "If you'll strike off these chains, I'll spell you at those oars."

Her scowl deepened and she glared at him, "You'll wear your chains, Kingslayer," she told him through gritted teeth.

His shoulders involuntarily tightened at the name, a hunching gesture that Lenora had once pointed out to him. She said that he did it whenever someone called him Kingslayer, it had been an observation of a young girl. But it had always struck him that she noticed it when no one else seemed to. He forced his shoulders to relax and practically screwed a smile onto his lips. "Do you figure to row all the way to King's Landing, wench?" he asked her.

"You will call me Brienne," the large thing ordered him. "Not _wench_."

"My name is Ser Jaime," he told her, his smile becoming a little more real. He was sure that they could be polite, even as he plotted to kill her. "Not _Kingslayer_."

"Do you deny that you slew a king?" she asked him.

 _No_ , he thought, _and if you knew the truth of it you would be thanking me for killing him, not judging me for it._ He did not say that to her though. It was a long story and as of yet only Lenora and himself knew it. "No," he told her instead. "Do you deny your sex? If so, unlace those breeches and show me." He was being crude, but she expected no less of him. And one thing Jaime had learned from an early age was to always play the part people expected of him. "I'd ask you to open your bodice, but from the look of you that wouldn't prove much."

He had been so polite back in that cell that it felt good to be rude now. He had made all sorts of promises and sworn all sorts of vows. But Lady Catelyn Stark had never made him swear to be polite to his new chaperone.

Instead she had made him swear that he would never again take up arms against a Stark or a Tully. He swore it.

She made him swear that he would compel his brother to honor his pledge to return daughters safe and unharmed. He swore it.

She had made him swear on his honor as a knight, on his honor as a Lannister, on his honor as a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. He swore it.

She made him swear it on his sister's life. And Lenora's life. And his father's life. And his son's. By the Old Gods and the New. And he swore it all.

But he never swore that he would be kind to the wench.

She had told him that he had _shit for honor_ and yet she was trusting him to return her daughters. But that wasn't right, she was trusting _Tyrion_ to return the girls, Jaime was only the messenger. "Perhaps she is not as stupid after all," he murmured out loud.

The wench got it wrong, "I am not stupid," she growled at him as she rode. "Nor deaf."

He was gentle with her this time, mocking her was too easy. There was no sport to it. And it was a long way to King's Landing. If he mocked her too much, too early, it would lose all the fun long before they made it to the capitol. "I was speaking to myself," he told her. "An easy habit to fall into in a cell." She frowned at him, but said nothing. He sighed, it had been so long since he had talked to anyone, her silence would not do. He wanted to talk. "By your speech, I'd judge you nobly born."

"My father is Selwyn of Tarth, by the grace of the Gods, Lord of Evenfall," she told him after a long moment. It was grudging her answer. She did not want to talk to him, but she could see that he was not going to give up.

"Tarth," Jaime repeated with a nod, "A ghastly large rock in the narrow sea, as I recall. And Evenfall is sworn to Storm's End. How is it that you serve Robb of Winterfell?"

He meant to call her loyalty into question. It was the surest way to rile her. "It is Lady Catelyn I serve," she told him, too calm to be riled. He had failed. "And she has commanded me to deliver you safe to your brother Tyrion at King's Landing, not to bandy words with you. Be Silent."

But Jaime did not want to be silent. He had had too much silence as of late. "We could save a deal of traveling if you delivered me to my father instead of my brother," he told her. In truth he did not know where his father was, he hoped that the wench would tell him.

But she did not. "Lady Catelyn's daughters are in King's Landing," she told him. "I will return with the girls or not at all."

He sighed, already tiring of her. He leaned over the edge of the boat, watching his reflection in the water. Men of the Seven Kingdoms knew him as a knight with tamed flowing gold hair and clean shaven face. But the man that stared at him from the water was a man that even Jaime did not recognize. His hair was unruly and matted, a dirty yellow more than gold. His beard was that of a mad man. He looked as though he had aged five years in that dungeon. His face was thinner, with hollows under his eyes and lines he did not remember. He had always looked so much like his sister, but there was little resemblance between the two of them now.

She would hate it. But he rather liked it.

As Brienne rowed down the river Jaime watched it. Before the Stark boy had imprisoned him this stretch of the Trident would have seemed dull. But after all that time in his cell every bit of it was a new and brilliant adventure. Every tree, every rock, every one room shack they passed. There were no people though, no doubt chased away by the war.

Later in the afternoon they came across a live oak that was filled with dead women. The crows had scarcely started on their corpses, the skin still looked fresh. The ropes cut deeply into their throats and when the wind blew they twisted and swayed. It almost looked like a dance. The wench did not like it, "This was not chivalrously done," she told him as she steered the boat toward the shore.

Jaime could not believe that she was delaying them because of this. He tried to tell her not to stop, but the wench did not listen. Once the boat came ashore she pulled him out of it and pushed him onto the path. "Walk," she ordered him.

When they got closer to the swinging women Jaime was able to read the sign that hung around one of their necks, "They lay with lions," he read to her. "Tavern girls, I'd say," he told her. "No doubt they served my father's soldiers. Maybe _one_ of them gave up a kiss and a feel. But here we are, the _glorious_ work of the Northern Freedom fighters." He turned to the wench, "It must make you proud to serve the Starks."

"I don't serve the Starks," she told him again. "I serve Lady Catelyn."

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "Tell yourself that tonight when they swing in your dreams," he told her.

She pushed him aside, tying him to a tree. "What are you doing?" he asked her.

"Burying them," she growled at him.

"We shouldn't stay here," he told her, looking around nervously. The bodies were still fresh, whoever had hung them could still be near by. The last thing he wanted was to be taken back to the cells at Riverrun. "We should get back on the river. I really think -"

But she did not care what he thought. And she would not listen to him. She moved across the path to cut the women down, but stopped when she heard men's voices coming down the path. Jaime looked at her, his eyes wide, "Untie me _now_ ," he ordered.

She did not untie him, though she did move closer to him, her hand on her sword. Three men came around the corner and she caught their attention. The leader of the group stopped walking and asked them what their business was. He laughed when the wench told him that she was traveling a prisoner. His companions joined him. They seemed to think it was very funny that she was a woman.

Jaime ducked his head, hiding his face behind his hair as she began to untie him. "Who do you fight for?" the leader asked.

"The Starks," the wench told him, lying without looking up.

"What did he do?" one of the other men asked, gesturing toward Jaime.

"Apparently eating is a crime," Jaime growled, hoping that the girl would play along.

"No," she told him, "but stealing is a crime."

"But it's not a crime to starve to death?" Jaime asked. "That's justice for you."

They asked her where she was taking him. She told them Riverrun, though that was in the opposite direction. They had just come from Riverrun. They asked her why. "You steal from the Tully's it's their dungeon you rot in." Her mind was quicker than her looks had led Jaime to believe.

"Why not kill him?" one of the men asked.

"For stealing a pig?" Jaime asked loudly, wishing the girl's fat fingers would untie his rope faster.

The one who wanted to kill him was staring at him now. As if he recognized him. He asked Jaime a couple of questions and Jaime answered with negatives, claiming to be from Ashemark in the Westerlands. The wench finally had him untied and began to lead him back toward the boat when the leader stopped her, "What do you think of these beauties?" he asked.

The girl stopped walking and turned to look at the hanging women. "I hope you gave them quick deaths," she told the men.

"Two of them we did, yeah."

She glared at him for a moment before she jerked on the rope and began to pull Jaime away again. He followed her willingly, happy to be getting back on the river. When the one that thought he knew him called out. "Wait. I do know you." He moved closer to them and pointed at Jaime, "That's Jaime Lannister."

Jaime scoffed turning to look at the girl, "I wish someone would have told me," he said sarcastically. "I wouldn't have had to steal that pig."

The wench tried to tell him that he was wrong. Even the leader of the group seemed skeptical when he asked how the man knew what the Kingslayer looked like. Jaime knew he was dead when the man said that he had fought in the Battle of the Whispering Wood. That he had been there when they dragged Jaime out of the woods and threw him before the king. Again the girl tried to deny it, but this time the leader was suspicious.

"I've got a question for you both," he told them. "And I want you to answer at the same time. I count to three you both answer. What's his name?"

They were done. The girl was quick, but she couldn't read his mind. They would not give the same name.

"One. Two. Three."

On three the girl punched Jaime in the chest and sent him falling to the ground. Then she drew her sword and her dagger. She turned toward one of the men and punched him, sending him back a few steps before she sliced his throat open with her dagger.

A second one came at her, placing a hand on her shoulder and she spun around, her arms crossed at throat level. Once she was facing him she uncrossed her arms, both the dagger and the sword cutting through the man's neck as easy as warm butter.

Jaime was standing now as she advanced on the leader of the group. He walked backwards and tripped over a tree root, falling onto his back. It did not matter to the girl. She threw her sword and dagger to the ground and pulled out a second sword. "Two quick deaths?" she asked him before she ran her sword through the man's groin.

He would die, but it would be slow and painful.

Once she had begun to collect her weapons Jaime took a step forward, "Those were Stark men," he told her slowly, wondering if she understood what she had just done.

"I dont' serve the Starks," she told him one final time. "I serve Lady Catelyn. I told her I would take you to King's Landing. And that's what I'm going to do." She looked him up and down for a moment, "Stay," she ordered him before she moved across the path to cut the women down, still intent on burying them.

Jaime did as she ordered him. He stayed while she dug a shallow grave for each of them. He would not run from her now. One thing was clear, Brienne of Tarth knew how to use her steel.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

He did not send for his mother when they first arrived at Riverrun. He was sheepish when he told her that they would meet in the Great Hall with his uncle before he sent for his mother. But nothing she could say would change his mind. Lenora sighed, she would not fight him on this anymore, the Gods knew that they had fought enough on the road to Riverrun to continue fighting now that they were here. Robb was determined to see his mother punished for releasing Jaime and there was nothing that Lenora could say in her defense, nothing he would listen to. No matter what she said he always had a reason for his anger.

The night before she had told him that he should forgive Lady Catelyn, that she had only done what she had done because of her love for her children. He had told her once again that it was no excuse. "It _is_ an excuse," she had argued. "You just don't understand it because you do not have children of your own. If you were a father -"

She stopped there, unable to finish her sentence because once again she had reminded both of them of the child they had lost. The child that she had failed to protect and bring into the world. Robb's eyes had softened when he looked at her, but he remained stubborn. "I do understand," he told her, his voice soft. "My father once told me that being a Lord was much like being a father. Except that you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle ..." His voice trailed off and he got a faraway look in his eyes, Lenora wondered if he was seeing the faces of all the men he had lost since they left Winterfell.

He shook his head, returning to her. "He said that he woke with fear in the morning and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn't believe him. I asked him, how can a man be brave if he's afraid? 'That is the only time a man can be brave,' he told me."

Lenora watched him, as he swallowed tightly, struggling not to show her just how much the loss of his father still haunted him. "Your mother," she started, though she was unsure of what sort of defense she could offer up to him after that story.

"My mother forgot that I am responsible for every life - man, woman, and child north of the Trident. She thought only of herself and how she and her two daughters might profit when she released your uncle, and not of the thousands that could be hurt by it."

Now, as they sat on the dais in front of his Lords Bannermen and the River Lords and various knights Lenora could tell that Robb really did understand what it meant to be a parent, to worry about his children. She could see, in the lines that creased around his blue eyes and across his forehead that he worried about his people just as much as Lady Catelyn worried about her daughters. She knew that while he understood why his mother had set Jaime free he could not forgive her for it.

And she felt sorry for Lady Catelyn as Ser Desmond led her into the hall. Her brother, Lord Edmure, stood before her and Robb to tell them about how he had defended Riverrun at the stone mill and everyone in the hall had their eyes on Robb. Only Lenora, it seemed, watched as Lady Catelyn started to make her way forward. Only Lenora saw the look of fear cross over the older woman's face, as if she were afraid that she had lost _this_ son too. Only Lenora watched as the fear was chased away by a look of wonder when Lady Catelyn realized that she almost did not recognize her son anymore.

She turned to study Robb herself, she had seen him every day, so it was harder for her to see the differences, but Lady Catelyn had not seen her son in many months, not since she left to treat with Renly. She could imagine what her good mother saw. His face had never been fat, not since she had met him at Winterfell, but war had melted away any softness that had been left. He grew a beard now, though he kept it trimmed close, little more than stubble, and his auburn curls were longer and more unruly now. It had rained almost nonstop as they traveled back to Riverrun and the water had rusted his mail, his surcoat and cloak were stained from the rust and from blood. Though they did not wear their crowns all the time he had gotten more comfortable with his, much more so than Lenora had with her own, he no longer fidgeted with it, but held his head high.

When his mother had last seen him he was a boy, pretending at being a king. Now, he was a king.

As Edmure finished his tale Robb reached out for Lenora's hand, she allowed him to take it and smiled when he squeezed it tightly, she wondered if he had seen his mother make her way into the hall as well. "Those who fell at Stone Mill shall never be forgotten," he told the people before him, many of whom had fought at Stone Mill or lost someone there. "Small wonder Lord Tywin ran off to fight Stannis. He'd had his fill of northmen and rivermen both."

Lenora turned her smile away from Robb and onto the hall as the men laughed and shouted their agreement. Robb let them have their fun for a few moments before he raised his hand and called for silence, "Make no mistake, though. The Lannisters will march again, and there will be other battles to win before the kingdom is secure."

It was the Greatjon who was the first to roar, " _King in the North!_ " as he thrusted his mailed fist into the air. The northmen quickly joined him. And a moment later the River Lords answered with their own cry of, " _King of the Trident!_ " The whole hall was filled with their shouts and pounding fists and stamping feet. At the noise Lenora would have thought that Robb had just declared victory over her family rather than warning his men that the Lannisters were not beaten yet.

Once the hall had quieted a bit the steward who stood next to the dais, Utherydes Wayn, banged his staff against the floor and announced Lady Catelyn's arrival. The woman did not look at the lords who whispered around her, but kept her eyes forward, solely on her son. She looked frightened.

Lenora could not hold back her smile when the Blackfish, who, as one of Robb's newest and closest advisors and the brother of the current Lord of Riverrun, stood behind Robb's chair moved forward and off the dais to greet his niece. That was a man who did not care what people thought of him as he leapt off the dais and pulled the woman into his arms, whispering a greeting to her that brought tears to her eyes.

Lenora moved to stand from her seat, but Robb kept a strong grip on her hand and kept her there. "Mother," he greeted, his voice hard and cold.

Catelyn turned away from her uncle to look at both Robb and Lenora, "Your Graces," she greeted, inclining her head to each of them in turn. "I have prayed for you safe return. I had heard that both of you were wounded at the Crag."

Robb nodded, "I took an arrow to the arm," he told her before he nodded at Lenora, "and the queen caught a sword with her hand and a shield to the back of her head."

Catelyn glanced between the two of them, her brows furrowed in concern. Lenora watched carefully, surprised that Catelyn had not already known the extent of their injuries. Had no one talked to her when she was imprisoned in her chambers? "But you're healed now?" she asked, her voice full of concern.

Robb nodded again, grinning widely at Lenora, "We've healed well," he told his mother without taking his eyes off Lenora. "I had the _best_ care."

Lenora turned to him and pursed her lips, he was being a fool. She was sure that his mother noticed that his voice was still harsh when he spoke to her, that it only softened when he spoke of or to Lenora.

"The Gods are good then," Catelyn told him with a nod. Lenora watched as the woman's hands clasped and unclasped in front of her. She was fidgeting because she was nervous. "They will have told you what I did," she finally said, not a question, but an assumption.

Robb nodded, his eyes narrowed, but he did not say a word.

"Did they tell you my reasons?" she asked him.

"No," he told her. "But I have an assumption."

"For the girls," Catelyn confirmed.

"You betrayed me," Robb bit out at her, his voice cutting through the hall like a steel sword.

"Robb -" Catelyn started, trying to defend herself.

"No!" Robb yelled out. "You knew I would not allow it and you did it anyway."

There were tears in Catelyn's eyes as she spoke, "Bran and Rickon are dead in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya are captives in King's Landing. I had five children, now I have three. And only one of them is free."

"Aye, My Lady," Lord Rickard Karstark agreed, pushing past the Greatjon to get closer to the dais. He looked like a ghost in his black mail and long ragged grey beard, his face was pinched and hard. "And I have one son, who once had three. You commit treason because your daughters are prisoners? I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father if he would let my sons wake from the grave and walk into a prison cell. You have robbed me of my vengeance."

Lady Catelyn turned from the dais to look at Lord Karstark, "Lord Rickard, the Kingslayer's dying would not have bought life for your children. His living may buy life for mine."

Lord Rickard looked like he wanted to say more, but Robb held his hand up, "Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool," he told his mother, his voice quiet, though Lenora knew that every lord and knight in the hall could hear him. "You have weakened our position. You brought discord into my camp, and you did it all behind my back."

Robb looked past his mother to Ser Desmond Grill, "She will remain guarded day and night," he ordered the master-at-arms. "How many men did we send after the Kingslayer?"

"Forty, Your Grace," the man told him with a low bow.

Robb nodded, "Send another forty, with our fastest horses. He's had a few days on us, maybe a week. I mean to recapture him before he finds himself back with the Lannisters."

He turned back to his mother for a moment, watching her carefully. And then he sighed, "We must talk," he told his mother. Lord Rickard did not like that, he approved of the king's anger, but he did not like that Robb still wanted his mother's advice, with a low growl the man pushed away from them and left the hall. Robb's eyes narrowed for a moment, watching Lord Rickard leave before he turned back to his mother. "You and my uncles. Steward, call an end."

* * *

Author's Note:

There we are. In case you weren't paying attention we have now reached the end of Season two and _A Clash of Kings_. We've got a few more chapters where we very closely follow cannon and then we branch off into the world of my imagination.  
It's a scary place. Let me tell you.  
Anyway, feeling the foreboding set in yet? You should be. We're going to have some fun soon.  
Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope that you enjoyed it. If you did you should drop a little review in the empty box down there. I love reviews. They make my day.  
huge, Huge, HUGE thanks to those who have reviewed on the last chapter. You guys are my new favorites.

 _Melmela_ : Technically you reviewed on chapter thirty-eight, but you did so after I had already posted chapter thirty-nine so here we are! I'm glad that you enjoyed that chapter and I hope that you enjoyed the two that followed it as well.  
And it's a good thing that you're anxious for the Red Wedding. You should be. Though I can't guarantee that the Freys and the Boltons will get their asses kicked. (At least not yet.) You guys will just have to trust in "my genius" as you say. I promise you won't regret it.  
I'm glad that you're enjoying my new story too! Merry Christmas!

 _Prince711_ : Thank you for your review friend! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this one too. I think the bottom line is that Catelyn is heartbroken. And she thinks the only way to ease some of that heartbreak is to Jaime free and send him after her daughters. It's a stupid bet, but it's the only one she has.

 _Faby0411_ : No it's not just you. Or your email. I think it's Fanfiction, though the homepage doesn't say anything about it. All I know is that I have to post and delete a new chapter two or three times before it finally updates. And that's mildly annoying.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you dear! I'm glad that you enjoyed it.

 _writingNOOB_ : Yeah, I think as much as Robb loves her he's still surprised when she continually chooses him over her family. He shouldn't be. Her mother had an affair with her uncle, tried to pass three bastards off as Roberts, kept the country in a war in order to keep Lannisters in power, and her brother tried to kill her. Lenora has definitely made up her mind when it comes to her family.  
I loved the scene with Cersei and the flower crown. Despite the fact that Lenora is now fighting for the Starks, Cersei refuses to give up on her daughter. That might not always be the case though.  
Lenora was relatively close to Renly. Not as close to him as she was with Jaime and Tyrion, obviously, having spent the first five years of her life at Casterly Rock. But when she came back to King's Landing Renly would have been put on Robert's Small Council. So he was at the Red Keep and they would have spent time together.

 _Raging Raven_ : No darling. Not yet. We're about twelve chapters (almost exactly) away from what we've all been waiting for. But I wrote the chapter yesterday. And now it's sitting on my computer waiting. I'll edit it a few more times, make sure it's exactly right and then in twelve more posts it will be here.

Seriously guys. I can say definitively we are twelve chapters away from my Red Wedding. So brace yourselves ... _Winter is coming_.  
Chloe Jane.


	41. Chapter Forty-One: Home

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me.)_  
 _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and I am in Toronto right now. Because I'm going to a Cavs game this afternoon. (My dad and I are really excited!)

Oh! And also! Just so you know, we have pretty much officially reached the half way point of this story. There are eighty-three chapters in total. And we are on forty-one. Halfway! Yay!

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-One: Home_

 _Robb_

Lenora wrenched her hand out of his grasp and stood from her chair the moment the steward banged his staff against the ground to call the audience to an end. It did not surprise him, he had expected it. He watched as the girl stepped quickly down from the dais so that she could place one of her hands on Catelyn's shoulders and whisper in her ear.

He _was_ surprised for a moment when Lady Mormont moved closer to his mother and took Catelyn's hand between hers, "My Lady, if Cersei Lannister held two of my daughters, I would have done the same," the woman promised his mother.

But even that made sense. Both Lenora and Lady Mormont were women. They fought like warriors, but they had soft hearts. Of course the two of them would sympathize with his mother. What was truly shocking was when the Greatjon approached and lifted Catelyn off her feet, squeezing her arms tightly as he boomed, "Your wolf pup mauled the Kingslayer once, he'll do it again if need be."

The rest of his bannermen were cooler, but they were polite, no one besides Lord Karstark had yelled at her.

Robb walked down from the dais and brushed past his mother without saying anything. He needed her counsel, but he would not be kind to her, he could not. He led his mother, his uncles, and Lenora out of the Great Hall and to his solar. Grey Wind was waiting for them there. Lenora patted the wolf on his head as she swept past him to put her crown away and Robb did not miss the look of relief on his mother's face when her eyes landed on the wolf.

"Why wasn't Grey Wind in the hall?" Catelyn asked once the door had shut behind them.

"A hall is no place for a wolf," Robb told his mother, avoiding Lenora's sharp gaze. They had fought about this the week before. She did not like that since taking the Crag he had kept Grey Wind by his side less than usual. But Grey Wind made all the Westerlings, save Rollam, uneasy and he had thought it only right while staying in their castle not to have the wolf around if it would make them uncomfortable.

The Westerlings had sworn their fealty to Robb and they and their fifty knights had traveled to Riverrun with him. If they served him well during the war he had promised to return the Crag to them. They would be staying at Riverrun for now and the girls, Jeyne and her sister Elenya, were gentle nervous things who frightened easily. It was better to keep Grey Wind away than to have them screaming every time they saw the wolf.

"He gets restless," he continued, "you've seen. Growling and snapping. I should never have taken him into battle with me. He's killed too many men to fear them now."

"Tell her the truth of it," Lenora ordered as she dropped down beside the wolf so that she could hold his face between her hands and kiss the top of his head. "He brought him up here because Grey Wind scares them."

" _Them_?" Catelyn asked, looking between Robb and Lenora.

"The Westerlings," Lenora told his mother. Robb smirked, Lenora swore to the Gods that she was not jealous of Jeyne Westerling, but she certainly did not like the girl or most of her family. And she did nothing to hide that fact. "Robb's newest bannermen. And the way they tell it his _fiercest_."

Robb sighed, "House Westerling are the Lords of the Crag," he told his mother. "They surrendered and swore me their fealty before we left to return here. They're a small house and a poor house, but Lord Tywin will not take it lightly when he hears that they have changed their allegiance and that they now declare for us."

Catelyn raised her eyebrows before she turned to Lenora, "Your grandfather's bannermen?" she asked. Lenora looked up from the wolf and nodded silently. "And you trust them?" Catelyn pressed.

Lenora started to shake her head, but she quickly stopped when Robb turned to look at her. "Grey Wind does not like them," she told Catelyn honestly. "He growls and snaps at them. The two daughters are anxious around him and he terrifies the Lady Sybell."

Catelyn turned to Robb, "He is part of you, Robb," she told him, her voice anxious. "To fear him is to fear you."

"I am not a wolf, no matter what they call me," Robb snapped at his mother. He and Lenora had already had this conversation and after what his mother had done she had no right to lecture him about anything. Least of all this. "Grey Wind killed two men at the Crag, another at Ashemark, and six or seven at Oxcross. If you had seen -"

"I saw Bran's wolf tear out a man's throat at Winterfell," Catelyn interrupted him sharply. "And loved him for it."

Lenora shook her head, "I've tried," she told Catelyn as she began to stand from the floor. "I've asked him to send the Westerling men away and he won't do that either. I told him that they could swear fealty all they wanted, but I did not want Ser Rolph or Ser Raynald near him."

Catelyn nodded, "Robb," she entreated him, stepping closer to him, "We told you once to keep Theon Greyjoy close, and you did not listen. Listen now. _Send the men away_. I'm not saying you must banish them. Find some task that requires men of courage, some honorable duty, what it is matters not ... but _do not keep them near you_."

Robb looked between the two women, his mother and his wife. "Should I have Grey Wind sniff all my knights?" he asked them, smirking. "There might be others whose smell he mislikes."

He was making light of their concerns and he could see by the hard set of Lenora's shoulders that she did not appreciate it. "Any man Grey Wind mislikes is a man I do not want close to my husband," she told him, her tone leaving no more room for argument. "These wolves are more than wolves, Robb. You _must_ know that by now. Gifts from your father's gods."

Catelyn nodded, "Five wolf pups, Robb," she reminded him. "Five for five Stark children."

"Six," Robb shot back at her. "There was a wolf for Jon as well. I found them, remember? I know how many there were and where they came from. I used to think the same as the two of you, that the wolves were our guardians, our protectors, until ..."

"Until?" Catelyn prompted.

Lenora moved closer to him and reached out for his hand, she was upset with him, but she would still comfort him. He wrapped both of his hands around her small one and squeezed tightly, "Until Nora told me that Theon had murdered Bran and Rickon. Small good their wolves did them. I am no longer a boy, Mother. I am a king and I can protect myself." Lenora's hand tried to tighten into a fist between his hands. He sighed and shook his head, "I will find some duty for Ser Rolph and Ser Raynald," he told them, lifting his right hand from Lenora's hand to her face so that he could stroke her cheek. "Some pretext to send them away. Not because of their smell, but to ease your mind." He looked over Lenora's shoulder at his mother, "You have suffered enough."

Lenora pressed a kiss against his cheek before she led him to the table. Robb took the high seat and took off his crown, showing less care for it than Lenora had shown for hers by dropping it to the floor by his feet. Catelyn rang for wine while her brother and her uncle took their seats, Edmure talking to the Blackfish nonstop about the fight at the Stone Mill. It was only once the servants had come and gone that the Blackfish cleared his throat, "I think we've all heard sufficient of your boasting, Nephew," he growled at Edmure.

Edmure seemed taken aback. "Boasting?" he asked. "What do you mean?" He turned toward Robb, "If I may, Nephew," he started, this time addressing Robb instead of his uncle. "I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill -"

"I thought I told you to shut up about that damn mill," the Blackfish interrupted. "And don't call him _nephew_ , he's your King. You're lucky I'm not your king," he continued. "I would not have had his forbearance. He played out that mummer's face in the Great Hall so as not to shame you before your own people. Had it been me I would have flayed you for your stupidity rather than praising this folly of the fords."

"My folly sent Lord Tywin's _mad dog_ scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs. I think that Robb understands that we're not going to win this war if he's the only one winning any battles. There's glory enough to go around."

Robb had kept quiet until this point, but he could not any longer, "It's not about glory," he snapped, his voice icy. "And it's _Your Grace_ , not _Robb_. The Blackfish is right, you took me for your king, Uncle. Or have you forgotten that as well as your instructions?"

"You were commanded to hold Riverrun, Edmure, no more," the Blackfish told him.

"I held it," Edmure argued back. "And I seized an opportunity."

"What value was the mill?" Robb asked.

"The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it."

"Is he there now?" Robb asked.

"Of course not," Edmure told him. "We took the fight to him. He could not withstand us." He turned to glare at the Blackfish, "I _held_ Riverrun _and_ I bloodied Lord Tywin's nose."

"So you did," Lenora told him, speaking up for the first time since they had sat at the table. Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were hard. There was one thing that Lenora Baratheon, Lord Tywin Lannister's granddaughter could not forgive, it would seem. And that was failure to follow instructions in battle. "And a bloody nose will win the war, is that the way of it?"

Robb nodded, "Did you ever think to ask yourself why we remained in the west so long after Oxcross? You knew I did not have enough men to threaten Lannisport or Casterly Rock."

"There were other castles ... gold, cattle ..."

Lenora laughed, though there was no humor to it and she shook her head, "Plunder, you mean?" she asked. She seemed disgusted by the fact that Edmure thought they stayed west just to steal from the western lords. She was already thinking in terms of the end of the war, when Robb would need these same western lords to back him. They would not do so if he completely destroyed their lands.

Robb's eyes narrowed as he turned on Edmure, "I wanted to draw them into the west. Into our country where we could surround them and kill them."

The Blackfish nodded, "We wanted them to chase us," he told his nephew. "We were all horsed. The Lannister host was mainly foot. We planned to run Lord Tywin and his Mad Dog a merry chase up and down the coast, then slip behind them to take up a strong defensive position athwart the Gold Road. If he had come at us there, he would have paid a grievous price. But if he did not attack he would have been trapped in the west, a thousand leagues from where he needed to be. All the while we would have lived off his land, instead of him living off ours."

Robb nodded, "Lord Stannis was about to fall upon King's Landing," he told Edmure. "He might have rid us of Joffrey, the queen, and the Imp in one red stroke," Lenora flinched beside him at the mention of the Imp, but Robb was too angry at his uncle to comfort her. "Then I might have had peace," he shook his head. "But instead, I have mill."

"We took hostages," Edmure told him. "Willem Lannister. Martyn Lannister."

"Willem and Martyn Lannister are fourteen years old," Robb told him.

"Martyn is fifteen," Lenora spoke up. The men all turned to look at her. The Blackfish smirked.

"Lord Tywin holds my sisters," Robb told Edmure. "Have I sued for peace?" Edmure shook his head. Robb continued, "I have married Lord Tywin's granddaughter and I held his son," this time he glared at his mother. "Did Lord Tywin sue for peace?" Again, Edmure shook his head. "Then do you truly think that Lord Tywin will ask for peace now that we hold his father's, brother's great-grandsons?"

Edmure looked well and truly shamed now. "No," he said softly.

"How many men did you lose?" Lenora asked, her eyes narrowed. Robb and the Blackfish shared a look of pride. There was a reason that Lenora now sat in on all of his war councils. She had been trained by Tywin Lannister. She never let anger get in the way of getting to the point of the matter. Edmure had won at the mill, he had _bloodied Lord Tywin's nose_ , but he had lost men to do it. Lenora knew that Robb needed to know how many.

Edmure swallowed, "Two hundred and eight, Your Grace," he told her, inclining his head. He turned back to Robb. "But for every man we lost, we -"

"We need our men more than Tywin needs his!" Robb yelled at him. "With the Freys -" he shook his head. "We need them more," he said again.

Edmure looked away and swallowed tightly. "I'm sorry," he told Robb, not quite looking him in the eye. "I didn't know."

"You would have," Robb told him. "Right here today at this gathering if you had been patient."

"We seem to be running short of patience here," the Blackfish cut in, his eyes darting between Edmure and Catelyn.

"You know who isn't?" Lenora asked them, her fists clenching at her sides as she stood from the table and walked toward the window. "Tywin Lannister."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

"Why did you take the oath?" the wench demanded that night as they made camp. "Why don the white cloak if you meant to betray all it stood for?"

Jaime sighed, the wench could not let it go. She had called him _Kingslayer_ all day and now he was trying to sleep and she wouldn't let him because she wanted to ask him why he had killed the Mad King. He wasn't sure what he could tell her that she would understand. No one ever would, except for Cersei. "I was a boy. Fifteen," he told her. "It's a great honor for anyone, especially for someone so young."

She shook her head, displeased, "That's not an answer," she told him.

 _You would not like the truth_ he thought. He didn't even like the truth, not anymore. He had joined the Kingsguard for _her._ For Cersei. For love. When they were twelve and their father was still the Hand of the King he had summoned Cersei to court to live with him in the Tower of the Hand. No doubt he hoped that he would be able to make a royal marriage for her.

He did not bring Jaime, instead he sent his eldest son to Crakehall as a squire. By fourteen he had earned his spurs against the Kingswood Brotherhood. At fifteen he had stopped by King's Landing on his way back to Casterly Rock when Cersei had grabbed hold of him and whispered their father's plans for them in his ear. He meant to marry Cersei to either Viserys Targaryen once he was older, or to Rhaegar, if his sickly wife died in childbed. And Jaime? Was to be wed to Lysa Tully, Lord Tywin had gone as far as to invite Jon Arryn to court to discuss the dowry.

Jaime did not want to be married, least of all to Lysa Tully.

Cersei did not want him married either. She whispered to him about how Ser Harlan Grandison had died in his sleep, only appropriate as his sigil was a sleeping lion, and Aerys would want a young man to take the old man's place. _So why not a roaring lion in place of a sleepy one?_

Jaime knew that their father would never consent to that, but Cersei had an answer for that as well. The king would not ask their father, he would tell him. And their father knew better than to argue or stand against the Mad King.

"But," Jaime had argued, "There's Casterly Rock ..."

"Is it a rock you want? Or me?" Cersei asked him.

And at that time he had wanted her. More than anything he could have imagined. They made love for the first time that night, at an inn on Eel Alley, Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench and in all their times together Jaime had never seen her more passionate than she was that first night. She was insatiable and he could not wait to spend many more nights in a similar fashion.

But Lord Tywin was so angry a moon's turn later when Jaime got his raven telling him that he had been chosen for the Kingsguard that he retired his handship by the end of the fortnight and moved back to Casterly Rock, taking Cersei with him.

All he and his sister had done was trade places. Now, Jaime could not marry, but he got to stand guard when his sister married Robert Baratheon. After Lenora had been born Jaime could have left the King's Guard, he was sure that Robert would have allowed it, but again ... he stayed for love. This time the love of his niece. He could not leave the guardianship of his niece to just anyone so Jaime had stayed, despite the distaste he held for the king, despite the disapproval of the other six members of the Kingsguard, despite the hatred of the people of Westeros.

He joined for love of a woman. And he had stayed for the love of a different woman.

A little one.

But that was not the answer anyone wanted. And it was not one that anyone would understand.

Brienne was still waiting for his answer. She was stubborn enough that he knew she would not let it go until she had one. He sighed, "You are not old enough to have known Aerys Targaryen ..."

That was not the answer she wanted either. She would not accept it. She shook her head, "Aerys was mad," she told him. "Everyone knows that. He was cruel, no one has ever denied it. He was still king, crowned and anointed. And you had sworn to protect him."

"I know what I swore," Jaime almost yelled at her. That was what everyone reminded him of when they would ask him about the Mad King. _But you swore, your vow was to protect him_. Everyone, but Lenora had reminded him of his vows. One would think that they find something more original to throw at him by now.

"And what you did," she continued. She was standing above him, frowning down from six feet up. He could practically _feel_ her disapproval, as if it were a cloak that she had dropped round his shoulders.

"And what I did," he agreed, dropping his eyes from her face. He couldn't stand the look of disapproval in her ice blue eyes.

"It is a rare and precious gift to be a knight," she told him, still judging him from on high. "And even more so a knight of the Kingsguard. It is a gift given to few, a gift you scorned and spoiled."

 _And a gift you want desperately_ Jaime thought, glaring at his foot. If she wanted it so badly she could have his damned white cloak. He did not want it anymore. "It was not a gift," he growled at her. "I earned my knighthood. Nothing was _given_ to me. I won a tourney melee at thirteen, when I was still a squire. At fourteen, I rode with Ser Arthur Dayne against the Kingswood Brotherhood, and he knighted me on the battlefield. It was that white cloak that soiled me, not the other way around. So spare me your envy. It was the Gods who neglected to give you a cock, not me."

She left him alone then and he was grateful for it. He closed his eyes, hoping for pleasant dreams, of his life before he had been captured by the Stark boy, before this damned war, before they had gone to Winterfell when his family was still all together and on top.

But it was Aerys Targaryen he saw when he closed his eyes. The old Mad King pacing alone in his empty throne room, picking at the scabs on his hands. He was always cutting himself on the blades and barbs of the Iron Throne, Jaime smirked every time the King got a new cut; they said that the Iron Throne was cruel to anyone who did not deserve to sit on it. And it was cruel to Aerys.

Jaime had slipped in through the king's door, clad in his golden armor, his sword in his hand. Everyone always forgot that fact, that it was the _golden_ armor he wore, not the _white_. But he had left that damned white cloak on, would that he had taken that off as well.

When Aerys saw the blood on his blade he had smiled madly, he demanded to know if it was Lord Tywin's, he had ordered Jaime to go after his father, to meet him and kill him. "I want him dead, the traitor. I want his head, you'll bring me his head, or you'll burn with all the rest. All the traitors. Rossart says they are i _nside the walls_! He's gone to make them a warm welcome. Whose blood? _Whose_?"

They called him the Mad King in whispers, but Jaime had never seen him more mad than he was in that moment, demanding to know if Jaime had murdered his father yet. "Rossart's," he had answered, as calm as he could as he moved closer to the old man in front of him.

Those purple eyes grew huge then, the royal mouth dropped open in shock. He lost control of his bowels as he turned to run from Jaime. At least Rossart had had the balls to try to put up a fight. Though, he had fought like an alchemist. Jaime was younger and faster, as the king ran for the Iron Throne he took two steps and reached out, his hand closing around the man's shoulder. He hauled the last dragon king off the steps, squealing like a pig and smelling like its pen. A single slash across his throat was all it took to end it.

 _So easy_ , he remembered thinking. _A king should die harder than this._

Ser Elys Westerling and Lord Crakehall and others of his father's knights burst into the hall in time to see the last of it. There was no way that Jaime could pretend it had not been he who had murdered the king. Nowhere for him to hide. No one else to steal the praise or blame. And it would be blame, he knew that the moment he saw their faces, the way they looked at him. Though perhaps, it was fear in their eyes. Lannister or no, he was one of Aerys' seven. One who had sworn to give his life for the king's, not the other way around.

"The castle is ours, Ser, and the city," Roland Crakehall told him. That was half true. There were still Targaryen loyalists fighting on the serpentine steps and Ned Stark was leading his Northmen through the King's Gate. Lannisters had taken the city, but they would not hold it.

"Tell them the Mad King is dead," he commanded. "Spare all those who yield and hold them captive."

"Shall I proclaim a new king as well?" Crakehall asked. A simple question, but Jaime, even so young, had been able to read the truth of it. _Will it be your father or Robert Baratheon on the throne? Or perhaps, do you mean to make a new dragon king?_

Aerys had two living sons left to him, a boy Viserys and an infant son Aegon. He thought about it for a moment, a boy dragon for a king with the lion Tywin Lannister as his hand and ruling through him till he come of age. The Stark wolves would hate it, and so would the storm lord. They had fought this war for vengeance. But then, he turned toward the Mad King and watched as his blood continued to spread across the floor. _His blood is in both of them_ , he thought.

"Proclaim who you bloody well like," he had told Crakehall.

Then he climbed the Iron Throne and seated himself with his sword across his knees, waiting to see who would come to claim the kingdom. As it happened it was Eddard Stark, though he did not claim it for himself.

 _We would have been better off,_ Jaime thought now, _if old dead Ned had taken the throne._

He had lived with Ned Stark's judgement ever since that day. He had lived with it even though he did not deserve it.

In his worst dreams, like the ones he had tonight, Jaime dreamed that he was unable to kill Rossart and the Mad King. And the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime would dance around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place.

Brienne woke him with a boot in the ribs. And he would be liar if he said that he was not grateful for it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Catelyn_

She was still not allowed to leave her chambers unless Robb allowed it. But at least when she sent word that she wished to see Lenora they passed her message along to the young woman. She did not come until late in the afternoon, but when she was announced she walked in with a wide smile on her lips. "Lady Catelyn," she greeted as the servant shut the door behind her. "I would have come earlier, but I was out riding Casterly and no one passed your message along until just now."

Catelyn smiled at her, the woman in front of her had no reason to apologize. She was Queen in the North and Catelyn was a traitor in her son's eyes. But, it seemed, that she was not a traitor in Lenora's eyes. The girl reached out for her hand and squeezed it tightly, "I told you yesterday, but please allow me to tell you once more how truly sorry I am about the boys. Robb agreed to send Lord Bolton's bastard son to Winterfell when it was first captured, if we had thought for one second that Theon would do anything to harm them he would have gone himself, you must know that."

Catelyn nodded, she did know that. Robb would not have traded the Kingslayer for his sisters, but if he had known what Theon had intended for the boys he would have given up his war in a moment to go rescue them. Try as she may she could not hate him for it, just as she could not make him see that she had done the right thing for their family. "That is very kind of you," she told the girl after a moment. "Kinder than I deserve."

She was feeling the girl out, trying to decide if Lenora was against her as much as Robb was. She did not think so, but she needed to be sure before she continued. Lenora smiled at her sadly and shook her head, "Robb is stubborn," she told the woman. She gestured toward her, "Not that I need to tell you that, you know. He's a Northman and I've come to learn that they are all stubborn. He will come around, I'm sure of it." She nodded toward a seat, silently asking Catelyn if she could sit down.

"Of course," Catelyn told her, waving her over. "Would you like anything, Your Grace?"

Lenora smiled almost ruefully at that and shook her head, "I am well enough as it is," she told her. "And please, I get enough _Your Graces_ from everyone else. To you, I will always be Lenora." She paused for a minute as she sat and arranged her skirts and then she looked up at Catelyn with a sly smirk on her face, "Now, why don't you tell me why you asked me here? What information do you mean to get from me that your stubborn son and his stubborn men won't give you?"

Catelyn almost smiled, this girl was intelligent. She knew the way of the world, that much was obvious. Robb had done well when he had kept his betrothal to her. "Robb mentioned something yesterday," she started as she sat down herself. "Just in passing, he did not explain it and no one else will explain it either. I was hoping that you would be willing to help me."

Lenora nodded, she did not look surprised at all by Catelyn's request, "The Freys," she said, not a question, though she did wait for Catelyn to nod before she said anything more. "Half of them have left," she admitted, her fists clenching in her lap for a moment before she forced her fingers to uncurl. "The day we left the Crag. We all set out together, but soon we were marching east for Riverrun and they were marching north toward the Twins."

"But surely Robb stopped them," Catelyn argued, shaking her head.

"He tried," Lenora told her with a shrug of her shoulders. "But what was he to do? Lord Walder gave him close to four thousand men. Was he going to execute the two thousand who left?"

"So Lord Walder has changed his allegiance," Catelyn assumed, her voice was hard. She should not have been surprised. Lord Walder Frey had always been a horrible bannerman. He came to war when it suited him, left war when it suited him, and, it seemed, changed sides when it suited him.

Lenora shook her head, "Half of his men are still with us, split between Robb's host and Lord Bolton's at Harrenhal. Lord Walder claimed that he needed the half that left to return to the Twins to help guard an attack from the Ironborn. They had Winterfell, of course, as well as Deepwood Motte and Moat Cailin. _Naturally_ , Lord Walder believes the Twins will be next."

"Robb is his King," Catelyn argued, as if she could somehow prove to Lord Walder by talking to Lenora that he should not have taken his men away from Robb. "He could have ordered them to stay."

"And Lord Walder could have ordered all his men to leave if that were the case," Lenora told her with a shrug of her shoulders. "He swears that he is still Robb's man. He vows that all his men will return the moment Robb has need of them. But he says that he will not lose his castles to the _squids_. Robb did not have much of a leg to stand on, he let the River Lords return to their seats to protect their lands, Lord Walder only asks for the same courtesy."

"The Riverlands were actively under attack at the time," Catelyn pointed out.

Lenora arched one of her eyebrows, "Would you like to have that conversation with Walder Frey?" she asked her.

Catelyn stared at her for almost a minute before a laugh bubbled up in her throat. The girl was right. No matter what she wanted to say to Walder Frey she would not say anything for fear that it would cause the man to turn against her son. Robb would have seen it the same way, better to have half the Freys with the promise of the whole host should he need them than to not have any.

"You think it's something more though," she told the girl. It was her turn to make an assumption rather than ask a question. Lenora smiled at her and nodded. "Why do you think Lord Walder called so many of his men home?"

"I think he grows weary," Lenora told her honestly. "I think the war has lasted longer than he had originally hoped. It's been a year and there's still four of the five kings fighting over land. He is not as sure of Stark victory as he was in the beginning. Not after what happened to Stannis at King's Landing. Not with Highgarden declaring for Joffrey." She was quiet for a moment, "I think that the Highgarden alliance was a bigger blow to Lord Walder than to anyone else, Robb included."

Catelyn raised her eyebrows, "Why?" she asked the girl.

"Because Robb promised a marriage more than half a year ago for one of his daughters, a _good_ marriage. And it has still not come to pass. Meanwhile, Margaery Tyrell has married one king, been widowed, and is now preparing to marry another. Lord Walder is wondering, perhaps, if his allegiance with the Starks is not as beneficial as he had hoped."

"What would you do?" Catelyn asked her.

"Give him something," Lenora told her. "Give him something that would soothe whatever wounded pride he is nursing now, and quiet his worries. Something that would bind him to our cause until the end."

Catelyn smiled at her, "Not something," she told the girl. "But _someone_."

Lenora nodded, "Robb has given the match no thought since the day he decided that he would not set me aside for one of the girls. Perhaps it is time that we give Lord Walder the marriage he was promised instead."

Catelyn watched the girl for a moment, "You are a product of your grandfather," she told the girl. It would not always be a compliment, but in these circumstances it was. Lenora understood war, she understood men, and she understood how to make the best of a bad situation. Not everyone was as lucky as she was.

Lenora shook her head, "Jaime raised me," she told Catelyn. "At least at the beginning. I may have my mother's cheekbones, and my father's looks. But it is Jaime who trained my sword arm and started to give me a soldier's mind."

Catelyn shook her head, "Not a soldier's mind," she told the girl. "A general's."

Lenora smiled, "How was he?" she asked after a moment. "When you saw him?"

She wanted to lie to the girl, to tell her that her uncle was well, but she knew that not only would Lenora recognize the lie, but she would not appreciate it. "He was not ill," she told the girl.

"But not healthy," Lenora added. She nodded, "Did he seem broken? The cell he was in before his escape attempt was bad enough. I cannot imagine where they put him after. I would hate for the dark and the loneliness to have broken his spirit."

Catelyn shook her head, "His spirit was still there," she assured her. "He asked a lot about you."

The right corner of Lenora's lips turned up for a moment, "The first time I saw him, after the Whispering Wood, he tried to tell me that even if Robb had not captured him he would have _allowed_ himself to be brought to camp. He wanted me to believe that he would not leave without me. But now he's left."

"Not entirely on his own will," Catelyn admitted. "I got him drunk enough that he did not know what was happening when we threw him in the boat." The girl chuckled at that. "And he swore that he would come back for you," Catelyn added. "He swore to me that he would go to King's Landing and get my girls back, to send them home to me. But then he swore that he would come back after he had done that, and that this time when he left he would bring you home as well."

Lenora frowned at that, "I'm not entirely sure if I have a home now," she admitted before she glanced up at Catelyn. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "That was incredibly cruel of me considering the circumstances. I did not mean to offend."

Catelyn tried to tell her that she was not offended, but Lenora would not hear it. With another apology the young woman stood up and made a hurried excuse before she left Catelyn's chambers.

Catelyn watched the girl go with a sigh. The girl was right.

Neither of them had a home now.

* * *

Author's Note:

So the Freys are doubting their alliance with the Starks. That will never spell out anything good.  
But I hope that this chapter was good.  
If it was you should write a review. I love those. And that empty box down there is feeling lonely. Go on, you know you want to.  
Write a review.  
And to those of you who reviewed the last chapters, you guys are wonderful. You know that already though. (I'm sure I've told you before!)

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you!

 _Darkwolf76_ : Three reviews! I love it. Playing catch up were we? That's okay, I feel like a lot of people will be. You're not the only one not getting alert emails. There's something wrong with the site at the moment, and no one's fixed it yet. Though hopefully they will soon. By next week hopefully. It usually takes me three or four tries to update a chapter (yesterday it took me nine ... chapter forty finally actually posted at the airport while I was waiting to board my plane). So yeah, for the sake of my own patience I hope they fix this soon.  
Now that I've rambled, to your reviews!  
Chapter thirty-nine: Tyrion is a badass. And I love him for it. He's probably my favorite character in the series so I love the Battle of the Blackwater when we get to see his badassary. Though the show sold him short (pun intended).  
Chapter forty: I'm glad you like the book/show canon fusion. I love the show, it's great. And if I had never read the books I would have no complaints about it. But I've read the books and there's just so much more in the books that I want to play with. And I love, love, love that I get to do that in this story.  
Don't worry about the Red Wedding. Whatever happens, I'll get you guys through it.

Okay guys, I'll see you next Monday!  
(But don't let my week sabbatical keep you from reviewing! I still read those!)  
Chloe Jane


	42. Chapter Forty-Two: Seven Houses

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and this story is now part of a community! That's really exciting! Thanks for adding me to that business, friends!

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Two: Seven Houses_

 _Margaery_

He was a boy. Her father and Petyr Baelish had arranged for her to marry a boy. She was a woman, just past her twentieth name day and her father had agreed to have her marry a boy. Her father had not even bothered to ask how old the boy was, though she supposed she should count herself lucky that he had, at least, consulted her before he agreed.

But what was she supposed to say? The proposal had come from the king's Small Council itself, his mother had approved of it. And it really was a good proposal considering that she was the widowed wife of a traitor who named himself King. With one word from her she would go from being nothing to being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She was a woman now, but deep inside she was little more than a girl.

A girl who still wanted to be Queen.

And not just _a_ queen. She wanted to be _the_ queen.

Joffrey could give that to her. And would do it happily, if the way he looked at her when they were introduced was any indication of how their marriage would be.

She did feel sorry for the Stark girl. No doubt, the girl had once dreamed of being Queen too. But she had not truly _wanted_ it, not as Margaery did. Otherwise she would have made it happen, she would have played the game better. When she first arrived at court Margaery had asked about the girl, she was curious about what she was like. The general consensus seemed to be that she was beautiful and well behaved, quiet, and completely empty headed. Some of the maids even whispered that Queen Cersei thought the girl to be quite simple minded. Perhaps that was why the queen had agreed to set Sansa aside and allow her son to marry Margaery.

Still, whatever the girl was Margaery was sure that she had not deserved to be set aside the way they had done it.

Loras had told her that Sansa Stark had been in the gallery the day her family was honored for the part they had played in the Battle of the Blackwater. He told her that the poor girl had to stand and watch as Joffrey and his Small Council playacted a scene where Loras asked Joffrey to marry his sister, Joffrey's mother instructed him to do it, and Joffrey pretended that he would not break his betrothal to the girl because it had been done in the sight of the Gods.

She had to stand and watch as the High Septon declared her family a group of traitorous snakes whose word was nothing and who had sinned in the eyes of the Gods when they entered into the betrothal agreement.

She had to stand and watch while her betrothal and at one point certain marriage were ridiculed and belittled.

And then she had to stand and watch while Joffrey declared himself free from her and celebrated that freedom by agreeing to wed Margaery.

Whatever the girl was, simple minded or not, Margaery was sure that she did not deserve that.

But Joffrey was a boy, and he would not waste an opportunity to humiliate the girl. Apparently he had not wasted an opportunity to do that since he had her father beheaded. She had been his plaything. And she had been too quiet, too reserved to fight against it.

Margaery would not be his plaything, she was sure of it. She would not allow him to humiliate her. She would not allow him to disrespect her.

He was King of the Seven Kingdoms, but he was a boy. She was to be his Queen, and she was a woman.

 _She_ would control him.

And it would start today.

From all the whispered rumors she had heard about Joffrey, Margaery knew that the boy had a cruel streak to him, no doubt from his mother. He believed that it was better to be feared by his people than loved.

But when people feared their King, they hated their King.

And a hated King cannot rule. At least for long.

Margaery would guide him. She would make herself beloved of the people. The Lords and Ladies of court would love her. The smallfolk would love her. The Seven Kingdoms would love her. And she would quietly show Joffrey that they could love him too, if only he would follow her example.

It all began on their way back to the Red Keep after their betrothal ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor.

They were riding in separate litters, out of respect for his position she was riding behind him as they passed through Fleabottom. It was a dirty, crowded place. She could smell the small folk though the vented windows. Her nose involuntarily scrunched at the smell of all the dirty bodies around them. But she forced the look of disgust off her face and in a loud, commanding voice ordered her guards to stop so that she could exit the litter.

They seemed bewildered, but did as she asked. And she smiled at her handmaiden, some cousin of hers, before she climbed out. "My Lady," the girl called out to her as she followed quickly behind. "We should have guards, My Lady," she continued when Margaery did not immediately respond to her.

Margaery turned, flashing an impish smile at the younger girl, "Why?" she asked before turning away from her so that she could continue down the road on foot.

The people around them, seemed as bewildered as her guards when they saw who it was walking among them. Their mouths dropped open, their conversations stalled, but they all moved out of her way to let her pass, and some even bowed to her. No doubt they were grateful, since the end of the Battle of the Blackwater Highgarden had been bringing food to the city on a daily basis. And Margaery's grandmother had instructed those who brought it in to make sure that it was known that the food came from House Tyrell.

 _Growing Strong_ indeed.

Outside of the orphanage the High Septon had told her about she stepped around a puddle of human waste dropped from a window above. She was proud of herself, no matter how disgusted she was by the smell of the fresh waste, she did not let it show on her face. The only thing the people of Fleabottom saw was her sweet smile.

The only thing they heard was her quick dismissal of her handmaiden when the girl begged for her to not walk through the puddle for fear of ruining her dress.

"I have others," she told the girl before she stepped over the puddle, deliberately allowing the hem of her skirts and the end of her sash to trail through the puddle.

She would smell like them now. And they would love her for it.

After speaking quickly with the women who ran the orphanage and explaining her purpose she was allowed inside. They gathered all the children to meet her and she sat in front of them. Once she was seated she silently gestured to one of the younger orphans closest to her and allowed the boy to come sit with her. "Hello," she greeted him with a soft smile, she did not want to scare the boy. "My name is Lady Margaery. And who are you?"

"Jaremy, My Lady," the boy told her with a quick nod.

"And why are you here, Jaremy?" she asked him, leaning in closer to him so that it could almost be a conversation between just the two of them. This way he would not be shy.

"What happened to your father?" Margaery asked, prompting him to answer her question when he seemed too afraid to do so.

"He was a soldier," he told her, a hint of pride in his voice. "He went to fight on the walls when the ships came to Blackwater Bay." Margaery smiled softly at that, to the boy the smile was encouraging, but she was happy that she had picked _this_ orphan to speak to. It fit her purpose. "He never came back," the boy added after a moment.

"And your mother?"

"She died when she had me."

Margaery watched the boy for a moment, the pain of losing his mother was something that he had lived with his whole life, but the pain of losing his father was still fresh. She could see it in the tear streaks on his dirty face. She reached out one of her hands for his. "Bad men wanted to come into this city and do terrible things, but your father stopped them," she told him. She kept his tiny hand in hers and turned toward one of her other handmaidens who held out a beautifully carved toy knight, his shield painted in Highgarden colors.

She took the knight and handed it to the boy. "Whenever you look at this knight I want you to remember your father," she told him with a smile.

The boy took the toy from her and smiled at it, but he shook his head, "He wasn't a knight," he told her. "He was just a soldier."

"And what do knights swear to do?" Margaery asked him. "Protect the weak and uphold the good. Your father did that, be proud of him." The boy nodded in agreement. She turned from him then and smiled at another young orphan, another little boy, "Was your father a soldier too?" she asked him. He nodded. "You should be proud too," she told him.

Then she nodded to her handmaidens, at their feet were two matching baskets, filled with toy knights. Enough that every orphan in the orphanage would be able to have their own. At her nod the girls picked up the baskets and began to move through the crowd of children, handing out the little Highgarden knights.

When she spoke next she addressed all the children. "Under King Joffrey's leadership your fathers saved the city. They saved us all. From now on, we're going to take care of you." She was careful, Joffrey had not come in with her. It was her face the people saw, her family colors on the toys they handed out. But she reminded them who had lead the victory at the Battle of the Blackwater. Everything she did was in Joffrey's name.

She turned to the little boy in front of her and reached out, gently stroking his dirty cheek with her finger, "All of you," she told him softly.

They stayed for a bit longer, playing with the toys before she realized that she had most likely kept Joffrey waiting for far too long. When she announced that it was time for her to leave she asked if any of the children would want to walk her out of the orphanage. A large number of them agreed. They ran and danced in front of her, held her hands and skipped with her, and played their way out from behind. She laughed with them as they burst out the doorway and onto the street.

Once out there she turned to the septa who had followed them out as well. "Come to me with whatever you need to feed them, clothe them, or house them," she instructed the woman, just loud enough that others on the street would hear her order. "Directly to me."

Then she knelt and pressed a kiss against one young girl's cheek before she allowed her handmaidens to lead her back to her litter.

...

Later that evening she and Loras were invited to dine with Joffrey and his mother. Margaery was excited, this would be the first time that she spent any real time with Cersei and she was interested in how the woman would act toward her. They were kept waiting for quite some time and Loras began to get annoyed, but Margaery kept a smile plastered on her face, just in case the king and the queen regent entered the room unannounced.

Her smile served her well, because soon after her brother complained out loud that they had been waiting for close to an hour Joffrey and Cersei walked into the room. And Margaery, unlike her brother, did not have to rearrange her face into a pleasant smile when she turned to curtsy to the king.

"Please sit," Joffrey offered to them, before he even sat down - a great honor. Both Margaery and Loras remained standing. "I do apologize," he told them, though his eyes remained on Margaery, "Small council meetings. At what point does it become treason to waste a king's time?"

It was a joke, Margaery and Loras laughed, though Cersei remained stony faced.

Joffrey sat and Margaery remained standing a moment longer, allowing him one last good look at her. She did not miss the way his eyes scanned her body, taking in her dress, from the cut outs near her hips to the plunging neckline, both showing quite a bit of tanned skin.

Her hesitation served its purpose. "That's a lovely dress, My Lady," Joffrey told her before she finally began to sit in her chair.

Before Margaery could thank him, Cersei cut in. "Yes," the queen regent agreed. "It suits you perfectly. I would imagine you would be quite cold."

It was a subtle dig, but Margaery recognized it for what it was. The queen regent was threatened by her.

"The climate is a bit more forgiving back in Highgarden, Your Grace," Margaery told Cersei with an easy smile. She would not rise to the queen's bait. She laughed off Joffrey's offer to get her a shawl. "I am touched by your concern, Your Grace," she told him, leaning closer to him so that he could get an even better look at her breasts. "Luckily for us Tyrells, our blood runs quite warm, doesn't it, Loras?"

Her brother agreed, smiling his charming smile at the king and his mother.

The king had complimented her dress, it was only right that she compliment his mother's. So she turned away from Joffrey, "Loras," she called out. "Isn't the queen's dress magnificent. The fabric, the embroidery, the metalwork. I've never seen anything quite like it."

"You might find a bit of armor quite useful once you become queen, perhaps before," Cersei told her, a smile on her lips as well, though not half as convincing as Loras'. "Joffrey tells me that you stopped your carriage at Fleabottom on your way back from the Sept this morning."

Margaery smiled, _yes_ _the queen was threatened by her_ she could see it now. She nodded and explained to both Joffrey and his mother how she had heard of the orphanage. Loras did his job as her brother by bragging that she did work with the poor people of Highgarden. And Margaery spoke to Joffrey about the only difference between the poor people and rich people was the amount of love they were given. It was a lie of course, but he ate it up.

"Not long ago we were attacked by a mob there," Cersei told her, clearly disapproving of Margaery's approach to the poor. "We had a full compliment of guards and that did not stop them. The king barely escaped with his life."

Joffrey shifted in his chair, no doubt he did not like the picture his mother was painting. _A boy king, hated the people of his own city, almost killed by them_. That was not the way he wanted Margaery to look at him. "My mother has always had a penchant for drama," he told her, shooting a glare at his mother. "A quality my sisters and younger brother picked up from her, no doubt." He turned back to Margaery, "Facts become less and less important to her as she grows, _older._ Our lives were never truly in danger."

"You're right, of course," the queen told him, instantly cowed into agreeing with her son. "But you are your father's son. We can't all have a King's bravery."

There was an awkward pause after that. Joffrey did not speak, his mother did not speak. Margaery glanced at Loras for a moment before she turned back to Joffrey. "Hunger often turns men into animals," she told him. "I heard that one hundred wagons arrive daily now from the Reach. Wheat, barley, apples. We've had a blessed harvest this year and, of course, it is our duty and our privilege to assist the capitol in time of need."

Joffrey smiled and nodded at her, "As Ser Loras said, Lady Margaery has done this sort of charitable work before," he said before he turned to his mother. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

Margaery smiled and took a sip of her wine. "I'm sure she does," Cersei agreed, her tone low and rueful.

That was all Margaery needed to hear. Perhaps the queen had thought Sansa Stark stupid and simple. But she had not urged her son to set her aside because she did not know how to play the courtly game. Cersei Lannister did not like to be outplayed. If Margaery was not careful the queen would speak against her to Joffrey. She would have to make the boy love her.

By the way he looked at her he was already halfway there.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

It had been a month since the Battle of the Blackwater, a fortnight since the maester looking after him had declared him out of danger of dying, and days since he had woken up. And his father had not come to see him.

Not that it surprised him that much. His father was not a man who wasted time with emotions. Especially not on Tyrion. He missed his brother and his niece. _They_ would have visited him. _They_ would not have left his side. _They_ would not have let that sorry excuse for a maester, Pycelle, keep him sedated for so long. _They_ would have been there when he took the bandages off his face. And _they_ would have told him that it wasn't as bad as it looked.

And he might have believed them.

But neither of them were in King's Landing. They were both north with Robb Stark. And it would be a while before he got either of them back. _If_ he ever got either of them back.

He was jealous of them if he was being honest. They were out of the city. He wished he was no longer in King's Landing where his sister or his nephew was trying to kill him.

And it was that desire that drove him to leave his new room and visit his father in the Tower of the Hand.

The Lord of Casterly Rock was as lean as a man twenty years younger, even handsome in his austere way. Stiff blonde whiskers covered his cheeks, framing a stern face, his hair was thinning on top, but it did not take away from his good looks. He was tall. Long ago, when Tyrion was a child and had not quite grasped what he was he had dreamed of one day being as tall as his father. Now he knew he never would be, but he wondered if his father would like him more, love him better, if he was.

He was seated at his desk, writing a letter to someone when Tyrion entered his solar. Tyrion's fingers clenched on his right hand, it used to be his job as Hand of the King to write those important letters. For a moment he wanted the job back, but all he had to do was close his eyes and imagine the scar on his face and he remembered why he was here. And why he wanted to leave.

On the right side of Tywin's chest the Hand's badge was pinned to his doublet. When Tyrion could not take the silence anymore he spoke up, "The badge looks good on you," he told his father. "Almost as good as it looked on me."

Tywin did not even look up from his letter, "You'd best be seated," he told his son. "Is it wise for you to be out of your sickbed?"

"I am sick of my sickbed," Tyrion told him, rolling his eyes. His father despised weakness. And Tyrion desperately needed his father to be in as good a mood as possible for what he was going to request. He did, however, take his father's advice and sit in a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "Such pleasant chambers you have," he told his father, looking around the room that used to be his. "Would you believe it, while I was dying, someone moved me to a dark little cell in Maegor's."

"The Red Keep is overcrowded with wedding guests. Once they depart we will find you more suitable accommodations," his father promised, though he still did not look up from the letter before him.

Tyrion wanted to scream. He wanted to yell. He wanted to demand that his father look at him. But instead, he fiddled with his hands, "I rather liked _these_ accommodations _,_ " he told him rather sullenly. Then he changed the subject, "Have you set a date for this great wedding?"

"Joffrey and Margaery shall marry on the first day of the new year, which as it happens is also the first day of the new century. The ceremony will herald the dawn of a new era," his father told him.

 _A Lannister era_ , Tyrion thought. "Oh bother," he told his father, rather dryly, "I fear I've made other plans for that day."

Finally Tywin glanced up at him, though only for a moment, "Did you come here just to complain of your bedchamber and make your lame japes?" he asked before he turned back to his letter. "I have important letters to finish."

" _Important_ letters," Tyrion repeated sarcastically. "To be sure."

"I visited your sickbed as often as Maester Pycelle would allow it, when you seemed like to die," his father snapped at him, picking up on the point of his son's irritation. "Why did you dismiss him?" Tywin Lannister was not concerned with his son's health, Tyrion knew him well enough not to assume that. The fact that Tyrion had dismissed the maester was only a curiosity, one that Tywin was only mildly concerned with.

"He seemed much too determined to keep my unconscious," Tyrion told him with a wave of his hand.

"It was kind of Cersei to ask him to look after you," his father told him. "She feared for your life."

Tyrion scoffed at that. _Feared that I would keep it,_ he thought. But he said, "Doubtless, that's why she's never once left my bedside."

"Don't be impertinent," Tywin ordered his son. "Cersei has a royal wedding to plan, I am waging a war, and you have been out of danger for at least a fortnight." He looked up from his letter again and this time when his eyes landed on Tyrion's face they did not leave immediately. He steepled his fingers under his chin and studied Tyrion's disfigured face, his green eyes, unflinching. "Though the wound is ghastly enough, I'll grant you. What madness possessed you?"

"The foe was at the gates with a battering ram. If Jaime had led the sortie, you'd call it valor," Tyrion bit out, his jealousy of his taller brother and their father's love for him getting the better of him.

"Jaime would never be so foolish as to remove his helm in battle. I trust you killed the man who cut you?"

"Oh, the wretch is dead enough," Tyrion promised him.

Tywin studied him for another moment before he nodded and turned back to his letter, lifting his quill to finish it. "Your face is pale as death," he told him. "Say what you want and take yourself back to bed."

"What I want ..." Tyrion started, his voice trailing at the end. He wanted so much and there was only so little he would get from the man in front of him. "I'm told that you made Littlefinger Lord of Harrenhal."

Tywin snorted as he began to fold up his letter. Tyrion squinted at it, sure he could read the word _Westerling_ up near the top. "An empty title so long as Roose Bolton holds the castle for Robb Stark," he told Tyrion as he poured some warmed wax above the seal of the letter. "Yet Lord Baelish was desirous of the honor," he pressed his seal into the quickly drying wax. "He did us good service in the matter of the Tyrell marriage. A Lannister pays his debts."

 _I thought of the Tyrell marriage_ , Tyrion wanted to yell at his father. It was pathetic, truly pathetic how much he desired his father's approval. "The title may not be as empty as you think," he warned his father. "Littlefinger does nothing without good reason. But be that as it may. You said something about paying debts, I believe?"

Tywin chuckled, "And you want your own reward, is that it? Very well. What is it you would have of me? Lands, castle, some office?"

"A little bloody gratitude would make a nice start," Tyrion snapped at his father. The older man was not taking this conversation as seriously as he would have liked. If he were going to get what he wanted from his father he would have to prove that he could be taken seriously.

"I sent you here to advise the king," Tywin told him. "I gave you real power. And what did you do? You took a whore into my bed."

"It wasn't your bed at the time," Tyrion interrupted.

Despite himself Tywin was amused, he glanced up at his son, the corners of his lips upturned for the briefest moment before the smile disappeared. "You chose to spend your days as you always have, bedding harlots and drinking with thieves," Tywin continued as if Tyrion had not spoken. "And now you want gratitude."

He shook his head and stood from his desk, pouring himself a goblet of wine though he did not offer any to Tyrion. "Jugglers and singers require applause," he told Tyrion. "Aerys Targaryen did too. You are a _Lannister_. Do you think I demanded a garland of roses every time I suffered a wound on the battlefield?" He shook his head again, answering his own question. "Now I have seven kingdoms to look after and three of them are in open rebellion. So tell me what you want."

He sat back down at his desk and studied Tyrion over his wine glass.

Later that evening Tyrion would look back on this moment and realize that he should have thought long and hard about what he wanted to ask of his father. He should have given it a second and a third thought and then not asked. But he did not think, he was so angry and hurt by his father's dismissive tone that he spoke without thought.

"I want what is mine, by right. Jaime is your eldest son, heir to your lands and titles. But the knights of the Kingsguard are forbidden to marry, to father children, and to hold land. The day Jaime put on that white cloak, he gave up his claim to Casterly Rock, but never once have you acknowledged it. It's past time. I want you to stand up before the realm and proclaim that I am your son and your lawful heir. I want the Rock."

Tywin's green eyes were as hard and as unfriendly as his voice. "Casterly Rock," he declared in a flat, cold, dead tone. "Never."

He glared at Tyrion for a long moment before he continued. "We'll find you accommodations more suited to your name and as a reward for your accomplishments at the Battle of Blackwater Bay. And when the time is right you will be given a position fit for your talents so that you may serve your family and protect our legacy. And if you serve faithfully you will be rewarded with a suitable wife. But I would let a bastard born of Lenora and Robb Stark become heir to Casterly Rock before I named you. I would let myself be consumed by maggots before mocking the family name and letting you be named heir of Casterly Rock."

Tyrion stared at his father for a long moment, shocked by the hatred in his father's eyes. He had always known that his father favored Jaime and Cersei more. He had always known that his father looked at him as an embarrassment. But he had never realized that his father hated him. "Why?" he made himself ask even though he knew he would regret the question as soon as he got the answer.

"Why?" Tywin repeated. "You ask that? You who killed your mother to come into the world? You are an ill-made, spiteful little creature, full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the Gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither Gods nor men shall every compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse."

He shook his head, looking at Tyrion with complete and utter disgust, "Go now," he ordered. "Go back to your bed, Tyrion, and speak to me no more of _your rights_ to Casterly Rock. You shall have your reward, but it shall be one I deem appropriate to your service and station."

Tyrion stared at his father for almost a minute. He had never hated the man before him. He had spent his life looking up to him, wishing to make him proud. But all of that was gone now. His father hated him. And Tyrion felt the same about him.

"Go," Tywin ordered again when Tyrion had still not risen from his chair. Tyrion nodded and finally stood, turning from his father so that he could _waddle_ out of the room without saying another word.

"Oh," Tywin called out when Tyrion was halfway to the door. "One more thing." He did not say what it was yet, he waited until Tyrion turned to look at him. Tyrion's hands tightened into fists and his jaw clenched as he turned to stare at his father. "The next whore I catch in your bed, I'll hang."

Tyrion did not say a word, but he nodded before he quickly turned on his heel and marched from the room.

Just like everything else Tywin Lannister had said during their conversation Tyrion did not doubt that the man meant it. He would have to be more careful with Shae. His father would hang her if they were caught.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"Come on, Robb," Lenora called out as she dropped her sword arm to her side and reached up with her left hand to brush some hair out of her face. Her dark hair was tied back, but that did not stop a few pieces from coming loose and dropping into her eyes.

"What?" he asked her with a grin. He was feigning innocence, but judging by the grin on his face he knew exactly what he was doing to make her upset with him. "What have I done to displease you, my Lady?"

"Stop running from me," Lenora commanded. "How are we supposed to practice our sword play if you keep running from me?"

"I'm not running," Robb argued, though he had clearly been running from her for the past half hour. Lenora was out of breath and sweaty, her arms hurt, and her sword had not clashed against his for close to an hour. "I'm simply trying out a different tactic."

Lenora raised her eyebrows. "When in a battle will you _ever_ run from your opponent?" she asked him. He shrugged his shoulders, a smile playing at his lips. "And when, for that matter, will a man ever run away from a woman on the field?"

"You're not just any woman," Robb reminded her.

Lenora waved him off, "I know that," she told him, his flattery would not work on her. "But on the field I will look like an easy target. No one will run from me. I can't have you running from me in practice. Now, pick up your sword and stop fighting like Joffrey at the Blackwater."

The _official_ story being told around King's Landing was no doubt that Joff had fought bravely during the Battle of the Blackwater. She was sure there were many singers playing their harps and singing songs of Joff's prowess in battle and how he refused to give in even when it seemed as though the battle might be lost.

But Lenora knew her brother. And Lenora knew her mother.

Joff had never done anything _bravely_ in his entire life. She was sure that he would not start with the battle for King's Landing. And of all of her children Cersei had always been the most careful with Joffrey, he had been the _heir_ to the Iron Throne after all. She was sure that Joffrey had been given the best armor, new and in Lannister colors she'd bet. He'd have a sword that knights would be jealous of. And not once would he actually have to swing it. Not once would he be in any real danger.

When the battle looked to be lost, she was sure that her mother would have ordered her brother back inside the Red Keep. She would have wanted him as close to her as possible, even if that broke the morale of his men. Even if that opened him up to ridicule. Even if it made him a coward.

Growing up she had often heard her mother complain that even though she and Jaime were so much alike, even though they had grown up together they had different lots in life. Jaime had his armor and his sword, she had her gowns and her courtesies. She had complained that it was always the man's job to wield the sword. Her mother knew the way of the world, but when it came time for Joff to wield a sword Lenora knew her mother would never allow it.

Perhaps she should have put Joffrey in dresses since he was old enough to walk. She seemed set on making him the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms, the least she could have done was given the correct costume.

"That was low," Robb told her, referring to her comment that he was fighting like her brother had. He was still smiling though. "Truthfully, you have me on the run because I know I will never beat you," he added.

"Of course you won't," Lenora teased. "But when I was learning to fight there was never a chance that I would beat my uncle Jaime and do you know what I did?" Robb raised his eyebrows, silently waiting for her answer. She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if it were a secret, "I kept fighting anyway."

She was silent for a moment, thinking about when she used to practice with her uncle. Then she got an idea, "Hold on," she told Robb, rushing forward to hand him her sword before she turned to walk into the stables. It did not take her long to find an old cloak hanging on the wall. She grabbed it and tore a long strip of it. Then, once she had the strip in her hand she walked back out to the yard.

Robb stared at her, his eyebrows raised, his lips turning up at the corners. "What do you think you're doing, Nora?" he asked her.

She smiled at him as she reached up and began to tie the strip of fabric around her head, using it to cover her eyes. Jaime had done this many times with her. "Leveling the playing field," she told him as she finished tying. Then she held her hand out, expectantly, waiting for him to hand her her sword.

She heard him chuckle, "I am not going to fight you blindfolded," he told her.

"You won't be," Lenora assured him. "Blindfolded, I mean, you will be able to see everything. I will be blind." She waved her hand in the air, still waiting for her sword.

She heard him sigh, "What if I hurt you?" he asked.

"You won't," Lenora promised him. "Now, my sword please."

Being blindfolded was a different experience. She could not see him, but with her eyes covered, her ears picked up the slack. She could hear the fabric of his clothes move as he walked toward her. She could hear his footsteps. She hear his breath. He took his time handing her the sword, taking a moment to wrap each of her fingers around the handle as if she were a small child who did not know how to hold a sword.

She rolled her eyes and huffed out an impatient sigh. He chuckled and let go of her hand. And she took a step back, raising her sword so that it was in front of her face, a defensive position. "No running this time," she commanded.

"No running," Robb agreed.

Lenora waited, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet until he made his first attack. It took a moment, but she heard it, the sword moving through the air as he attacked her from the right, she let her sword arm fly out, stiff armed and strong and was rewarded with the sound of steel hitting steel. Before he could move away from her she dragged her sword arm down toward her side, quick and strong.

This move would not work if he had kept a strong hold on his sword, but he had no doubt been so relieved that he did not hurt her that he had slackened his grip. His sword fell from his hand and landed on the cobblestones by his feet. Lenora smirked.

"Show off," Robb whispered to her as he moved to pick his sword up.

He was loud, Lenora noticed. Much louder than she had ever realized. They continued fighting, he got a couple good hits on her, but more often than not she heard him coming before he attacked, she met his sword with strikes of her own.

He was not going to hurt her. And she was not going to let him win easily.

They would have continued fighting like this for the rest of the afternoon if little Rollam Westerling had not come running into the yard, yelling for Robb. The boy took his job as Robb's squire quite seriously, though he had yet to learn that he did not always have to yell for the king. They stopped fighting and Robb took Lenora's sword so that she could untie her blindfold as he asked the boy what had gotten him so riled up.

"There's a raven from Lord Bolton at Harrenhal," Rollam told him before he handed Robb a sealed letter.

Lenora watched as Robb read the letter, inwardly steeling herself when she saw the way his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and the blue in them darkened in anger. Whatever news Roose Bolton had for him it was not good.

Once he was done reading Robb looked up at her. "He's taken Harrenhal," he told her. "All the Lannister men had left before they got there. But not before they killed two hundred Northmen and left them in the courtyard for us to find."

"Two hundred?" Lenora asked, echoing his words in a whisper.

Robb nodded, "Ser Jaremy Mallister being the most notable."

"No one survived?" Lenora asked.

Robb shook his head, "All perished except for one, a maester named Qyburn who is being treated now." His hand clenched into a fist around the letter. "I sent them there," he told her. "I sent them there to die."

Lenora shook her head, "You couldn't have known," she tried to comfort him.

Robb shook his head, "I could have," he told her, his voice dark. "Everyone knows the stories of Harrenhal. Hoare. Qoherys. Harroway. Towers. Strong. Lothston. Whent. Seven Houses have ruled over Harrenhal. And seven Houses have died out at Harrenhal. It's cursed. It's full of ghosts. And now there are the ghosts of two hundred Northmen residing there. Two hundred Northmen that I sent to hold the castle. Two hundred Northmen that I lost."

Lenora shook her head again, "That's the way of war, Robb," she told him. "They went because they believed in you. They fought because they believed in you."

"They died because they believed in me," Robb interrupted.

Lenora shook her head, "They died because that is what happens to men in war. But you will get your vengeance. The North will get its vengeance."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! Did you miss me while I was gone? I missed you!  
I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter! I did. I especially loved writing Margaery's point of view. I had so much fun writing her.  
She's not a bitch. But I don't think she's as innocent as she seemed on the show. She wants to be queen and she knows how to play the game. And I had a lot of fun writing in her voice. So there may be more of it in the future. Keep a look out for it!  
Thank you for reading! And thank you for favoriting this story. Or for adding it to your alerts list. But as always the BIGGEST thanks goes to those of you that reviewed the last chapter.  
You are wonderful.

 _Mattia18:_ You are not cruel. And you are not the first person to say that. I will not tell you what I have planned for dear sweet Robb, but I promise that it will be _interesting_. Thank you for your review!

 _DannyBlack70_ : Don't worry, you are not the only one not getting the alert emails. It went on for about a week. But I've got my fingers crossed that they've fixed it now. (Seriously, I just crossed my fingers!) As for why Walder Frey pulled half of his forces back, he claimed that it was because he needed them to defend the Twins, Lenora thinks he's feeling weary, but perhaps ... in a future chapter ... you will learn that someone sent him a Raven. Someone who has important letters to write. And Seven Kingdoms to rule. ;)

 _DannyRangerPhantom_ : Two reviews! I love it! I was going to PM you in response to your review on Chapter 18, but then you caught up with us and I didn't have to. Now I can answer both here!  
Not going to lie, it had been so long that I had to go back to chapter eighteen to see why you were so upset. But yeah, eighteen was Ned Stark. I am sorry for that. But I needed Robb to go to war and the best way to do that was to make sure that Ned did not live a long and happy life. As much as I wish I could give him one. Ned was one of my favorites from day one, (I watched the first season before I read the books) but I should have known he was going to die. Sean Bean _always_ dies.  
As for your request. I will try not to rip your heart out. But if you read my author's notes from past chapters you know that I've been hinting about the Red Wedding. _Something_ will happen. And people will die. I will not say if Robb is one of them. But whatever happens I ask that you guys trust me.  
This story _will_ have a happy(ish) end.

 _Guest_ : So many questions! I will answer what I can without giving too much away. Here we go!  
1\. Will Jon have a point of view: yes. He will.  
2\. When will he come in: in roughly twenty-five chapters. But when he does come in, he'll stick around and have some important parts to play. (For example: there will be a Battle of the Bastards.)  
3\. Will there be a Lenora and Jon: well they will interact. And they will be friends. And perhaps they will be together. I won't tell you yet though, that might give away the Red Wedding.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter friend!

That's all I've got for now! I hope that you enjoyed.  
See you back here tomorrow!  
Chloe Jane.


	43. Chapter Forty-Three: Mothers

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you. The reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Three: Mothers_

 _Sansa_

It was a beautiful day. Warm and sunny, with only a hint of autumn's chill on the breeze. Since Joffrey had set her aside and chosen Margaery as his betrothed she had lost some of her handmaidens. Not that she minded, she suspected that many of them were the queen's informants. She had kept Shae though, and for that she was grateful. The foreign handmaiden had proved herself loyal during the Battle of the Blackwater.

She had not, however, lost her guard. Her red cloaked shadow followed her everywhere. It seemed that even with Stannis beaten and her brother far in the North, Cersei and Joffrey were still worried that Sansa would somehow escape King's Landing. She giggled when she thought of it, if they only knew what she planned at night in the Godswood with Ser Dontos.

When she did leave they would not know it until it was too late.

Today she had dragged Shae and her guard down to the docks, to look out at the ships in the bay. Shae was less than enthusiastic about the trip, but the girl obliged her anyway. Sansa started a game, they were to point out a ship and make up a story about where it was from and where it was going.

She studied one for a while, smiling at its bright orange sails. "Dorne," she finally decided with a nod. "It's going to Dorne." She turned and glanced over her shoulder at Shae to see if the older woman agreed with her.

The dark haired girl raised her eyebrows, "Why Dorne?" she asked, though her voice betrayed her complete lack of interest. She asked not because she wanted an answer but because she knew that Sansa wanted to give one.

And Sansa loved her for it.

"It's carrying silks," she told her. "And it's supposed to bring back wine in exchange." She turned to look behind her again, this time looking past Shae to the guard who stood a respectful distance away, but refused to take his eyes off her. As if she might run away any second. "But it's not coming back," she told Shae, her eyes narrowed slightly as she turned back to the water. "The captain is sick of risking his life so that King's Landing lords and ladies can get drunk on better wine than they deserve."

"What will he do instead?" Shae asked her with a smirk.

"He's going to stay in Dorne," Sansa told her with a decided nod. "Wait out the winter where it's beautiful and warm." She smiled at the thought, she would love to go to Dorne. She had heard so much about it and she was sure that it was more beautiful, warmer, and less dangerous than King's Landing. But then the smile fell from her lips, there had been a time when she thought that King's Landing was beautiful and warm. And she had clearly been wrong. What if she was wrong about Dorne as well?

As if echoing her fears Shae spoke up, "I've met some people in Dorne who _weren't_ so beautiful and warm."

Even though her dream of Drone had already been ruined before Shae spoke Sansa turned to her, her features settling into a glare, "Don't ruin the game," she ordered.

"I told you I don't want to play," Shae argued back as Sansa turned back to the ships.

Sansa ignored her. The point of having a handmaiden was to have someone to play with when she had no one else. To have someone to entertain her when she was bored. She was bored now and she was determined that if she could not yet leave King's Landing she would spend the afternoon dreaming about those that were able to.

"What about that one?" she asked, pointing to a large one with billowing whit sails.

"That one?" Shae asked with a sigh. "It's going to Volantis."

"Why Volantis?" Sansa asked, curious.

"Because when I got on a ship in Volantis it looked like that one," Shae told her, her voice flat.

Sansa sighed and turned to look at the woman, cross with her. "That's not how the game works," she said sternly. "You're not supposed to just blurt out the right answer. You've got to invent a story about where the ship is going and why."

"Why should I invent a story when I know the truth?" Shae asked.

"Because," Sansa sighed. "The truth is always either terrible or boring."

She was so caught up in explaining the rules of the game to her that she did not hear him approaching. As a Lord of the Small Council her guard had of course let him pass with no argument so he had been able to approach them freely. "Lovely day for it!" he called out by way of greeting.

Sansa and Shae both turned to see Lord Petyr Baelish walking toward them, a lovely looking redheaded woman walking slightly behind him. "Watching the ships," he added when neither Sansa or her handmaiden greeted him right away.

Shae watched him, her eyes narrowed with distrust, but Sansa inclined her head in greeting, "Lord Baelish."

When he spoke next he addressed Shae only, "Might I speak with Lady Sansa alone for a moment?" he asked.

Shae did not move, she turned to look at Sansa, one eyebrow raised. Sansa was not sure if she trusted Petyr Baelish, but he had been close with her mother once. And what was he going to do with her red cloaked, Lannister shadow so close by. She silently nodded to Shae, telling her without words that she would be alright on her own with the man. Shae huffed out a noise of disapproval, but she quietly did as Sansa wanted and stood from the bench.

She walked slowly back to the red haired woman who had accompanied Lord Baelish onto the dock. Sansa waited until Shae stopped walking before she turned to Lord Baelish, one of her eyebrows raised, silently waiting for him to tell her why he wished to speak with her.

Lord Baelish held out his hand for hers and after a moment's pause of debate she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her from the bench and walk her to the end of the dock. "I saw your mother not long ago," he told her quietly.

Sansa's head turned sharply toward him in surprise. He had seen her mother? Why hadn't he told her that the day Joffrey set her aside? "She's very eager to see you," he told her. He paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction. Sansa's jaw clenched she was determined not to react, her mother was a traitor after all. "And your sister," he continued.

"Arya's alive?" she asked, unable to hold that question in. She had been so sure for months that her sister was dead. He smiled slyly at her and looked out toward the sea. Sansa waited a moment before she turned her head to the sea as well, "You said you'd take me home," she reminded him.

"You said that King's Landing was your home," he reminded her, his voice sarcastic. "You're the property of the crown, stealing you would be treason. If you were to tell just one person -"

"I won't," Sansa cut in, hoping to assure him. In public, around the court she would swear all day that King's Landing was her home. But _here_ , alone. She could tell the truth. She so desperately wanted to go home. "I won't tell anyone," she told him again.

"How do I know?" he asked her.

"Because I'm a terrible liar," she fired back at him. "You've said so yourself." He smiled and inclined his head to her. He knew she spoke the truth. "Please Lord Baelish," she begged him, turning to look at him, silently willing him to look her in the eyes and see just how desperate she was. "Tell me what to do. Tell me when."

His smile grew a bit more, he seemed to enjoy hearing her beg for his help. "I'm waiting for word on an assignment that will take me far away from the capitol," he told her. "When I set sail I might be able to take you with me. But you will need to be ready on a moment's notice."

Sansa nodded, she could do that. There was nothing in King's Landing that she would wish to take with her when she left. She would not need to pack a thing. She would not need to tell a soul. She had no one she would need to say goodbye to. "I can do that," she told him with a nod.

He looked at her, and his hand lifted for a moment, as if he meant to touch her. Without meaning to Sansa countered his movement with a step backwards, away from him. He watched her, "You grow to look more like your mother every day," he told her, his hand falling to his side. "It would be my honor to return you to her."

...

The invitation had frightened her. Why would Lady Margaery Tyrell wish to have tea with her? Margaery was to be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Sansa was a traitor's daughter, set aside so that Joffrey could marry her. Sansa was sure there was no way Margaery could be jealous. Joffrey had barely looked at her since he had set her aside. She would not be competition for the beautiful older girl from Highgarden.

But if she was not jealous Sansa could not think of another reason why Margaery would want to meet with her. Surely she did not want them to be friends? She took special care when she dressed that morning. Her fingers trembled as she did the clasps on her dress. She knew that Margaery tended to wear pale blue-green dresses and her hair would be done up in a style typical of Highgarden ladies. So Sansa opted for a pale purple shift with a muted green dress over it. The dress brought out the red in her hair, but would not make her stand out against lovely pale blue of the queen-to-be's wardrobe.

She was still nervous that afternoon when Loras came to collect her. She did not say much to him as he walked her through the castle. And he did not say much to her until they reached the gardens. Then he spoke, though she was sure it was his knightly courtesy that swayed him to do so instead of any real desire to speak to her. "I believe you grow more beautiful every day, Lady Sansa," he told her as they moved slowly through the garden.

"You are too kind, Ser Loras," she told him, smiling at him. She wanted to tell him that he looked handsome. His shirt was made of green silk and he had a yellow doublet over top that feel to his knees. Highgarden colors. They brought out the blue of his eyes and the gold highlights in his light blonde hair. Sansa would not be so bold to call herself a beauty, but Ser Loras was. She was too shy to tell him that, but she wished to keep speaking to him. For a moment she fought over what to say before she finally settled on, "You probably don't remember the first time we met."

It was a lie, she was sure that he did. She only used it as an opening to the conversation so that he could tell her what he thought of her that day. But when she turned to look at him he was looking at her with raised eyebrows. "At the Hand's Tourney," she pressed, hoping he would remember. "You gave me your favor?" She was silently begging him to remember, hoping that the moment had not been magical only to her. She _wanted_ him to tell her that he had thought her the most beautiful woman at the tournament.

He lowered his eyebrows, he remembered now. _Yes_ , she thought, triumphant. He nodded, "My favor?" he asked her. "I thought I had crowned you at the end. A crown of blue roses."

Sansa shook her head, her heart falling a bit. Not only did he not remember her, but she was not the only woman who had gotten his attention at a tournament, "No," she told him, though she supposed it would have been politer for her to agree. "You gave me a rose, a red rose."

"To go with your hair, no doubt," Loras told her with a nod as they approached Margaery.

The older girl was talking to one of her cousins, but she dismissed her when she saw them approaching. "You're such a dear," she addressed Loras, "for bringing Lady Sansa to me."

Loras smiled at his sister and nodded as he withdrew his arm from Sansa's grasp, "I'll leave you to it," he told them with a bow to each of them before he turned to walk back the way they had come.

Sansa stayed where she was, staring at Margaery with pure wonder. She did not understand how Loras could call her _beautiful_ when he had his own sister to compare her to. She was sure that there was no one more beautiful than the Lady Margaery in all of King's Landing.

"Come," Margaery told her with a friendly smile, she wrapped her arm around Sansa's waist and gently guided her further in the garden where it seemed the ladies of Highgarden had set up court. She was much more friendly than Sansa would have imagined. The women parted for them and it did not take them long to reach the edge of the garden where the matriarch of House Tyrell sat just outside of a terrace overlooking the bay.

Margaery took it upon herself to introduce Sansa to her grandmother, the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell. "Kiss me child," the Queen of Thorns commanded, an indulging smile on her face as she held out her hand to Sansa. Sansa quickly did as requested and smiled as she stood back up. "Good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens." She paused for a moment, studying Sansa. The smile slipped from her lips. "I'm very sorry to hear of your losses," she told her. "I knew your grandfather Rickard, and it is said that your grandfather Tully is dying," she paused again, shaking her head. "And of course your father. Night falls for all of us in the end, and too soon for some. _You_ know that more than most, poor child."

Sansa did not know what to say. She was sure that this kind old lady was not trying to trap her. But Margaery was Joffrey's new betrothed. What if she told him that Sansa had accepted sympathy for the death of her father. Her father who was a traitor. They expected some sort of answer, she thought for a moment before she decided on one. If the Lady Olenna was going to bring up Sansa's ties to traitors she would bring up their own. To quietly remind them that she was not the only one tied to a pretend King.

She glanced between Lady Olenna and Margaery, "I was saddened when I heard of Lord Renly's death, Your Grace," she told Margaery. "He was very gallant."

"You as kind to say so," Margaery told her with a gentle smile.

Lady Olenna snorted, "Gallant yes," she said. "And charming and very clean. He knew how to dress and he knew how to smile, and he knew how to bathe. And somehow he got the notion that this made him fit to be King. The Baratheons have always had some queer notions, to be sure. It comes from their Targaryen blood, I should think."

"Renly was brave and gentle, Grandmother," Margaery reminded the older woman with a adoring smile on her face. "Father liked him, and so did Loras."

"Loras is young," Lady Olenna told her granddaughter quickly. "And very good at knocking men off horses with a stick. That does not make him wise. As to your _fathead_ father," she rolled her eyes.

"Grandmother," Margaery scolded, giggling as she smiled at Sansa, "What will Lady Sansa think of us?"

"She might think some of us have our wits about us," Lady Olenna told her. "One of us at any rate." Sansa smiled at her, she did think they had some wits about them and she appreciated their kindness. Lady Olenna turned to Sansa, "Shall we have some lemon cakes?" she asked her.

"Lemon cakes are my favorite," Sansa told her with a smile.

Lady Olenna nodded, "So we've been told."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

They were a long way away from King's Landing yet. But every day as they walked Jaime felt stronger and more like himself. He was closer to his family now. And once he was returned to them he would be able to find some way to rescue Lenora, whether she wanted to be or not. And to bring her home. He did not give a damn about the end of the war. He did not give a damn about the rest of the country. He just wanted his family where it belonged. In King's Landing.

He saw a chance after they had been walking for three days. They were one one side of the Trident and they needed to be on the other. There was a bridge that they could use to cross or they could try to ford the river on their own. Brienne seemed quite torn with the indecision of it all.

"It's a tough decision," Jamie mused quietly, teasing her as they stood, hidden by trees, staring at the bridge. "Take the bridge and risk being seen or cross the great water."

"Silence, Kingslayer," she hissed at him.

"Anyone could see us on the bridge," he continued as if she had not spoken. "But cross by water and the current could take us or I could escape down the river."

"Good luck," she sneered at him.

He turned to look at her, his eyes scanning over her face. He knew he made her uncomfortable when he looked at her. He wanted her as uncomfortable as possible. "It's wonderful to watch you wrestle with these dilemmas," he told her with a grin as he turned back toward the water. "Which will the wench choose?"

She chose the bridge, much to his delight, shoving him in front of her as she marched her way onto the bridge. He walked slowly, allowing the rope she had tied to his wrist cuffs to fall slack. She was not uncomfortable enough. She was not irritated enough. He would have to try harder.

"Gambler at heart," he mused as they walked. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Shut up," Brienne hissed, "and be quick about it."

He would _not_ be quick about it. Instead, about half way across the bridge he threw himself down on the ground. "Oh," he groaned as he stretched out his legs. "I need to rest."

"Get up," Brienne ordered him, giving a tug on the rope she held tight in her hands.

He would not.

"You should get off your feet," he told her as she looked around wildly, hoping that no one would see them. "You walk everywhere."

"Get up now!" she practically yelled at him.

"Corns!" he yelled back at her, being as loud as possible. He wanted her nervous. "I never used to get corns," he continued in a quieter voice. "Though I used to ride everywhere. But you make me march around like a common foot soldier wearing the _same_ shit boots I've had all year." She had had enough of his rambling, she didn't think as she moved closer to him, grabbing his right arm with both of her hands and heaving, pulling him to his feet. "This heel's ruined," he continued, distracting her with his voice while his hands reached for the pommel of her sword. "There's no -"

He stopped speaking once his hands had wrapped around the handle of her sword. He stopped fighting her then and allowed her to fully pull him to his feet. Then with her grip light on the rope he took two quick steps away from her, pulling the sword from its sheath as he did, grinning at the noise the steel made.

He growled as he swung the sword against the rope, cutting himself free for the girl who wished she was a knight. He turned to face her, his hands still chained together, both of them holding the sword.

"Give me the sword, Kingslayer," she ordered.

"Oh I will," Jaime assured her as he swung the sword from left to right, testing its weight. He chuckled when she drew her second sword. He flipped the sword in the air, catching it with just his right hand, his sword hand. "I've never understood why some knights felt the need to carry two swords," he mused. "I always told Len that if she lost her sword in a fight then she did not deserve to have it."

He grinned at Brienne, not moving to strike just yet. He walked around her slowly, turning his back on her. He knew she would follow. She _had_ to. She had sworn herself to Lady Catelyn after all.

She was wearing armor, he heard her move. He turned at just the right moment and swung his sword to the right, grinning when she stepped out of the way. "Ooh," he taunted her.

He watched her, moving slowly as he approached her. She countered every one of his steps with one of her own. "You move well," he complimented her. He wanted her to attack him though, so a moment later he taunted her, "For a great beast of a woman."

She grimaced at him, stepping forward and finally bringing her sword to meet his. He chuckled as he countered her strike. "You shouldn't grimace before you lunge," he told her. "It gives away the game."

She looked angry, though he was not sure why. There were many people in the Seven Kingdoms that would have paid their weight in gold to get a private fighting lesson from Jaime Lannister.

He drove at her, the sword felt alive in his hands. She jumped back, parrying, but he followed close after her, pressing the attack. No sooner did she turn one cut than the next was upon her.

The swords kissed and then fell apart, only to kiss again a moment later. The steel clanged as the swords struck each other and Jaime was sure that he had never heard a more beautiful noise. His blood was singing to the tune of the clashing steel. _This_ was what he was made for. The only time he truly felt alive was when he had a sword in his hand. And it had been _so_ long since he had had a fight.

With both of his hands chained together, Brienne of Tarth might even give him a good fight. Still, they did not call him the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms for nothing. Even with his awkward grip on the sword, he was sure he would come out victorious.

He paused for a moment, his sword extended toward her, "Bit of a quandary for you, isn't it?" he asked her. "If you kill me you've failed Lady Stark. But if you don't," he paused, grinning at her, "I'm going to kill you."

Then he was on her again. High, low, overhand, he rained down steel upon her. Left, right backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together. Upswing, sideslash, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, step and slide strike, and step, step and strike. Hacking, slashing, faster, faster, _faster_.

"Not half bad," he told her as he swung his sword at her face. "For a wench."

She blocked his sword, but did not attack, she was on the defense. "I would not hurt you, Kingslayer," she told him.

Jaime scoffed, "As if you could." She was watching him wearily. He smiled at her, Lenora had once told him that his smile could be quite disarming, he hoped it would disarm the giant wench. "Come on," he goaded her, "come on, my sweetling, the music's still playing. Might I have this dance, my Lady?"

And the dance went on. He pinned her against the side of the bridge and cursed as she slipped away. He followed her, blade whirling. He was not as good as he once was, his skills with a blade had gone to rust as well as his courtesies in Riverrun's dungeons. But he was still better than Brienne of Tarth.

But then, with what looked like a seemingly easy swing she loosened his grip on the sword, and when he looked down to fix it her leg stretched out, tripping him and sending him to the ground at her feet. He expected her to grab him and pull him back to his feet, but when he looked up he saw that she had her sword extended over him, still in a defensive position.

That's when he heard them, the horses coming across the bridge. He tilted his head, and saw at least three men on horseback, looking down at them. They were smiling, one of them was even clapping his hands.

"Well met, friends!" he called out to them as amiably as he could as he stood up. He growled low in his throat when Brienne pushed him slightly behind her as if he needed her protection. "My pardons," he called over her shoulder. "If I disturbed you. You caught me chastising my wife."

"Seemed to me that she was doing the _chastising_ ," the one in the middle called back. "Did your woman get the better of you?" He paused. "If you could call _that_ a woman."

Jaime stepped in front of her, "Well we enjoy a good fight," he assured them. "Gets our juices flowing." He looked over their shoulders at their banners, "Flayed man of House Bolton," he told them. "A bit gruesome for my taste."

The man looked down at him, "I can't imagine much is too gruesome for you, Kingslayer."

Jaime sighed, he had hoped they would not recognize him, dirty as he was. "Let us go and my father will give you whatever you like," he promised them.

"Enough to buy me a new head?" the leader asked him. "If the King in the North hears that I had the Kingslayer and I let him go, he'll be taking it right off. I'd rather he'd take yours."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He felt sorry for his mother. His bannermen kept apologizing to him, as if he had lost something that day. But he hardly knew his grandfather, had not seen him since he was a young child and since returning to Riverrun had said no more than a few words to the old man. A few words that the man had not understood and would never remember.

His bannermen _should_ have been apologizing to his mother, but she was still not allowed to leave her chambers and he had limited the guests she was allowed to receive. It was a fine line between allowing his mother comfort during her time of need and proving to some of his more vocal bannermen that he would not go easy on her after she had released the Kingslayer.

He had not been to see her yet. He had not brought her to the sept where his uncle Edmure was standing vigil for the required three days before his grandfather's funeral. But Lenora went to see his mother every day. And every night she lectured him about how he should see her too.

He was afraid to see her, in truth, not that he would tell Lenora that. He understood why his mother had set the Kingslayer free. He understood that she was overcome with grief at the news of the boys and that she was hoping, foolishly, that setting Jaime Lannister free would buy her girls back.

But she had lost the boys. And the girls were lost too, he knew that even if she did not. Jaime Lannister would never send the girls back. And now her father was gone.

He walked into their chambers to find Lenora sitting on the floor in front of the looking glass. Her black mourning skirts flared out around her as she braided her dark hair down her back in a long, thick braid. She looked up at him, catching his eye in the mirror, "You'll let her come to the funeral?" she asked him, speaking of his mother.

Robb nodded, watching her as she lowered her eyes back to her own reflection and continued to braid her hair. Looking around the room he was overcome with the realization that one of the last times they had been in this room was when she had told him about the baby. "You didn't wear black," he told her quietly, trying to keep the accusation out of his voice.

She looked up at him again through the mirror, it was as if she could read his mind. "You shouldn't talk of that," she told him, shaking her head as she tied her braid. "Not today on the morning of your grandfather's funeral."

Robb shook his head. She stood up and attempted to walk past him, but he stepped to the side, blocking her path. "You hardly gave yourself time to mourn. You didn't wear black." He paused and when it looked as though she was going to try to walk around him again he reached out, wrapping his hands around her upper arms. "Were you not happy to be carrying my child?" he asked her. "Was its death a blessing from the Gods to you?"

"You're hurting me, Robb," Lenora bit out through clenched teeth. She was looking down, she refused to meet his eyes.

Robb did not let go of her arms, if anything he squeezed a little tighter, "You have hurt me," he told her, his voice cracking. "You told me you would rather pretend that it had never happened. Do you know who you sound like when you talk like that? Do you know who you remind me of?" Lenora shook her head, she still refused to look at him. "You sound like your mother," he fired at her, knowing that would hurt her more than anything else he could say.

When she finally looked up at him there were tears swimming in her stormy grey eyes. "And how was I supposed to mourn Robb?" she asked him, trying to move away from him and sighing when he still refused to let go of her. "Was I supposed to cry for days? Was I supposed to wear black for weeks? What would your men have thought? They would have begun to wonder."

"We could have told them," Robb told her, his heart breaking when she shook her head.

"And admitted that you made a mistake when you picked your Queen?" she asked him. "Half of them still looked at me as a Lannister back then. To find out that I was a _Lannister_ who couldn't even give you a child -" she cut herself off and shook her head. "I failed you, Robb. And in doing so I made this war so much easier for my mother. Half the Freys left because Lord Walder is losing faith. Do you think they would have stayed if I had been able to give the North an heir?"

"You'll give me one," Robb promised her, his grip loosening on her arms when it became apparent that she was no longer going to run away from him. "You'll give me more than one, you'll see."

"Not soon enough," Lenora told him, reaching up to wipe at her tears.

Robb shook his head, "You could wait five years to give me an heir and I still wouldn't mind," he swore to her.

"Your bannermen would urge you to set me aside," Lenora told him, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing as she studied his face. He wondered what she saw there, "But you've been hurting too," she whispered softly, reaching out to place a hand on his cheek as if to soothe him. He shook his head, silently trying to deny it. He had been hurting, but he didn't not want her to feel as though she needed to carry his pain as well as her own.

She shook her head too and sighed. "I had dreams," she told him quietly. "When I first found out that I was carrying your child I had dreams. I would close my eyes and I could see a little boy practicing sword play in a tilt yard."

"You'd teach him," Robb told her, a smile resting on his lips.

"Of course I would," Lenora agreed.

"And if it was a girl?" Robb asked.

"Then you could have taught her," Lenora joked.

Robb shook his head, "You would have taught her too," he told her. "You wouldn't have wanted your daughter to grow up in a world where a man had to protect her. You would have raised a warrior, just as Jaime raised you."

Lenora nodded. "What did you hope it would be?" she asked him. "A boy or a girl?"

Robb shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose I should say that I wanted a boy," he told her. "But even now, when I close my eyes all I can see is a little girl who looks just like you."

"Pity," Lenora told him more tears slipping out of her eyes, "I wanted auburn curls and blue eyes."

She looked like she was going to say something else, but the door to their chambers opened and the maester walked in. "Your Grace?" He called out, addressing Robb. Lenora quickly turned from the door, violently wiping at her eyes as if she could somehow hide her tears from the old man. "By your leave, Lord Edmure would like to start the funeral proceedings."

Robb watched Lenora, her back was still turned to him, but he could see what she was doing. Her shoulders were stiff, her back straight, her neck long. She was putting her armor back on. For a moment she had taken it off and let him comfort her, but she was putting it back on now.

He nodded, "Yes," he told the maester, waiting for Lenora to turn around so that she could take his arm. "We should start."

It was cold on the river with the wind. Lenora and Lady Catelyn stood close together, wrapped in their cloaks as Robb and the Blackfish stepped into the water to gently push Lord Hoster's boat into the current. He was covered in a cloak with House colors and sigil. On his stomach rested a long sword and his shield.

The Blackfish stood beside Catelyn and Robb walked around his mother, he had intended to stand on Lenora's other side, but his sweet little wife took two silent steps back, leaving him room to stand between her and his mother as his uncle Edmure stepped forward, bow in hand to shoot a fiery arrow at his father's boat and turn it into a funeral pyre.

His grip on the bow was good, his stance perfect, but the wind was not quite right. His first arrow flew to the left of the boat, missing it completely.

With a sheepish look back at Catelyn Edmure took a second arrow and shot again.

This one landed behind the boat.

The Blackfish sighed in disappointment and Robb chuckled almost bitterly, shaking his head. Lenora hissed out a warning to him to _be quiet_. Only Catelyn stayed silent.

The third arrow would miss too. They were running out of time. Lord Hoster's boat was already well down the river. Before the third arrow even landed and fizzled out in the water the Blackfish moved forward. Without a word he took the bow out of Edmure's grasp and shoved the new Lord of Riverrun back as if he were a small boy.

He lit the arrow and turned, watching the Riverrun banner in the wind before he loosed it. He did not look to see if it hit his target, he did not watch his brother's body go up in flames. He threw the bow back at Edmure and walked, his back turned to the river, off the dock.

Lenora shifted beside him and Robb turned to look at her. She was looking between Edmure and the Blackfish. No doubt wondering if they were to stay on the dock with Edmure or follow the Blackfish back to the castle.

Robb nodded after the Blackfish and she nodded as well, but not before shooting a pointed look at his mother. She didn't have to say anything, Robb knew what she meant. He sighed, but did as she wished, staying on the dock with his mother as she watched the boat round the bend. Everyone else had left for the castle by then save the two of them. She sighed once she could no longer see the boat, "I never thought he would die," she whispered to her son, finally looking at him.

Robb nodded, he understood what she meant. He had not believed it when he had heard the news that his father had died either. He was too strong to die, he too much more to do with his life. He was sure that his mother felt the same way about her father. "I'm sorry, Mother," he told her. He paused for a moment, unsure if he was only apologizing for the death of his grandfather. "For all of it," he added.

Catelyn looked at him for a moment, her lips trembling as if she were going to cry, "And me," she told him. "As well."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends, just your friendly neighborhood fanfiction writer. Back at it again.  
Thank you for stopping by and reading this chapter. I hope that you enjoyed it  
You can show your appreciation and enjoyment by writing a review in that empty, lonely little box down there.  
Go on ... make friends.  
To those wonderful friends who reviewed the last chapter. You are perfect. THANK YOU!

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Here's your new update!

 _Boomer1125_ : Sansa and Jon together? Intriguing. To tell you the truth I'm not a huge fan of that. I honestly love Sansa and Tyrion and I think could have done well together. But that's just my opinion. I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far!

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you!

 _darkwolf76:_ Yay! You're back. It's sad that you missed a chapter, but isn't it kind of fun to come back and realize that there's more than one chapter to read? It's like a bonus!  
I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. I loved writing as Margaery. I'm not going to write he point of view often, perhaps once or twice more. But it's tempting because she was a lot of fun. She's nice, but a bit manipulative and it's fun to write. Robb and Margaery would be an interesting pair. They would have won the war if that had happened. but I think at the moment Robb's got his hands full with Lenora.  
Yeah the last chapter was rough for Robb and Tyrion. And I'm sad to say that things aren't going to get much better for Robb in the next few chapters either. But I'm glad that you are enjoying the "emotional depth" I manage for my characters. It's a fine line between letting you guys into their minds and making it read like one of my journal entries from when I was in high school so it's good to know I'm walking that tightrope well.  
As for your questions. I'm keeping people guessing. Lenora _might_ end up with Jon. She _might_ end up with Robb. Robb _might_ die. Lenora _might_ end up with no one. Lenora _might_ die... just kidding on that last one. That definitely won't happen. But there's a thousand possibilities for how this story will end. And only I know the truth. So I'm trying to answer people's questions without straight up telling them how the story will end because then why would they read it.  
And because I like teasing people...

 _writingNOOB_ : Oh friend, don't worry. Whatever happens, I promise it will be enjoyable. I do not pretend that I am GRRM, I will not bring you on this long, shaping up to be eighty chapter story just to break your heart.  
Though it's nice to hear that I've ensnared you guys in a trap. That's fun.

 _thatnellegirl27_ : Thank you dear! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. Robb is one of my favorite dead characters too (him and Ned ... I'm a sucker for Starks). And that's why I love GRRM ... you're right, in any other author's hands Robb would be king. He's kind and he's good and he's just and he's honorable (and he's handsome ...) and GRRM took that cliche, shot a couple arrows at it, and stabbed it in the chest. And it broke my heart. But hooked me all the same.

 _DannyBlack70_ : Everybody really liked the Margaery point of view. That's amazing. I was worried that people would not appreciate my Margaery the manipulator take on her. But that's how I've always seen her in the books, in the show. I loved in the last season when she's tricking the High Sparrow and she tells him that she used to do good deeds just to be noticed doing good deeds. That could have been played as she was telling him what he wanted to hear. But I took it and ran with it in the last chapter. And I'm glad it worked.  
As for the Red Wedding. Don't worry, you guys are going to love it (or at least perhaps the aftermath of it).  
I promise.

 _Guest1995:_ Lenora would totally love Margaery and Olenna. They're all witty and sarcastic and a bit manipulative, but I truly believe that they all have good hearts. And together they could probably rule the seven kingdoms.  
To answer your question: yes. Lenora will see Tyrion again ... in about twenty(ish) chapters. The family's getting back together!  
The Red Wedding will turn out differently: We've still got forty chapters to go so at least we know the Freys won't kill Robb's wife. :)

 _sltsky96_ : I'm glad you enjoyed Robb and Lenora training! In the outline for that section it legitimately said _Robb and Lenora fluff bs (because it's been too long since these two laughed together)_ and out of that note to myself came that scene. But I think it was a good one, it showed that despite everything, the two of them are able to pull each other out of the darkness. It's an important thing.

 _janaoliver_ : You are too sweet! Thank you! And here I was happy with my 186 reviews. I figured that was doing pretty good. I'm averaging like four reviews a chapter (4.43 to be exact). But if you think it deserves more then I'm not going to argue with you.  
Thank you, I'm glad that this is one of the best Robb/OC fics you've read and I hope that it continues to be.

Alright, that's it my darlings. It's a bit late so I'm going to go to bed now.  
But I will see you back here tomorrow, perhaps?  
In the mean time if you really need a fix and you haven't read it already, you can hop on over to my Jaime/OC story ... there's only four chapters so far, but I hear they're pretty good.  
Chloe Jane.


	44. Chapter Forty-Four: Heirs

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Four: Heirs_

 _Arya_

"Jaqen H'ghar gave you three kills," Gendry was saying as they walked through the woods. She was sure that they were still walking toward Riverrun, but it was taking them a very long time to reach the Red Fork. They had been traveling for at least a fortnight and there was still no sign of it. She didn't want to have this conversation with Gendry, but she would rather have it than the one where he questioned whether she was leading them in the correct direction.

"Would you please shut up," she hissed at him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"No," Gendry told her with a smile. "I'm just trying to understand it, I swear. Jaqen H'ghar gave you three kills. You could have named anybody in the Seven Kingdoms. Anyone you wanted. _Dead_. All you had to do was give him the names. _Anyone_."

She sighed, she knew where he was going with this, there were nights when she repeated her list to herself before she went to bed and she realized that there were so many other people she could have chosen. _Better_ people. "Yes," she agreed with him. She knew that he would not shut up until he got to the bottom of it.

"You could have picked King Joffrey."

"Shut up."

"You could have picked Tywin Lannister."

"I wanted to make Harrenhal safe," Arya defended herself.

"Well you didn't do a good job of it, else we wouldn't have run away," Gendry pointed out.

"I know," Arya admitted angrily.

"You could have made the entire Seven Kingdoms safe," Gendry continued. "You could have returned to your family. You could have ended the entire war."

Arya was about to yell at him again. She didn't need him pointing out what a fool she was. She already knew. She knew she was a fool and an idiot. Jaqen H'ghar had given her a great gift and she had wasted it on three people she could have killed herself. She was a fool, but she did not need some bastard from King's Landing pointing it out.

The country was full to the brim with trouble caused by King's Landing bastards. She did not want to have to deal with Gendry's trouble.

She was about to tell him as much when they heard someone singing through the trees on the path above them. Gendry knew enough to get low and be quiet, but stupid Hot Pie looked as though he meant to walk up onto the road. Arya grabbed him and forced him to duck as the three of them hid behind a stone wall.

It was a small group, no more than five. But they were all armed. Arya watched them through a small hole in the wall as they walked closer. The man at the front of the group kept singing, Arya did not know the song, but she thought that she had heard it in King's Landing. Hot Pie wanted to steal from them. But of the three of them only Arya was comfortable with a sword and these were grown men. There was no way that she alone would be able to take them all on.

She was about to tell Hot Pie that when an arrow soared through the hole she was peeking through. She quickly darted to the side, bringing Hot Pie with her. After all the complaining he had done there was a part of her that wondered if she should let him die.

But knowing him he wouldn't even be able to die quietly.

And then they would be caught.

"What's hidden behind that wall?" the man that had been singing asked. "A lion? A wolf?"

"Just a dirty little common thing," another voice drawled out.

"Loose a few more shots," a third suggested.

"Don't!" Arya commanded, making a quick decision. If she made herself known they _might_ die. If they stayed hidden she was certain they would. Maybe these men would be able to help them find the Red Fork. It was worth the risk, perhaps, if only to save their lives. She ran away from the wall, standing far back from the path so that they would be able to see her, her sword held tight in her grasp.

The leader, the one that had been singing and another approached the wall they had been hiding behind. They both studied her as if they had never seen anything like her. And perhaps they hadn't. "Put your sword down girl," the leader told her.

She would not. She nodded her head to them, "You go on down the road," she commanded, hoping that they would not be able to hear the fear in her voice as she spoke to them. "Just keep on singing so that we know where you are. Leave us be and I won't kill you."

That made them laugh. Arya's jaw clenched and her grasp tightened on her sword. If she were a boy, if she were Robb or Jon they would have taken her seriously. If she were Robb's wife Lenora they would have taken her seriously. But she was small and they thought that she was no one. And they laughed at her when she gave them orders. "I mean it," she told them, brandishing her sword at them.

They laughed some more. "Generous," the second man told her.

The first man smiled at her as he pointed to her, "You're a dangerous person," he told her. "I like dangerous people." Then he dropped his voice to a whisper, "Why are your friends so shy?"

"What friends?" Arya asked, hoping that Gendry and Hot Pie would be able to remain hidden.

The second man sighed, "The fat one to your left and the lad beside him."

 _How did he know about them?_ Arya wondered as Gendry grabbed Hot Pie by the shoulder and forced the boy to stand beside her in view of the men. _Does he have some sort of sight_?

The first man watched them all for a moment before he jumped over the wall and came to stand in front of them. The second one with the bow followed behind him. And two more. "Three young ones on the run carrying castle forged steel?" he asked. "Did you escape from Harrenhal?"

"Who are you?" Arya asked, her voice trembling a bit. She did not want to die, but she would not let these men bring her back to Harrenhal. She would turn her sword on herself before that happened.

"Thoros of Myr," he told her. "And the fellow over here with the bow is Anguy." Her eyes narrowed, Thoros of Myr had ridden in the Hands Tournament when they had first arrived in King's Landing. Before everything had gone wrong. When Robert was hunting and her father sat on the Iron Throne he had sent Thoros and several other knights including Lord Beric Dondarrion after the Mountain. Clearly they had not been successful.

"No," Arya told him, shaking her head, she did not want them to know that she recognized them. "Who do you fight for?"

"The Brotherhood Without Banners," he told her.

She took a step back, heartened when she felt Gendry's body behind her. All those weeks in Harrenhal hearing people get tortured as they looked for the Brotherhood Without Banners and here they were. It was a band of outlaws who fought for no one but themselves. They said they meant to keep the Seven Kingdoms safe regardless of who the king was. But mostly they just stole and kidnapped people for ransom.

That would be even worse than returning to Harrenhal.

Thoros told them that they were going to go with them. He promised that no harm would come to them. Arya did not quite believe it, but with a sideways glance at Gendry she knew that they did not have much of a choice. Alive or dead they would be going with the Brotherhood.

And she much preferred alive.

Hot Pie was happy enough to go after they promised him brown bread and stew.

They brought them to an inn and under all the noise of the people Arya hissed at Gendry that she could not have them knowing who she was. If they believed she was a common girl they might let her go. If they knew she was Arya Stark they would ransom her for gold. And she was sure no one would match what the Lannisters were willing to give for her.

"No one has heard it from me since you told me, _Ari_ ," Gendry hissed back at her. "No one will hear now."

She believed him.

Unfortunately he was not the only one who knew her secret.

Once they had food in front of them Thoros set about trying to figure out who they were, "Now," he said, looking specifically at Arya, they had spent little time together, but it seemed clear to him who the leader of the group was. "How did three children -"

"We're not children," Arya interrupted him.

He sighed, "Very well. How did three young persons, such as yourselves, untrained in the art of war, escape from Harrenhal?"

"Gendry's a smith," Arya told them, though she instantly regretted it. She wanted to get away from the Brotherhood, not make them look like more attractive hostages. But she had already started, there was no backtracking now. "He stole us weapons."

"I see," Thoros told her, his tone sarcastic. "Fought your way out of Harrenhal did you?"

"He knows how to use a weapon," Arya lied. "And so do I." The men around her laughed at her, they didn't believe it. She should not have let her pride get the better of her, but she did. "My brothers taught me," she defended herself.

They laughed at her more.

She stood from her seat and drew her sword. She misliked it, it was heavier than needle, not as well balanced. She was not used to it. But she hoped it would do the job. Thoros stared at her sword for a moment before he stood up and drew his own sword. With a turn and a swipe of his sword he sent hers clattering to the ground without even putting down his horn of ale.

The men cheered as Arya sheepishly picked up her sword and sat back down at the table in front of him, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

"To your brothers," he toasted before looking between the three of them. "You can finish your meal before you go," he offered. "It might be a while before you see another."

"But you'll free us?" Arya asked suspiciously.

"I gave you my word," Thoros told her.

She looked at Gendry and Hot Pie and all three of them quickly stood up. She had no interest in finishing her meal. She wanted to be as far away from the Brotherhood as possible. They turned to head toward the door, but it was too late, someone was coming in.

Anguy led the way into the inn cheering as two men behind him struggled with a large man who wore a hood. Arya watched as Thoros moved closer to him and took the hood off, joking the entire time.

She only needed to see the scars to turn away from him. It was the Hound. She knew him and she was sure that he would know her. As Thoros taunted him Arya grabbed Hot Pie's shoulder and shoved him toward the door, Gendry followed close behind, and she walked last with her head down, praying to the Old Gods and the New that the Hound would be distracted enough not to notice three children walking by him.

She had made it five steps past him when he called out, "Girl."

She stopped walking, but she did not turn to look at him. Ahead of her Gendry and Hot Pie stopped walking as well. She would not look at him, but she heard him as he turned to Thoros. "What in the Seven Hells are you doing with a Stark bitch?"

She sighed. Thoros had given her his word. But she wasn't going to be set free now.

They would not let her go anywhere. That much she was sure of.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

After the Lord Hoster's funeral she went to see the boys. Willem and Martyn Lannister were her cousins, of a sort. Her great grandfather's brother's great grandchildren. She did not know them well, though she had met Martyn a few times as he had been a ward of her uncle Kevan. They were kept up in a tower cell for which she was grateful. She would have been heartbroken to see the two boys locked in one of the cells beneath Riverrun.

And they were _boys_.

They looked so frightened when the door to their cell opened. Their fear did not abate, even when they recognized her. She saw Willem's green eyes flick over her shoulder toward the guard who walked behind her. Ever since Jaime had escaped Robb had taken to having her guarded whenever she was not with him. He seemed to think that Jaime was going to march straight back to Riverrun to steal her from him.

She turned her head to glance at the guard over her shoulder, "You can leave us," she told him, her voice leaving no room for argument though she was sure that he would try. "As you can see, Jaime Lannister is not hiding in the cell, waiting to grab me."

The guard looked uneasy for a moment, either way he was disobeying an order. If he left he was disobeying Robb, if he stayed he was disobeying Lenora. She sighed, "I won't tell the king if you don't," she told him.

He left. After the door swung shut behind him she turned back to the boys and winked at them. "There," she told them, trying to soothe them. "We're quite alone now."

"You're the king's sister," Martyn spoke up, trying to seem brave, he was the eldest of the two brothers. A blush rose to his cheeks as if he thought that he had done something stupid. "King Joffrey I mean."

She nodded at him, "I am," she agreed, thinking that it was easier to lie to the boys than to explain the truth of it. That she knew that Joffrey was a bastard and only half her brother. The boys wouldn't believe it or understand it. And it would only cause them stress. "And you're his cousins. I believe that makes us family."

Martyn shrugged his shoulder, "We have never met the king," he told her.

"That's a good thing," Lenora assured him. The boy looked shocked at her statement, as if he still believed that at any moment someone would come to arrest her for treason. She smiled at them and settled herself down on the floor of their cell. She had brought a basket with her and now she placed it in front of her, opening it up. "Are you two hungry?" she asked them.

The boys shook their heads, but she knew that it was a lie. They only got two meals a day. A thin oatmeal to break their fasts and a small dinner. Of course they would be hungry.

"It's not poisoned," Lenora assured them as she reached into the basket and pulled out an apple. There was more appealing food in the basket, but Lenora wanted to leave that for the boys. "I promise you, I had thought that the three of us could have a picnic of sorts."

Willem was the first one to give in and move to the floor beside her. He gasped when he looked in the basket and saw the food she had brought them. "Martyn," the boy gasped out, turning to look at his older brother. "There's fish," he he told him. "Wrapped in bacon." He turned to look at Lenora, his eyes wide and excited, "I haven't had bacon since we came to war."

Lenora smiled softly at him and reached out, gently stroking his cheek. "Well have some now, little love," she told him, using a nickname that her mother used to call her when she was a child.

He looked at her, his jaw clenching, "I am not little," he told her. "I am fourteen years old. A man."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, trying not to make a big deal of the fact that Martyn had climbed off his bed and moved to the floor as well so that he could sit with her and his brother. She nudged the basket toward him so that he could reach in and take some food as well. "Of course you are," she told Willem with a nod. "It's been so long since I've seen you that I still think of you as the little cousins I once knew."

Willem nodded, "You got married," he told her, as if she was unaware of that fact. "And I grew up. Soon my father will have to find wives for Martyn and I. Though I imagine that he will wait until after the war. Before we came to squire for Lord Tywin he told us that once Robb Stark was dead he would find us wives."

"Willem," Martyn hissed at him as he cut into his fish. "Princess Lenora is married to Robb Stark. I am sure she does not want to hear about that."

Lenora smiled at him and nodded, "Thank you, Martyn," she told him. She looked between the two boys letting them eat for a moment before she asked them. "Are you treated well up here?" she asked.

"Well enough, my Lady," Martyn told her.

She looked at them, they had the pale skin of Lannisters, there was a bruise on the side of Willem's head. She reached out and touched the bruise with her index finger. "Where did this come from?" she asked.

"When we were captured," Willem told her. "It was much worse a fortnight ago."

Lenora smiled at him, he was a brave little boy who thought himself a man.

"Is it true?" Martyn asked her. "What they say?"

"I don't know," Lenora told him before she took a bite of her apple. "What do _they_ say?"

"They say that Robb Stark forced you to marry him," Willem told her before his older brother could say anything.

"False," Lenora told the boy with a smile. " _I_ agreed to marry him."

"They say that he can turn into a wolf when he wants," Martyn told her.

Lenora shook her head taking another bite of her apple. "Ghost story," she told him. "I assure you. I have been married to him for a year now and I have never seen him turn into a wolf."

"But he has a wolf," Willem told her. "The guards have seen it."

"Yes," Lenora told him with a nod. "Grey Wind." She watched the two boys for a moment, they looked afraid though they did not want her to see it. "He will not hurt you," she promised them.

"At Harrenhal they said that he feasted on the flesh of his enemies," Martyn told her.

"Why would he eat human flesh when he could have trout wrapped in bacon?" Lenora asked him. She shook her head. "He much prefers fish."

Martyn turned to look at Willem, "I told you," he hissed at his younger brother. "He won't eat us. That's not why he's keeping us alive. Princess Lenora would never let him. She's a Lannister, same as us."

"I'm a Baratheon," Lenora told him, her voice stern. It had not gone unnoticed that Martyn continued to call her _Princess,_ he did not recognize her husband's crown and because of that he would not call her _Queen._ She did not mind, a title was worth very little in a prison cell. But she would not have the boys thinking that she meant to help them escape somehow. "Now a Stark."

"Until Lord Tywin kills Robb Stark," Willem told her. "Then you will be a Baratheon again."

"Perhaps," Lenora agreed with him, though she did not look forward to that outcome. She sighed, "Well," she said, preparing to steer the conversation away from Robb's death. "Why don't you tell me the news from home?"

...

"Your Grace," Lady Sybell greeted her. "It's so good of you to come join us." Lenora forced herself not to roll her eyes at Lady Sybell as the woman quickly stood from her seat and sank into a low curtsy in front of her. Her daughters Jeyne and Eleyna quickly did the same.

Since they had sworn their allegiance to Robb and his cause the family had been given quite good chambers to stay in at Riverrun. And each day the Lady Sybell would invite Lenora to have tea with them.

And every day, because courtesy required it, Lenora would join them.

And each day, Lady Sybell would greet her as if it was a great surprise that she had come.

Lenora had found it all entertaining at first, but now she wished that the simpering would come to an end. She believed that the daughters were truly kind girls, but her uncle Kevan had poisoned her mind against the mother. She was sure that the woman would play her false if given the chance.

"Your invitation was most kind, Lady Sybell," Lenora told her with a tight smile as she sat down at her usual seat. The Westerling women waited until she was seated before they sat down as well.

"I was sorry to hear of Lord Hoster's death," Lady Sybell told her as she clapped her hands and sent their maids scurrying toward the table to pour the tea for everyone.

Lenora nodded, "It was quite hard for Lady Catelyn," she told the woman as she took a sip of the tea. It was the same one Lady Sybell always served, a light one with a flowery taste. Lenora had never tasted tea like that before and the first time she had it she had asked Lady Sybell where it came from. The older woman had smiled at her and told her that it was a family recipe, _we are Spicers, after all_ she had told her with a wink.

"I can only imagine," Lady Sybell agreed with her, watching Lenora over her own cup of tea.

"But the king and I are sure that Lord Edmure will do quite well as the new Lord of Riverrun, he'd been doing much of the work before as Lord Hoster got worse."

"Now that he's Lord of Riverrun he will need a wife, for sure," Lady Sybell said, her eyes darting toward her daughters, Jeyne in particular.

"He will," Lenora agreed with a nod. "Though at the present I fear he is much more concerned with defending his lands than he is with finding a wife."

"But surely the best way to defend his lands would be to have an heir," Lady Sybell countered.

Lenora felt a blush rising on her cheeks. Though she was not sure if it was embarrassment at not being able to provide and heir for Robb or if it was anger as Lady Sybell's so obvious scheming and refusal to let the subject drop.

"I have found, as I'm sure you did at the Crag, that having an heir does very little when your enemy has more men and better steel than you do," she said softly, her eyes never leaving Lady Sybell's face. "Heirs secure a future, but steel secures the land."

Lady Sybell was the first to drop her gaze, "Of course," she murmured. "You are quite right, Your Grace."

Lenora watched her for another moment before she nodded and turned toward Jeyne and Eleyna, "Lady Jeyne, Lady Eleyna," she greeted them, giving them a truer smile than she had given their mother. "I hope that the two of you have been enjoying your time here at Riverrun."

"Not as much as Rollam," Eleyna told her with a shy smile. Her eyes quickly dropped to her lap when her mother took a sharp intake of breath, as if to scold her daughter for speaking out.

Lenora smiled softly and nodded, "Rollam does seem to enjoy being Robb's squire," she admitted. "We've come to truly delight in him."

"Yes," Lady Sybell agreed with her, "You delight in Rollam and yet you have sent my eldest son, my brother, and my husband away from Riverrun."

She didn't ask the question, but Lenora knew it was there. _Why?_ She could have ducked her head and told her that Robb did not discuss his plans with her, that would have been what was expected. But she had sat for tea every day since they returned from Riverrun and every day Lady Sybell had needled at her, just on the right side of polite. Lenora was tired of doing what was expected of her. "Yes," she told the older woman as she finished her tea. "Because they swore loyalty and fealty to Robb. Being sent to battle during a war is what loyalty and fealty look like."

She slammed her cup down on the table a little too hard and the handle broke off. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to hide her embarrassment. And then she stood from the table, she knew it was rude, the other women were not yet done with their tea. But she could not and would not sit with them any longer today. "My Ladies," she said, nodding in turn to each of them. "Please excuse me. I must attend Lady Catelyn as well this afternoon."

"Of course," Lady Sybell agreed with a smile over her cup. "There is nothing to excuse. We hope that you will join us for tea again tomorrow. Don't we girls?" The girls nodded dutifully.

Lenora inclined her head and gave them a shallow curtsy, "Of course," she agreed.

They would invite her every day. And every day she would go. But she could not wait until Robb marched again and took her with him. Then she would be free of pretending to be courteous.

"Until tomorrow."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Margaery_

The girl was a fool. A sweet one. A kind one. But a fool all the same. She was a simple little thing who seemed afraid of her own shadow. And who was prone to blushing whenever someone spoke to her. A blush that, as Margaery's grandmother told her, with her red hair made her look like a pomegranate.

But they soothed the girl's worries and her blushes with lemon cakes and a fool named Butterbumps. Though nothing could have prepared the poor girl for Lady Olenna. Margaery smiled as her grandmother asked Sansa if she knew her son, _the Lord Pufferfish of Highgarden_.

"A great lord," Sansa had told the woman, her tone distant and polite. This girl had learned her courtesies and used them as armor now, Margaery could see that. Perhaps she was not as much of a fool as people had thought. As Margaery had thought.

"A great oaf," her grandmother corrected. "His father was an oaf as well. My husband, I loved him well enough, don't mistake me. He was a kind man, but an appalling oaf all the same. He managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no attention to where his horse was taking him." She paused, glancing at Margaery, "And now my of son is doing the same, only he's riding a lion instead of a palfrey. It is easy to mount a lion and not so easy to get off, I warned him."

Margaery smiled at Sansa when she looked at her, her mouth hanging open in surprise. The girl's cheeks colored red again, but she managed to shut her mouth and smile in return.

"Now," Lady Olenna said, leaning forward as she whispered. "I want you to tell us the truth of this royal boy. This _Joffrey_."

The girl's hand clenched into a fist, her shoulders seemed to shake. She was terrified. Margaery could not help but feel sorry for the poor girl. It was clear that Joffrey had not been as kind to her as the lords and ladies of court said. She almost stopped the girl from answering, but she knew that they needed to know the truth of it.

Her father was set on it. They had already been betrothed. She would marry Joffrey. But her grandmother would have her prepared first.

"I ... I ... I ..." the girl stuttered out, unable to make it past the first word.

"Yes," Lady Olenna lashed out, interrupting the girl before she could stutter anymore. "You ... you ... you. Who else would know better? The lad seems kingly enough, I'll grant you. A bit full of himself, but that would be his Lannister blood. We have heard some troubling tales, however. Is there any truth to them? Has the boy mistreated you?"

Margaery watched the girl, it looked like she was about to cry. Lady Olenna was not as sympathetic or as patient as her granddaughter. "Have the Lannisters stolen your tongue, girl?" she asked.

"Joff," the girl started, but she quickly shook her head. As she was no longer his betrothed she did not have the liberty to call him _Joff_ anymore. "King Joffrey is very fair, and handsome, and ... and he's as brave as a lion."

Margaery sat back in her seat, trying not to sigh in disappointment. If she had wanted to hear someone praise the king she could have talked to anyone else in the castle. But she wanted the truth of it. She _needed_ the truth of it.

"Yes all Lannisters are lions, and when a Tyrell farts it smells like a rose," Lady Olenna snapped, unable to hide her irritation. "But how kind is he? How clever? Has he a good heart, a gentle hand? Is he chivalrous as befits a king? Will he cherish Margaery and treat her tenderly, protect her honor as he would protect his own?"

She still did not look as if she would be able to answer. Margaery smiled at her, "I am to be his wife, Lady Sansa," she told her quietly as her grandmother yelled for Butterbumps to sing a song. The fool was out in the garden, not under the terrace where they sat. He would have to scream in order for them to hear his song. His voice would drown out any answer that Sansa was willing to give them. "I only want to know what that means."

"Tell us the truth," Lady Olenna urged her. "No harm will come to you."

"My father always told the truth," Sansa told her with a whisper.

"Lord Eddard?" Lady Olenna asked her. "Yes, he did have that reputation, but they named him traitor and took his head off even so."

"Joffrey," Sansa said, lifting her eyes for the first time to make eye contact with Lady Olenna. There were tears sparkling in her blue eyes, but she did not let them fall. There was a strength, a fire, and anger that had not been there a moment ago. Both Margaery and her grandmother leaned closer to Sansa now, believing that the girl would finally tell them the truth about her betrothed.

"Joffrey did that. He promised me he would be merciful, and cut my father's head off. He said _that_ was mercy and he took me up on the walls and made me look at it. The head. He wanted me to weep, but ..." her words stopped coming, she shook her head as if she had realized that she had said too much.

"Go on," Margaery prompted her softly. They were finally getting somewhere. She would not have the girl clam up now.

"I can't," the girl told her, her eyes darting between Margaery and her grandmother. "I never meant - my father was a traitor. My brother as well. I have traitor's blood. Please don't make me say more."

"Calm yourself, sweet girl," Lady Olenna commanded her.

But she would not.

"She's terrified, Grandmother," Margaery told her, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Sansa's forearm. The girl flinched away from her for a moment before she relaxed under her hand. "Just look at her."

Lady Olenna sighed and leaned forward even more, "Speak freely child, we would never betray your confidence, I swear it."

Sansa pursed her lips and looked down, for a moment Margaery was sure that the girl would give them nothing more. But then a tear fell from her cheek and she spoke again. "A monster," she whispered. Then she looked up, her voice stronger, "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf." Margaery and her grandmother exchanged a look, they had no idea what the girl was saying, but she continued, "And when I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my Lady. And the queen as well."

Lady Olenna nodded as she turned to look at Margaery, her eyes heavy with disappointment. "Ah," she said slowly. "That's a pity."

"Please don't stop the wedding," the girl pleaded desperately. Margaery snorted, she would be queen. Her father had married her to a man who had no interest in women to make it happen. And now she would be married to a monster. There was no stopping it. No matter what Sansa Stark told them. The girl did not need to worry.

"Have no fear," her grandmother soothed her, "The Lord Puff fish of Highgarden is determined that Margaery shall be queen. And the word of a Tyrell is worth more than all the gold in Casterly Rock. Even so, we thank you for the truth child."

She still looked like she was going to cry. Margaery glanced at her grandmother and the old woman nodded. Sansa Stark had been set aside by the king so that he could marry Margaery, but it was clear that King's Landing was not safe place for the girl. They would help her. They would help her leave it. And help her find a husband, one who would be much more gentle than Joffrey. Her grandmother had been the one to suggest Loras. And it was perfect, she had seen the way Sansa looked at her brother, it would be easy for the girl to love him. And he would be kind to her. And once the war was over they would head to Winterfell and be wardens of the North. As far as her grandmother was concerned, it would be a victory for everyone concerned.

 _Except the Lannisters_.

She leaned closer to the girl and smiled, "Sansa," she said, then she paused. "Can I call you Sansa? I do hope we can be friends?" the girl nodded, so desperate for friends in the Red Keep that Margaery was sure that she would have befriended the fool Butterbumps if given the option. "Would you like to visit Highgarden? Now that it has gotten colder the autumn flowers are in bloom and it is simply beautiful. There are groves and fountains, and singers every night at court. We have the best horses and pleasure boats that sail on the Mander. Do you hawk, Sansa?"

"A little," the girl admitted with a nod. Despite herself she was smiling. Margaery smiled back, she knew that she had painted a very pretty picture of Highgarden. She knew the girl would love it.

"You will love Highgarden as I do," she promised her. "I know it. And once you see it you will never want to leave. Perhaps you won't have to."

The girl's eyebrows raised at that, she was intrigued. "Hush my sweet," Lady Olenna scolded her, though she smiled. "Sansa has not even said if she wants to visit and you already have her married."

"Oh I do want to visit," Sansa argued with a nod. "But the queen would never allow it." She paused for a moment, the last thing that Lady Olenna had said finally sinking in. "Married?" she asked, looking between Margaery and her grandmother. "To whom?"

"To my grandson," Lady Olenna told her.

"Loras?" Sansa asked, unable to hide her excitement as she looked between the two women.

Margaery smiled, this was easier than she and her grandmother had expected. "Would you like that, Sansa?" she asked. "I've never had a sister, only brothers. But if you were to marry Loras than we would not only be friends, but sisters. Please say yes, please say that you will consent to marry my brother?"

Sansa nodded, "Yes," she told them, more tears coming to her eyes, though these ones were from happiness, Margaery was sure of it. "But when will we marry?"

"Soon," Margaery told her with a smile and a soft squeeze on her arm. "Once I am married to Joffrey you will go to Highgarden. My grandmother will take you. Right Grandmother?"

They both turned to Lady Olenna. She nodded and smiled a kind smile at Sansa, "I will," she told the sweet girl. "I will indeed."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello dears! How are you this evening?  
I hope you're fantastic! Now, I know I ask this every game day ... you can probably guess? Anyone watching the Cavs game tonight? It's playing now and I've got one eye on the television and one eye on my computer.  
Fingers crossed for a win!  
Any way, did you enjoy this chapter? I hope so. There were a lot of little things that will be BIG things in the future. Did you catch any of them?  
If you did, let me know it a review!  
If you didn't, still write a review, let me know how you felt about this chapter!  
big Big BIG thanks to those of you who reviewed on the last chapter! You are my favorites.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Glad you enjoyed it! Hope you like this chapter too!

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you dear! Fingers crossed that this one was equally as awesome.

 _POP:_ Thank you for your advice. But I kind of like the pace it's going at. It's a long haul type story. If it's that dull than you don't have to read it. But it seems to be working for most people.

 _janaoliver_ : Well I'm glad I shocked you with my quick update. On my weeks off of work I try to update this story every day. I think it usually ends up being about six days a week, but that's still pretty good. Especially for the size of these chapters. And thank you, it's nice to have the work appreciated, because you're right. I have put a lot of time into this.

That's all I've got for now friends.  
See you tomorrow?  
Chloe Jane.


	45. Chapter Forty-Five: The Horn Blew Again

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Five: The Horn Blew Again_

 _Tyrion_

His father did not waste much time holding a small council meeting. No more than a week had passed since Tyrion had risen from his sick bed and he was already being summoned to the Tower of the Hand for a meeting. He had smirked when he read his father's letter telling him the time and the place of the meeting. It was power grab if he had ever seen one.

Small Council meetings were historically held in the Small Council Chamber. But Lord Tywin had changed the location to show all the members of the Small Council who had the true power when it came to ruling the Seven Kingdoms. In this one change of location Tywin had made it clear that he would listen to the advice and the suggestions of the other members of the Small Council, but in the end it would be his will that was enforced.

Tyrion was not late when he finally made it to the meeting chambers in the Tower of the Hand, but three members of the council had already arrived. Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Petyr Baelish, and Varys were already there, standing silently in the doorway as if they were unsure of their next move. Tyrion smirked, never had he seen these men more confused and unsure of themselves than he did right now. He stood slightly behind them, waiting to see their next move before he took his.

If he shifted slightly he could look between the men and see the table. There was Lord Tywin standing beside his seat at the head of the table and then there were five chairs running down the left side. It would be a _small_ Small Council Meeting. Mace Tyrell had been named to the Small Council as well as Tywin's brother Kevan, but Tyrion had a feeling that neither would be attending this meeting. Ser Kevan was off leading the Lannister forces as they chased Robb Stark up north, and Mace Tyrell was no doubt eating and planning his daughter's wedding to Joffrey. The Lord of Highgarden was able to come, but Tyrion was sure the man would not.

 _No_ , he thought, _the fifth chair is for Cersei_.

Tywin stood at the head of the table for what seemed almost a minute after Tyrion arrived before he sat in his seat. And then he gave a silent nod, the only indication that the Lords of the Small Council were to be seated.

In the Small Council Chambers everyone had their own seat, one they had been sitting in for years. But in this new chamber the seats were fair game. Varys was the first to move, he nodded at Tywin, but before he could take a step, Littlefinger had walked around him and while nodding his head to Tywin the Master of Coin and new Lord of Harrenhal had walked as quickly as he could to the seat closest to the Hand.

Varys was next, sighing at Littlefinger's forwardness and no doubt rolling his eyes as he quietly moved to the seat next to Littlefinger, claiming the second closest seat to Lord Tywin.

Still Tyrion waited.

Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled forward slowly, not looking back at Tyrion as he took the third seat down the row, next to Varys. He would not like being so far from the Hand. It was common knowledge that the further down the table one was the less importance he had. But there was nothing that could be done of it now.

All three men were looking at Lord Tywin, but they turned as they heard Cersei's shoes tapping against the floor as she walked in. Cersei paused for just a moment, not looking down at Tyrion, but instead studying the men and where they had chosen to sit. No doubt she believed herself more important than anyone. But she had more grace and just enough courtly courtesy to not demand one of them give her his seat.

Instead she walked to the seat next to Grand Maester Pycelle and with as much queenly grace as she could she picked up the chair and slowly walked past all the Lords, around behind Lord Tywin and sat the chair directly to his right. Tyrion did not miss the way Tywin smirked at his daughter, as if proud of her for her action.

She nodded to their father before she turned her head to look at Tyrion, wondering what he would do next. In fact, all the Lords present at the meeting turned to look at him.

Tyrion smiled at them and slowly walked toward the only remaining chair. He had neither his sister's height or strength to carry the chair. Nor did he have her inclination to sit any closer to their father than he absolutely had to. So he tilted the chair back and struggled as he slowly dragged the chair from its spot to the one at the foot of the table, directly across from Tywin. The chair's legs scraped against the floor, only serving to further accentuate how little Tyrion wanted to be near the Hand of the King.

As he took his seat Tyrion looked at the rest sitting at the table. Lord Tywin and Cersei looked annoyed at his actions. Littlefinger looked amused. Varys and Pycelle seemed incredulous, as if they could not understand his actions. Though Tyrion knew for a fact that Varys would know exactly why Tyrion had dragged his chair to the foot of the table.

They were still silently watching him after he had seated himself. He waited a moment, but when it looked as though no one intended to speak he spoke up himself.

"Intimate," he told his father as he looked around the new chambers. "Lovely table. Better chairs than the old Small Council Chamber. Conveniently close to your own quarters." He nodded his approval, not that his father ever would have wanted it. "I like it."

Lord Tywin was not amused. And he had no more patience for Tyrion's playing around. He seemed to roll his eyes before he looked between the five people sitting before him. "What news of Jaime?" he asked them, his voice was quiet and deadly.

Tyrion felt his shoulders tense. He knew that voice. If he were a kinder man he would have warned the other members of the council. Lord Tyrion was asking a question he already knew the answer to. And what was more was that he was setting the men and his daughter up for failure. Whatever answer they gave him would not be good enough.

Tyrion had experienced that voice many times.

He knew it well.

Varys looked at Littlefinger to his right and Grand Maester Pycelle to his left before he turned to look at Tywin, "Still Robb Stark's prisoner, my Lord Hand," he told him. "Unfortunately."

"Wrong," Tywin answered. He did not shout the word or hiss it like a snake. His face was hard, but his tone of voice calm when he said the word. All the same it cut through the room easily, each man seemed to hang his head in shame. Only Tyrion and Cersei kept their heads raised, looking up at their father with obvious excitement.

 _When did Father free him?_ Tyrion found himself thinking as he looked at his father. _Is he here in the Red Keep now_?

Tywin reached into his doublet and pulled out a scroll of parchment, "And your son, Ser Jaime Lannister, has managed to escape Riverrun with the unlikely aide of Lady Catelyn Stark," he read out loud to the council though he did not tell them who the letter was from. He stared at them again, taking the time to meet each set of eyes in turn. "I will ask again," he told them. "What news of Jaime?"

Everyone dropped their gaze this time. Looking at the table in front of them rather than meeting Lord Tywin's displeasure. Even Cersei looked away. Tywin sighed, rolling his eyes. "Twenty thousand unwashed northerners have known about his escape for weeks," he told them, almost scolding them. "Collectively you all control more spies and informants than the rest of the world combined. Do you mean to tell me that none of you has any notion of where he is?"

"We are trying, my Lord," Varys told him, not looking up from the table.

"No," Lord Tywin thundered at him. "If you were trying my son would have been returned to me. Try _harder_."

Varys nodded silently.

Cersei looked up at her father, "What news of Lenora, Father?" she asked him. Her voice little more than a whisper. "Did _your_ informant give any word of her? Is she alright?"

Tywin did not look at her when he answered, "I have no new information on your daughter."

Tyrion smiled at him, "Then perhaps you should follow your own advice, Father," he called down from his end of the table. "And try harder."

Tywin was not amused by this either. He turned toward the three Lords of the Small Council to his left. "What else do you have?" he asked.

Varys spoke up quickly, eager to please, "Robb Stark and most of his bannermen are in Riverrun for the funeral of his grandfather, Lord Hoster Tulley. In Stark's absence, Lord Roose Bolton holds Harrenhal." The Spider shot a teasing look at Littlefinger, "Which would seem to make him _Lord of Harrenhal_ in practice if not in name."

"Let him have it," Tywin commanded with a wave of his hand. He did not want to waste time with these men's games. "The name serves our purposes much more than that useless pile of rubble." Tyrion raised his eyebrows as he watched Littlefinger smirk. What had they planned? Littlefinger had always been a grasping little man. He would not settle for a name and a title if it did not come with the land.

Tywin answered his silent musings a moment later. "The Lord of Harrenhal will make a worthy suitor for the widow Arryn."

And there it was.

Lord Petyr looked very proud of himself as he lifted his gaze to Tywin and spoke. "I am extremely grateful to you, my Lord," he told Tywin. "Lady Arryn and I have known each other since we were very young. She has always been," he paused, "positively predisposed to me."

"But would she have you?" Varys bit out, raising his eyebrows.

"She had me a few times before, Lord Varys, and voiced no complaints," Littlefinger assured him.

"Bedding is not wedding," Cersei told him. "Even a cow like Lysa Arryn might be able to grasp the difference."

"If successful," Pycelle interjected, "the courtship would make Lord Baelish the acting Lord of the Vale."

"Only until Lord Robert, Jon Arryn's son, comes of age," Littlefinger assured him. "He's only a boy. I will see to it that he grows into a man. A man who is King Joffrey's most loyal subject and a fast friend to us all."

Tywin nodded, "You will leave for the Eyrie as soon as possible," he commanded. "And bring Lady Lysa Arryn into the fold. Then the Young Wolf can add his own aunt to the list of people who have taken up arms against him."

"Far be it for me to hinder _true love_ ," Tyrion interrupted. "But Lord Baelish's absence would present certain problems. The royal wedding may end up being the most expensive event in living memory." He was so caught up in ruining Littlefinger's plans that he did not notice the self-satisfied smirks that his father and his sister wore. "Summer has ended, hard times are upon us. Not a good time to leave the Crown's finances unattended."

"Fully agreed," Tywin told him. Tyrion smirked, happy that he had thwarted whatever plans Littlefinger had. He did not trust the man, but he would rather have him in King's Landing where he could be watched than in the vale with mad Lysa Arryn. "Which is why I am naming you the new Master of Coin," Tywin continued.

"Master of Coin?" Tyrion repeated, sure that he had misheard his father.

"It would appear to be a position that you are well suited for," his father told him, his tone nonchalant.

Tyrion leaned forward, hoping to make his father listen to him. "I am quite good at spending money," he told his father, begging him with his eyes to listen. "But a lifetime of unlimited wealth hasn't taught me much about managing it."

"I have no doubt you will prove equal to this challenge," Cersei sneered at him.

Tyrion turned to his father as if to ask for help, but as his father smiled at him he realized he would get no assistance from him.

He was on his own.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Theon_

He could hear the war horns. They had been blowing them all night. It seemed from all sides of the castle. There was not a single corner of Winterfell that he could hide in. Wherever he was he could hear the war horns calling out to him. Alerting him that his enemy was near.

They did not blow them constantly, it would have been too easy for him to tune them out, just as he had done with direwolves' howls, if they had. No, they blew them occasionally. Far enough apart that there were times when Theon thought he was safe. But close enough together that he never stopped listening for them.

And they did so for days.

He had given up eating. He had given up sleeping. Even now, during the darkest part of the night, during the hour of the wolf, Theon sat straight up in a chair, staring at the fire, waiting for the next horn.

 _The hour of the wolf_ , he thought with a snort. It was fitting really. He had named a wolf King. He had betrayed a wolf. He claimed to have killed two little wolves. And now, during the hour of the wolf his end would come.

The horn blew again.

"I don't care," he growled at Maester Luwin who had come to see if he was alright. "I don't care how many arrows they feather me with. I don't care how many spears they run through me. _I_ will kill that horn-blowing cunt before I fall."

That was the only thought that was getting him through the night at this point. He did not care if he died tonight, but he knew that he would rip the horn from the man's hands and plunge his sword through his heart before he did. It would be his last act.

His finest act.

The horn blew again.

"They want you to know you're surrounded," Luwin told him, his voice quiet.

Theon closed his eyes, he was sure that Luwin spoke quietly so that if the horn blew again he would be able to hear it. Luwin did not want to drown out the sound. Luwin wanted him to hear it, he wanted him to suffer. Maester Luwin was no friend of his.

"I know I'm surrounded," Theon snapped at him. "I've known it for days. They've made sure that I knew it for days. I know I'm surround. I know it because I stood on the battlements this afternoon and I saw that I was surrounded."

"They don't want you to sleep," Luwin told him, once again stating the obvious. "They want to suck your spirt."

 _They already have_ , Theon thought. But he said, "Thank you, wise Maester Luwin. Thank you for explaining siege tactics to me."

The horn blew again.

Twice.

"No word from my father?" he asked.

"No."

"Send more ravens," Theon ordered. Surely his father would care that they were going to lose Winterfell. Surely his father would care that he was going to lose his last living son and heir. Surely his father would send more men to defend the keep. King Balon wanted to call himself King of the North, surely he knew that in order to rule the North he had to keep Winterfell.

But of course he didn't. His father was a squid, King Squid he had heard one of the Winterfell men call him before he had him beheaded. King Balon knew nothing of ruling the North. He knew nothing of how stubborn the northmen were. All he knew was the ocean. All he knew were ships. All he did was raid. "Send more ravens," Theon ordered again when he realized that Maester Luwin had not immediately left his chambers.

"You killed all the ravens," Maester Luwin told him, his voice full of judgement as he sat beside Theon.

Theon clenched his jaw, he was insulted by the man who dared to sit in his presence. Luwin was nothing but a maester. Theon was a _prince_. He wanted to shout at the man to stand up, that he could only sit if he was asked. But something stopped him, the memory of Robb and Lenora. The two of them rarely felt the need to remind others who they were. They had ruled and led with an easy grace that Theon had been jealous of. He thought he would find it when he was named prince of the Iron Islands. He thought it came with the title.

It had not come to him though.

The horn blew again.

"The first time I saw Winterfell -" he started to say.

The horn blew again.

A sharp intake of breath, a clenching of the jaw. He tried again. "The first time I saw Winterfell, it looked like something that had been here for thousands of years. And would be here for thousands of years after I was dead. I saw it and I thought, _of course_ Ned Stark crushed our rebellion and killed _my_ brothers. _Of course_. We never stood a chance against a man who lives here."

" _Lord Stark_ went out of his way to make this castle, this place your home," Luwin scolded him.

"Yes," Theon agreed sarcastically, "My captors were so very kind to me. You love reminding me of that. Everyone in this frozen pile of _shit_ has loved reminding me of that. Do you know what it's like to be told how _lucky_ you are to be someone's prisoner?" he asked.

Of course Maester Luwin did not. He was not a prisoner. Involuntarily Theon thought back to Lenora in the months after her mother and brother took Ned Stark captive. She had been a prisoner, with just as much freedom as Theon had been given at Winterfell as a child. Less perhaps as Robb had her followed everywhere by a guard. They had told her that she was lucky to be a prisoner. _He_ had told her how lucky she was to be a prisoner.

Perhaps he regretted that now. Though he had enjoyed it then. Oh how he had enjoyed making her feel like the Starks had made him feel for years. There were moments when he had even been cruel to her.

The horn blew again.

Yes, perhaps he did regret it now. If only because he knew that after everything he had done, after every betrayal - when Robb came for him he would be coming for Theon's head. And the one voice that would be able to get through to Robb Stark, the would voice that would be able to gentle his mind and still his hand would not do so for Theon.

He knew that.

"Do you know what it's like to be told how much _you_ owe _them_?" he continued. He did not turn to look at Maester Luwin. The old man had loved Lord and Lady Stark. Had helped raise their children. He would not have any sympathy for Theon now.

No one would.

"And then to go back home to your real father -"

The horn blew again.

And again.

And again.

Theon pushed himself out of his chair and onto his feet, running from the fire toward the window. "I will kill that man!" he yelled. "I swear to the Drowned God, the Old Gods, the New Gods. To every fucking God in every fucking heaven! I will kill that man!"

The horn blew again.

"Theon listen to me," Maester Luwin entreated softly. "I serve Winterfell. Now Winterfell is yours, so I serve you." Theon turned to look at him, his jaw tight. He wondered how much it hurt the old man to say it out loud. How much it bothered him to be standing in what had been Lord Eddard Stark's solar addressing the likes of Theon Greyjoy. How much he hated himself for having to admit that he serves a _squid prince_.

 _Don't worry, old man,_ he thought. _I'm sure I hate it now just as much as you_.

"I am bound by oath to serve you," he said, driving home his point.

 _Bound by oath_ Theon sneered in his head. _And wouldn't you just love to break that oath. Wouldn't you, Luwin_? "What is your counsel, most trusted friend," Theon ground out through his clenched teeth. "What would you have me do?"

"Run," Luwin told him. That one word its own sentence. Its own command. "Five hundred northmen wait outside your walls. You have twenty men. You can't win. It's darkest now. Run. Run now."

Theon pretended to consider it for a moment. Perhaps he even truly considered it. "There's nowhere to run," he told the old man. "I'll never make it back to the Iron Islands. And even if I did, even if by some miracle I slipped through the lines and made it home - I would be a coward." He shook his head, "The _Greyjoy Who Ran_. The shame of the family." He turned away from Luwin and threw himself back into his chair facing the fire.

He had allowed himself to hope. He had allowed himself to believe, if only for a moment, that Maester Luwin, who had served Ned Stark so well, would have an answer for him. A _real_ answer. A way to escape the mess he had created. But he had been wrong to hope. For the old man did not have an answer for him. The man did not have sound advice or good counsel. He had a fool's hope.

 _Run_ he said.

He advised Theon to do the one thing that he could not do. The one thing that he could never do.

 _Run_.

The horn blew again.

"Don't go home," Luwin told him. "Join the Night's Watch." Theon lifted his head. He had never wanted to be a Black Brother. He had never wanted to join the Night's Watch. But there was an appeal to it. If he joined the Black Brotherhood all his sins and betrayals would be forgiven. He would be safe from his father. From Robb. From the fucking horn blower. And the fucking men camped around him. He would be safe. _No one_ would be able to touch him.

 _Except for Jon_ a voice whispered at the back of his head. _Jon would be able to kill you_. And what would they do to Jon after he did? He was already part of the Night's Watch, how much more would they make him suffer?

The answer was that they wouldn't.

Jon would kill Theon and no one would do a damn thing about it.

"Once a man has taken the Black he is beyond reach of the law," Maester Luwin continued. He came to stand behind Theon's chair, his hand on his shoulder. A gentle touch. Theon relaxed under the Maester's touch, it had been so long since someone had been gentle with him that even a hand on the shoulder was calming. "All his past crimes are forgiven."

Theon shook his head, "I won't make it to the wall," he swore to the maester. "I won't make it ten feet past the Winterfell gates."

"There are ways," the old man told him calmly. "Hidden passageways so that the Lords of Winterfell might escape. The roads will be dangerous, but with a little luck -"

The horn blew again.

Maester Luwin walked away. Theon turned to watch him. He knew what the old man was about now. He was not giving Theon counsel as the maester of Winterfell, sworn to serve the Lord of Winterfell. He _wanted_ him to leave. He _wanted_ Theon to run away to Castle Black so that the _true_ Lord of Winterfell could return. Well Theon was a prince of the Iron Islands and the North. He would not run. And he would not give up on Winterfell. And if the old man refused to serve him well then he would kill him.

Or have him killed.

Perhaps in the morning.

"The Night's Watch is an ancient, honorable order," Luwin continued, not realizing that Theon had already turned against him. Not realizing that Theon _knew_ what he was up to. Theon let him weave his web. It was better to listen to the old man than that blasted horn. "You'll have opportunities there."

Theon stood from his seat and advanced on Luwin, "The opportunity for Jon Snow to cut my throat in my sleep?" he growled. "You would like that, wouldn't you old man?"

"The opportunity to make amends for what you've done," the maester corrected him.

Theon turned away from him and moved toward the fire. "I've done a lot haven't I?" he asked, staring into the flames. "Things I've never imagined myself doing."

Maester Luwin shook his head, walking toward him. His chain rattled as he moved. "I've known you for many years, Theon Greyjoy," he told him. "You're not the man you're pretending to be." He paused, letting his words sink in. "Not yet."

"You may be right," Theon told him with a nod. "But I've gone to far to pretend to be anything else."

The horn blew again.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

For a moment when he had seen Locke he thought that he was in luck. Locke had once been his father's man, perhaps he still was. Jaime was sure that they would cut the chains on his wrists, give him a fresh horse and send him on his way to his father or to King's Landing. Where he could send Sansa Stark home to her mother.

Jaime had decided that he _would_ return Sansa Stark to her mother. And the little one too if he could find her. It was unlikely to win him back any of his honor, but the notion of keeping faith when they all expected betrayal amused him more than he could say.

And he knew that it would please Lenora.

That was the truth of it really. He would release the Stark girls and return them to their mother so that when he came to rescue Lenora she would be pleased with him. Pleased enough to leave her sham of a marriage and return home to her family. Oh the girl believed herself in love with Robb Stark, but Jaime was sure that she was not. The boy had tormented her into loving him, being cruel and kind at times until she thought herself in love. He was sure of it.

He was sure Lenora would see that too once she was away from him.

But then Locke had told him that the _King in the North_ would take his head off if he let the Kingslayer go and Jaime realized that he had it wrong. Locke _had_ been his father's man. But no more. "You and your father lost too many wars," Locke told him with a dark chuckle. "We had to trade in our lion skins for wolf pelts."

"And men say _I_ have shit for honor," Jaime muttered.

Locke had not liked that. At his signal, two of his men grasped Jaime by the arms and he drove a mailed fist into Jaime's stomach. AS he doubled over grunting, he heard the wench protesting, "Stop! He's not to be harmed! Lady Catelyn sent us, an exchange of captives. He's under my protection!" Locke hit him again, driving the air from his lungs.

Brienne reached for her sword, but the men were on her before she could lay her hands on it. Four men beat her into submission.

At least Locke gave them a horse. One for the two of them. They were tied back to back and thrown onto a horse. Pulled at the back of the column of men as they rode toward Harrenhal. "I hope you're pleased," Jaime sneered at her as the afternoon wore on. He spoke quietly, just loud enough for her to hear him over the men's singing. _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ was the song. He had always hated that song. "If you had armed me they never would have taken us."

"You _were_ armed," Brienne snapped at him.

She had the truth of it. Though Jaime would never admit it. "I was in chains if you recall," he reminded her. "I am unmatched when my hands aren't bound."

"All my life I have been hearing, _Jaime Lannister - what a brilliant swordsman!_ " Brienne told him. She paused for a moment, "You were slower than I expected." Her voice was full of disappointment. "And more predictable."

"I had been sitting in a dark cell for the past year!" Jaime defended himself. "I was chained and starving."

"And I'm a woman and I was still beating you," the wench cut in.

"You were _not_ beating me," Jaime assured her.

"Maybe you were as good as people said," Brienne allowed him. " _Once_. Or maybe people just love to overpraise a famous name."

She hurt him. This was the only excuse Jaime had for what he did next. Later he would tell himself that he had been doing the right thing in warning her, but he knew the truth. She had hurt him and he lashed out. He did not have a sword, all he had were his words, but he knew that they would be enough. "When we make camp tonight, you will be raped, and more than once. None of these fellows have ever been with a noble woman, even one as ugly as you. You would be wise not to resist."

" _Would I_?" her voice was tight. She had hurt him and he had hurt her. "Is that what you would do if you were a woman?"

 _If I were a woman I would be Cersei_ he thought. "They'll knock your teeth out," he warned her.

"Do you think I care about my teeth?" she fired back.

"No," he answered honestly. The wench was braver than that. She would not care about her teeth, but he had a feeling that she would care about her maidenhood. "If you fight them they will kill you," he warned her. "Do you understand? I'm the prisoner of value, not you. Let them have what they want, what does it matter?"

"What does it matter?" she snapped at him, her spine stiff against his back.

"Close your eyes," he suggested. "Spread your legs. And pretend they're Renly."

"If you were a woman you wouldn't resist?" she asked him. "You wouldn't fight them? You'd just close your eyes? You'd let them do what they wanted?"

Jaime shook his head, "If I was a woman I would make them kill me," he told her truthfully.

...

They tied them to trees when they made camp that night. Close enough to their fire to under their watch. Close enough to the fire to smell their warm dinner. Close enough to their fire to hear their songs. But not close enough to speak to any of them.

But not so far that he couldn't hear Locke as he approached them, "I'll take the big bitch first," he said. "And then once she's good and wet you lot can finish her off."

Jaime prayed that she would not fight them, he prayed that she would take his advice and let them do as they wished. And he watched with wide eyes as she opened her fat mouth. "My Lord, I am Brienne of Tarth," she told him as if that would make a difference. "Lady Catelyn Stark commanded me to take Ser Jaime Lannister to King's Landing."

"Catelyn Stark is a traitorous cunt," Locke told her as his men untied her from her tree. "I was ordered to take the Kingslayer alive. No one said shit about you."

She turned to look at Jaime. Her blue eyes wide and pleading. She wanted him to help her. But there was nothing he could do. He had helped her when he warned her to stay quiet and she did not listen. He looked away from her, he was unable to meet her blue eyes as she stood there silently accusing him.

She did not need to say a word, he could read it in her eyes. _Coward_.

She fought them and they beat her before they dragged her off into the dark so that Locke could have her without having to look at her face. He could hear her screaming and fighting them as they disappeared through the trees.

He closed his eyes and sighed. She was so much like Lenora. She had the same strength, the same stubbornness, the same drive. If it had been Len that he had escaped with, Len who had been captured with him, would he have told her to stay quiet and let the men do what they wanted with her? Would he have stayed safe and quiet tied to his tree while the men raped and brutalized his niece?

 _No_.

He opened his eyes and turned toward Locke, "You know who she is, don't you?" he asked. Locke turned to look at him, he did not say a word, but it was clear that he was intrigued. "She's Brienne of Tarth. Her father is Lord Selwyn Tarth. Heard of Tarth?" Locke moved closer to him. "They call it the Sapphire Isle. Do you know why?" Another step closer. "Every sapphire in Westeros was mined on Tarth." A lie, but he was sure that Locke wouldn't know it. "Sapphires are gemstones," he said when he did not seem to be reaching the man. "The blue ones."

"I know what they are," Locke snapped.

"Lord Selwyn would pay his daughter's weight in sapphires if she was returned to him. But only if she's alive. Her honor, _intact_."

Locke stared at him and for a moment Jaime worried that his lie had not been enough. _Too little, too late_. But then the man sighed, "Bring her back," he yelled into the dark woods. Jaime turned his head away, hiding his smile. He would only win the game if Locke did not realize that he was playing.

Jaime watched as they tied her back up to the tree. Locke watched him. "Your father," he whispered, squatting down so that he was closer to Jaime's level. "Would he pay your weight in gold to get you back too?"

"You'd be a rich man until the end of your days," he promised him, not meeting Brienne's eyes as she watched him. "And your sons after that. And _their_ sons after that. Lands. Titles. You'll have them all. The North can't win this war. You're a smart man, you understand that." Locke was leaning closer to him, Jaime was sure that he had him. The traitor would be begging him to speak to his father on his behalf at any moment. "We have the numbers, we have the gold," he continued.

"Aye" Locke agreed. "You have those."

"Fighting for a loosing cause is admirable," Jaime told him with a nod. "But fighting for a winning cause is far more _rewarding_."

"Hard to argue with that," Locke agreed.

He had him. Jaime would have to move gently so that Locke didn't realize it. But he _had_ him. "Now that we're speaking together, _man to man_ , I was wondering if you need to keep me chained to this tree." He spoke that slowly, but sped up the next part to reassure the man. "Not that I'm asking to be released from my restraints. But if I could sleep _lying down_ my back would thank you for it."

Locke nodded, "Unchain Ser Jaime from the tree," he ordered his men. He stepped back and watched Jaime for a moment. "I suppose you will be wanting something to eat," he asked.

"I'm famished, actually," Jaime told him with a nod and a smile.

Locke looked over his shoulder, "Bring a bird over here," he ordered his men. "And a carving knife." He helped Jaime to his feet and led him a few feet away from his tree where there was a board lying across two stumps. "Will this work as a table?" he asked.

"Yes," Jaime agreed with him. "That will do quite nice -"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. One of the men shoved him in his back and another kicked his legs out from under him. A third man yanked his chain and used it to pull his arms in front of him, his hands resting on the makeshift table.

Locke advanced on him with a knife.

 _They mean to scare me_ Jaime thought to himself, trying to reassure himself. _They want me to piss my breeches and beg the Mother for mercy._ He would not give them the pleasure.

Locke grabbed his hair and yanked his face around to look at him. "You think you're the smartest man there is," he sneered down at him. "And everyone alive has to bow and scrape and lick your boots." The blade was dangerously close to Jaime's eye. Jaime closed his eye, as if that might keep the man from digging his blade into it.

"My father," he grunted.

"If you get into any trouble the only thing you need to do is say _My father_ ," Locke mocked him. "And that's it. All your troubles are gone." He paused for a moment. "Have you got something to say?" Jaime stayed quiet. "Careful," Locke warned. "You wouldn't want to say the wrong thing. You're nothing without your daddy. And your daddy ain't here. Never forget that."

He pulled the knife away from his face and let go of his hair. Jaime sighed in relief as Locke turned to walk away. But he was too soon. Or perhaps Locke heard his sigh and changed his mind. Jaime would never know.

"Here this should help you remember."

Moonlight ran silver on the edge of the blade, the firelight was gold in its reflection as the blade came shivering down, almost too fast to see.

And then Jaime screamed.

* * *

Author's Note:

This chapter was ridiculously fun to write. There was no Robb or Lenora in it, just mentions of them, but this is one of my favorite recent chapters.  
I mean, lets start with that small council meeting ... I've always loved that scene and I've been itching to play with it.  
And then there's Theon's quick descent into paranoia and insanity. It was wonderfully entertaining to get into the mind of a crazy person.  
And then poor Jaime and his hand. But so much fun! (Plus I really love Jaime and Brienne ... they're a fun pair to write about.)  
Anyway, now that I've gushed about this chapter it's your turn. Did you like it? Go gush, the box is right there. And I love to read your reviews! They make me even happier than this chapter did!  
Ginormous thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter (even though I think fanfiction did that thing again where it didn't notify anyone that I had updated ... seriously Fanfiction ... get your shit together!)

 _Salvatoresister887:_ Hahahaha! You guessed it! Lady Sybell is giving Lenora Moon Tea. I didn't want to be too obvious with it, but I wanted it to be something that people could look back on later and go, "Oh!" And Lenora would have never had it so she wouldn't know what it tasted like, but I imagine it would taste floral. Because it's also called Tansy Tea and Tansies are flowers, bright yellow ones to be exact.  
And it had to be Lady Sybell who gave it to her, it's not a far cry from her character in the books, I changed the girl she was giving it to.

 _JustDroppinIn:_ You guessed it too! It is Moon Tea which means that Lenora won't be getting pregnant any time soon. And I did say that if Robb died there would be a child. So it would seem that I'm not going to kill off Robb.  
But then I said that Lenora is going to end up hanging out with Jon around the time of Battle of the Bastards. I never said Robb would be hanging out with Jon.  
Hmmm am I just playing with you guys? Who knows? (Oh right! Me! I know!)  
I don't want to give too much away, so I won't tell you where you're close and where you're way far off and overthinking. But I will say this ... one of those theories is pretty damn close. (And don't worry, we're not far off from finding out which one. I think if I've got my posting schedule right and nothing goes crazily wrong ... not this week and not the next week (because I'll be working) but the week after ... it'll be time for a wedding.)  
I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Guest_ : They might have a baby ... but not now. Lady Sybell's seeing to that.

 _HPuni101:_ I'm glad! I like where it's heading too (if I do say so myself). And I'm happy to oblige you with updates after stressful days of work. Hopefully today wasn't too bad, but if it was ... here's an update! (And if it was a great day ... here's a cherry on top of that sundae!)

That's all I've got for now! Thank you so much friends!  
See you tomorrow!  
Chloe Jane.


	46. Chapter Forty-Six: A King's Mercy

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and if you don't read my other story you don't know, but my husband and I now own three cats! (Little Miss, our first one named after the Spin Doctors song Little Miss Can't Be Wrong. And the two new ones: Kingslayer, from GoT obviously, and Seven of Nine, from Star Trek.)  
Both my husband and I are _cat ladies_. And we're also complete nerds.

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Six: A King's Mercy_

 _Tywin_

His children always seemed to interrupt him right in the middle of an important letter. The Westerling woman had written him about his son Jaime's escape almost a fortnight ago and he was just now getting around to writing her back. Of course he would not send the raven to her. He would send it to the maester at the crag. Who would translate it into a code that he and the Lady Sybell had already determined, something benign and boring that no one would think to keep from her. And then he would send the woman a letter. A letter with Tywin's coded instructions inside.

He needed to get this letter done quickly. Because after that was the letter to the Freys.

But here was a his daughter, sitting across the desk from him. Staring at him as if she expected him to stop running the kingdoms so that the two of them could have a chat. She had said that she wished to speak with him when she walked into the room, but she had done little speaking as of yet.

And Tywin was under the assumption that she could speak without him having to put down his quill. But it seemed that he was mistaken. He sighed, "You wanted to speak to me," he said without looking up from the parchment in front of him.

"Yes," Cersei told him. "About Jaime."

"What about him?" Tywin asked her, continuing with his letter.

"I wanted to make sure that we're doing everything we can to get him back."

This made Tywin look up from his letter. He had raised an idiot for a daughter if she thought that he was sitting on his laurels while his heir was missing somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Of course he was doing everything to get Jaime back, and once he had he would force his son to leave the Kingsguard and become his rightful heir again. There was very little Tywin Lannister did for nothing, rescuing his son was not for nothing. There was a price that would need to be paid for that.

 _And Lannisters always paid their debts_. Jaime would have to pay his as well.

He sanded his letter so that the ink would dry. "When Catelyn Stark took Tyrion prisoner what did I do in response?" he asked as he dumped the used sand on the floor and began to fold up his letter.

"You started a war."

"And if I would start a war for that lecherous little stump what do you think I am doing for my eldest son and heir?"

Cersei smiled ruefully at him, "For a year he's been her captive and you've done very little, Father," she reminded him. "A year. But I'm sure, now that he's freed himself you are doing whatever you can."

Tywin shot her a sharp glare, she had spent too much time with Tyrion while he was fighting. She never spoke to him like that. "Whatever I can," he agreed as he sealed the letter and reached for another one, this one would go to the Freys.

"You're still here," he said after a minute. He thought she wished to talk about Jaime. They had talked about Jaime. Yet she remained in her seat, staring at him.

"Yes," she admitted, not at all ashamed to be wasting his time.

"Why?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I was deserving of your confidence?" she asked. "And your trust? Not your sons. Not Jaime. Not Tyrion. But me. Years and years of lectures on family and legacy," she scoffed. "The same lecture really, only with tiny tedious variations. Did it ever occur to you that your daughter might be the only one listening to them? Living by them? That _she_ would have the most to contribute to your legacy? The legacy that you love so much more than your _actual_ children."

Tywin did not look at her. He would not give her the satisfaction of having him address her little tantrum. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw her fists clench. "I'm begging you to let me in, Father," she told him. "I'm here. Tell me your plans. I'll help."

He looked up at her and sighed, leaning back in his chair, "Alright," he told her and he could tell by the look in her eyes that she thought she had won. "Contribute."

"The Tyrells are a problem," she told him, sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

"The Tyrells helped us defeat Stannis Baratheon," Tywin told her sternly. "The Tyrells helped save this city. The Tyrells helped save your life. Your children's lives."

She would not look at him, a sign that she felt scolded, a hold out from when she had been a stubborn little child. "They mean to marry Sansa Stark to their son Loras," Cersei admitted to him. Though that was not the Tyrells' sin, at least not in Cersei's eyes. Tywin could tell because when she spoke next her voice was more forceful. "And Margaery's sunk her claws in Joffrey. She knows how to manipulate him."

"Good," Tywin told her with a nod. She looked up at him, surprised. "I wish _you_ knew how to manipulate him." He watched his daughter for a moment. "I don't distrust you because you are a woman," he told her. "I distrust you because you are not as smart as you think you are. You've allowed that boy to ride rough shot over you and everyone else in this city."

He turned back to his letter to the Freys. This would be the end of their conversation and he hoped that it would teach Cersei a lesson, that she would not come into his solar again, complaining that he would not let her help clean up the mess that she had created.

"Perhaps," she started, her voice tight. "You should try stopping him from doing what he likes."

He looked up at her and stared silently. After a moment she dropped her gaze from his face back to the desk in front of her. He nodded, "I will," he promised her.

...

It did not take him long to get his chance to put an end to his grandson's ridiculous behavior. No more than a few days after Cersei had come to see him, His Grace had sent for him. _He was required in the Throne Room_.

Tywin could smell Cersei all over it. Since naming him Hand of the King Joffrey had not once asked to see his grandfather. He had not once come to a Small Council meeting. He had not once shown any real interest in running his kingdom. But now, Tywin _was required_. His daughter had whispered in the boy's ear. He knew. But it would not matter, by the end of their conversation Tywin was sure that he could bring his grandson to heel.

"Your Grace," he greeted once he was standing below the dais. He inclined his head, he refused to bow to a boy less than half his age. Especially not his grandson, no matter how big of a crown he had on his head. Tywin Lannister had put the boy on his throne, he could take him off of it just as easily.

"Grandfather," Joffrey greeted him.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Tywin asked him.

"Yes," Joffrey told him with a nod. He shifted in the throne, it looked terribly uncomfortable. "I would like a report on the meetings of my Small Council."

"You're welcome to attend the meetings of your Small Council, Your Grace. Any and all of them." It was pointless to say that. This _boy_ would never attend a Small Council meeting unless he were forced. For a moment Tywin felt sorry for the fact that Lenora had not been born a son. She would have been _perfect_. She was moldable. And smart. She would have been at every Small Council meeting, desperate for information She would have known about all the battles, helped plan some of them. There would not be a single thing that slipped past her sharp mind and her notice.

But there was something to be said about having an aloof King. Tywin was able to run the country the way he wanted to with little argument from the crown. It was a fine line between letting the boy do whatever he wanted, terrorize whoever he wanted to entertain him and keep him from ruling and giving him enough to pay attention to that he did not ruin everything Tywin had built for him.

"I have been very busy," Joffrey sneered at him. "Many important matters require a King's attention."

 _Yes_ Tywin thought, looking at his grandson. _And I have attended to them all_. "Of course, Your Grace," he agreed.

"You've been holding the Council meetings in the Tower of the Hand," Joffrey told him, as if that were the reason that he had not attended any. "Instead of the Small Council Chamber." He paused and when Tywin did not respond he raised his eyebrows, "May I ask why?"

 _He looks like Jaime_ was Tywin's thought as he stared at the self righteous boy in front of him. _And acts like Cersei._ "The Tower of the Hand is where I work," he told him. "The walk over here would take time. Time that I could spend more productively." _Running your kingdom_ was the unspoken end to that sentence.

"So _if_ I wanted to attend the meetings I would now have to climb all the stairs in the Tower of the Hand?"

 _Lazy_ , Tywin thought. Again he was struck by how much easier this would be if Lenora sat on the throne. Or a boy version of her. _Laziness is no excuse for misruling_. Why was it that when the Gods supplied his grandchildren with their brains they had given all the useful things to the firstborn daughter? Joffrey was too spoiled to be useful. Myrcella was a girl, a simple one at that. And the youngest - Tywin never could remember his name - was too soft by half.

He had one truly useful grandchild and she was a girl. A girl in the North being used by his enemies.

He sighed and kept his eyes on his spoiled grandson as he walked slowly up the steps to the Iron Throne. Once he was on the dais and towering over Joffrey he answered the boy's question. "We could arrange to have you carried," he told him.

Joffrey looked down, shamefaced. _Good_.

"Tell me about the Targaryen girl in the East. And her dragons."

"Where did you hear about this?" Tywin asked. He was sure that not even Cersei would have whispered about the dragons in her son's ear.

"Is it true?" he asked.

"Apparently so."

"Don't you think that we should perhaps doing something about it?"

Tywin sighed, "When I was Hand of the King under your father's predecessor all the skulls of all the Targaryen dragons lined this room," he told the boy. He could still picture them now. "And the skull of the last of them was right here." He pointed to his left, just below the dais. "It was the size of an apple."

"And the biggest was the size of a carriage," Joffrey told him. "I know. Lenora brought me to look at them once. She shoved me into one of their mouths. Told me that the skull could still eat me."

 _Would that it had_ Tywin thought, pursing his lips and looking up at the heavens.

"Yes and the creature it belonged to died three thousand years ago." Tywin paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "We've been keeping an eye on the girl," he told his grandson. "She seems content to travel from slave city to slave city _rescuing_ the poor and downtrodden. The slavers and masters of Slaver's Bay will keep her busy until her last day."

"But how do we _know_?" Joffrey question him.

"Because we have been told as much," Tywin thundered at him. "By the many experts who service the realm by counseling the king on the _many_ subjects about which he knows _nothing_."

"But I haven't been counseled," Joffrey complained.

"You are being counseled at this very moment," Tywin assured him.

"I should be consulted about such things," Joffrey told him.

"From now on I will ensure that your are appropriately consulted on the important matters," Tywin agreed with him. Though he would make sure that the king was consulted only _after_ Tywin had dealt with the matter. He had heard whispers of how Joffrey had tried to deal with Lenora's marriage to Robb Stark and the northern victories over the Lannister armies. The last thing he needed was his grandson attempting another foolish and ultimately useless murder attempt.

He turned from the king and began to walk down the steps of the dais, pausing for just a moment to turn his head and incline it to the throne, "Your Grace."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Arya_

Anguy the archer was kind enough to her. Though he had taken to calling her little lady and laughing at her whenever she acted unladylike. They would not give her a horse, they gave Gendry one, and she was sure that they would have given her one if she were a boy. But she was a _little lady_ and little ladies had to ride with someone else.

Some days she rode with Thoros, sometimes with Anguy. Never with Gendry, Thoros told her that she could not ride with Gendry, they did not trust them not to ride off alone. And _the woods aren't safe for Ned Stark's daughter_.

They claimed they were keeping her safe. They claimed they were her friends. But she felt like a prisoner even without the chains.

But Anguy was nice to her. She liked riding with him best. When he wasn't calling her _little lady_ he called her _skinny squirrel_. She was not sure what was worse. But when they rested in the evening he let her try out his longbow. But no matter what she did she was unable to draw it.

"You need a lighter bow, little Lady," he told her on their first night with a kind, friendly smile. "If there's seasoned wood at Riverrun might be I'll make one for you."

Tom, the singer that traveled with them, he called himself Tom Sevenstrings, looked up at him. "You're a young fool, Archer," he scolded Anguy. "The Lady isn't joining us. When we go to Riverrun it will be to collect her ransom and go. There won't be no time for you to sit around making bows. Lord Hoster still hangs outlaws last I checked."

"Lord Hoster is dead," Anguy told him.

"Well that son of his is no better," Tom argued. "Can't trust a man who doesn't like music."

"It's not music he doesn't like, Tom, it's you," Thoros had cut in, ending the argument.

For a moment Arya was worried, what if Robb did not agree to pay her ransom? She was no knight. She was no use to his cause. What if Robb did not want to pay for her? And what about her mother? Would her mother still want her after what she had done at Harrenhal? Thoros seemed to notice her fear because he smiled at her, as kindly as he could, "Don't worry, Little Lady," he told her. "We'll get you back to your family."

And she believed him.

...

On the second night they stayed at a place called High Heart, it was a hill so tall that from the top Arya felt as though she could see half the world. Around its brow stood a ring of huge pale stumps that could have only belonged to weirwoods - thirty-one in all.

Tom Sevenstrings told her that High Heart had been sacred to the children of the forest and that some of their magic still lingered there. And their ghosts too. The ones that had died when the Andal king named Erreg the Kinslayer had cut down their grove. He meant to scare her, she was sure of it. But Arya was a wolf. She would not be scared by magic. Or ghosts.

Yet even so, the hair on the back of her neck stood up that night. She had been asleep, but the storm woke her. The wind pulled her blanket right off her and sent it swirling into the bushes. It was then, when she went to retrieve it that she heard the voices.

Beside the campfire she saw Tom, Thoros, and the man named Lem talking to a tiny little woman, a foot shorter than Arya and older than Old Nan. She was stooped and wrinkled. Her hair was as white as snow. And her skin was whiter still. Hiding in the bushes in the dark Arya could not be sure, but she thought the little woman's eyes were red.

"The Old Gods stir and will not let me sleep," the white woman told the men by the fire. "I dreamt I saw a shadow with a burning heart butchering a golden stag, aye. I dreamt of a man without a face, waiting on a bridge that swayed and swung. On his shoulder perched a drowned crow with seaweed hanging from his wings. I dreamt of a roaring river and a dead woman that was a fish. Beside the river was a dying wolf. All this I dreamt, and more. Do you have gifts for me, to pay for my dreams?"

She scared Arya, and Arya did not want to hear anymore. So she snuck away, back to her spot beside Gendry and she lay back down. She lifted her hands to her ears to block out the whispers. The woman had to be wrong. Arya was sure of it. _A dead woman that was a fish_ , it was stupid.

When she woke the next morning the little white woman was nowhere to be see. As the men saddled their horses, Arya asked Tom Sevenstrings if the children of the forest still dwelled on High Heart.

The singer chuckled, "Saw her, did you?" he asked.

"Was she a ghost?"

"Do ghosts complain of how their joints creak, Little Lady?" he asked her, soothing her with his question. "No she's only an old dwarf woman. A queer one, though, and evil-eyed. But she knows things she has no business knowing, and sometimes she'll tell you if she likes the look of you."

 _But did she tell the truth?_ Arya wanted to ask.

...

On the third night she and Gendry got in a fight. Not a true fight, they were playing. It started when Gendry told her what he knew of Thoros of Myr. Apparently, Arya was not the only one who recognized the red priest from King's Landing.

"He won't remember me," Gendry was telling her, "but he used to come to our forge. My master always scolded him about his flaming swords. It was no way to treat good steel, he'd say. But Thoros never used good steel. He'd just dip some cheap sword in wildfire and set it alight. It was only an alchemist's trick, my master said, but it scared the horses and some of the greener knights."

Arya thought about the time she had seen him ride in the Hand's Tourney. She wasn't sure about the wildfire, it was supposed to burn green wasn't it? Thoros' sword had been red, red and orange flames. But she did not want to argue with Gendry, and she did not want to tell him that his master was wrong. So instead she wrinkled her nose, "He's not very priestly is he?" she asked him in a whisper.

"No," Gendry agreed with her. "Master Mott said Thoros could outdrink even King Robert. They were peas in a pod, he told me, both gluttons and sots."

It was treason to talk about a king that way. Even a dead one. And besides Robert had been her father's friend. _Even_ if he did drink a lot. "You shouldn't talk about King Robert that way," she warned Gendry.

"I wasn't, I was talking about Thoros," Gendry told her with a smirk. He was quiet for a minute, his shoulders tense and jaw clenched. "Master Mott said it was time I made my first longsword," he told her, thinking back to a time when they had both still been in King's Landing. "He gave me a sweet piece of steel, and I knew just how I wanted to shape the blade. Only Yoren came, and took me away for the Night's Watch." He shook his head, "Master Mott has probably already used the steel," he told her, his voice quiet and filled with regrets.

"You can still make swords if you want," Arya told him. She wanted nothing more than to make the regret leave his voice. "You can make them for my brother Robb when we get to Riverrun."

"Riverrun," Gendry murmured, the regret still there as he looked at her. "You'll look different there. Like a proper little girl." Arya squirmed slightly under his gaze. To tell it true she had spent so look in breeches and a tunic that she wasn't sure she would be comfortable in a dress. He shrugged his shoulders, "You might even smell better."

She punched him, "At least I don't stink like you."

She went to punch him again, but Gendry caught her hand. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him and they rolled across the forest floor. He was very strong, but she was quicker. Every time he tried to hold her still she wriggled free and punched him. Gendry only laughed at the blows, which made her mad. He finally caught both her wrists in one hand and started to tickle her with the other so Arya slammed her knee between his legs.

They were both covered in dirt when Anguy found them. He laughed as he dragged them both back toward the fire.

Tom Sevenstrings caught sight of them, all covered in dirt and chuckled before he started to sing.

 _My featherbed is deep and soft,_

 _and there I'll lay you down._

 _I'll dress you all in yellow silk,_

 _and on your head a crown._

 _for you shall be my lady love,_

 _and I shall be your lord._

 _I'll always keep you warm and safe,_

 _and guard you with my sword._

"Are we certain this one is a highborn Lady?" Anguy had joked as he forced Arya into a seat at the fire.

Thoros nodded, "Aye, though not like most. She's a lady like the princess was. I was there as the princess grew up in the castle. She was always covered in dirt too. Both highborn. Both Ladies. Both much more interesting than the rest."

Lem shook his head before he looked at Gendry, "You want to fight, fight with me," he warned him. "She's a girl, and half your age! You keep your hands off of her, you hear me?"

"She started it!" Gendry defended himself.

"I started it!" Arya shouted at the same time.

The men laughed. And Tom winked at her as he finished his song.

 _And how she smiled and how she laughed,_

 _the maiden of the tree._

 _She spun away and said to him,_

 _no featherbed for me._

 _I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,_

 _and bind my hair with grass._

 _And you can be my forest love,_

 _and me your forest lass._

 _..._

It was on the fourth afternoon that they finally found Lord Beric Dondarrion, who called himself the Lightning Lord. He was living in a bunch of caves in the middle of the woods. A place where Thoros promised her that neither _wolves nor lions come prowling._

They brought the Hound in and tore his hood off. Arya wondered why they were after him, he was Joffrey's guard. Why was the monstrous man so far from the capitol? "You look like a bunch of swineherds," the Hound growled at them when his hood came off.

"Some of us were swineherds," Anguy answer him. "And some were tanners. And masons. But that was before."

"You're still swineherds and tanners and masons," the Hound argued. "You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?"

"No," she heard a voice call out in answer. She turned to see a man making his way through the crowd. He had a strip of fabric tied around his head, covering one eye. Still, even injured and dirty he looked familiar. As the men stepped aside to let him through Arya was sure that _this_ was Lord Beric. "Fighting in a war makes you a soldier."

"You've seen better days," the Hound greeted him.

"And I won't see them again," Lord Beric told him, gesturing toward his covered eye.

The Hound watched him for a moment, "Stark deserters. Baratheon deserters. You are not fighting in a war, you're running from it."

 _And what are you doing?_ Arya wanted to yell at him. _You're far from your king! Have you been running too?_ But she kept her mouth shut.

"Last I heard you were Joffrey's guard dog, but here you are a thousand miles from home," Lord Beric shot back. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "Which of us is running?"

"Untie these ropes and we'll find out," the Hound growled. "What are you doing?" he asked, for the first time reminding Arya that _he_ too would have known Lord Beric from King's Landing. "Leading a bunch of outlaws?"

"Ned Stark charged me with bringing your brother to justice," Lord Beric informed him.

"Ned Stark is dead," the Hound yelled. Arya flinched, and she felt Gendry lean closer to her, bumping his shoulder against hers in a type of comfort. "King Robert is dead," the Hound continued. "My brother is alive. You are fighting for ghosts."

"That's what we are," Lord Beric told him. "Ghosts. Waiting for you in the dark. You can't see us, but we see you. No matter whose cloak you wear. Lannister. Stark. Baratheon. If you prey on the weak and the Brotherhood Without Banners will hunt you down."

They accused the Hound of murder. He denied it. They accused him of killing children and babes. He denied it. They accused him of murdering the Targaryen children. He denied it. "If you want to cut my throat get on with it," he yelled at them. "But don't call me murderer and pretend that you are not."

And that was when Arya had had enough. She could not take it anymore. Every charge they lay before him he denied. Or blamed on his brother. But she had one charge that he would not be able to deny. And that was why she was here, she realized. The Old Gods had brought her here to the Brotherhood so that she could get justice for her friend. "You murdered my friend Micah," she yelled at him. "The butcher's boy." The Hound did not turn to look at her, but Lord Beric watched her carefully.

"He was twelve years old," she continued. "He was unarmed. And you rode him down. You slung him over some horse like he was a deer."

She waited for him to deny it. "Aye," the Hound told her, nodding. "He was a bleeder." He looked at her for a moment. "I was Joffrey's sworn shield. The boy attacked the prince."

"That's a lie," Arya yelled at him. " _I_ attacked Joffrey. Micah just ran away."

"Then I should have killed you," the Hound told her, turning away from her as if she were some insignificant thing. "Not for me to question princes."

Lord Beric looked at her for a long moment, she held her breath, praying to the Old Gods and the New that he would punish the Hound. "You stand accused of murder," he told the Hound, finally turning away from her. "But none of us know the truth of the charge. Only the Lord of Light can do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat."

"Who will it be?" the Hound asked. He turned to Thoros, "Shall we see if your firegod really does love you, priest?" he asked. "Or you Archer, are you useful with a sword in your hand? Or is the little girl the bravest one here?"

Lord Beric turned to look at her, for a moment Arya wondered if they would have her fight the Hound. She was angry enough to do it, but she did not have the skill. He would kill her, she knew it. But as she looked at the Hound she realized she did not care. She would fight him anyway. As if reading her mind Lord Beric nodded, "Aye," he told the Hound. "She might be. But it's me you'll be fighting."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

It was the Smalljon who woke him up. He entered their bedchambers, shoving past the guards in a way that only an Umber could do. To his credit, he tried to be quiet. Whispering Robb's name instead of speaking it. Trying to ensure that Lenora would continue to sleep as he spoke to his king. "Your Grace," he hissed at Robb. And then when Robb did not stir, "Your Grace," again. Robb sighed, he had hoped that he had dreamed the voice in his chambers, the one that did not belong there but he had not.

"Your Grace," the Smalljon whispered again.

Lenora stirred beside him. "Shh," Robb whispered to her, quietly soothing her. He was laying on his back, Lenora curled against his side. He stretched, lifting his left arm up and covering his eyes, yawning before he opened his eyes and squinting in the darkness. "Umber?" he asked trying not to growl at the man. He knew that he would not have woken him up if it weren't absolutely necessary.

The Smalljon nodded, politely averting his eyes from Lenora's naked body as Robb sat up in the bed. He was a good man, the Smalljon would not look at his wife, he would not leer at her. But Robb did him a favor and pulled the furs back up over Lenora's body. He leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her head before he climbed out of the bed and moved toward his trunk so that he could pull out a pair of breeches and a tunic.

"What is it?" he asked the Smalljon as he pulled the tunic over his head.

The Smalljon glanced back toward Lenora and the bed, "Forgive me, Your Grace," he told him, returning his gaze to Robb. "But it would be best not to discuss this here. If your Lady were to wake up, it would only upset her."

And that was how he knew something was terribly wrong. His men liked Lenora. They knew how strong she was, both with a sword and with her emotions. If the Smalljon thought that Lenora would be unable to handle it then it was _bad_.

With one last look at Lenora he nodded toward the door that would lead to his solar. The Smalljon nodded and followed him. "What happened?" he asked as soon as the door closed behind them. "Is it the Kingslayer? Has he been returned?"

"No," the Smalljon told him, shaking his head. "It's the Karstarks."

Robb groaned, "What happened?" he asked. "What has Lord Rickard done?"

"I'm not sure," the Smalljon admitted. "My father has him. He sent me to find you. He told me to bring you to the council chamber."

"Your father has him?" Robb asked, too busy trying to discern what had happened to notice the bedchamber door opening. "And where did your father find him?"

"The tower cells," the Smalljon admitted after a moment.

Robb watched the man in front of him, trying to understand why Lord Karstark had been in the tower cells. Who in those cells would have been important to the bannerman? All their most valuable prisoners were in the cells underneath the castle. Though, of course, their most valuable prisoner had escaped.

He could only think that Lord Rickard wanted revenge on Jaime Lannister for the deaths of two of his sons. Robb's mother had stolen that revenge from him. They had plenty of Lannister men in their cells, but there were only two _true_ Lannisters at Riverrun.

He heard a gasp from behind him and he turned to see Lenora standing in the bedchamber doorway, the furs that he had covered her with were now pulled off the bed and wrapped around her. Keeping her warm and shielding her body from the Smalljon. "The boys," she whispered, no doubt coming to the same conclusion that Robb had come to. Probably a bit faster than he had. "He's attacked the boys."

Even though the Smalljon had told Robb that he had no idea what Lord Rickard had done, he glanced down at the floor as Lenora took a guess. "That would be my assumption as well, Your Grace," he told her softly.

Robb moved to stand in front of her. One of his hands went to her waist, the other fell to her cheek, gently cupping it in his hand. "Go back to bed, Nora," he instructed her. She shook her head. "Go back to bed," he ordered again. "I will go see about this. And then I will come back to you. I will tell you what happened." He paused, "You do not _need_ to see this, Nora."

She stared at him and for a moment he thought that she would agree with him, that she would listen to him. But then she spoke, "No."

He sighed, "Then go get dressed," he told her, knowing that there would be no arguing with her now that she had made up her mind.

"You'll wait for me?" Lenora asked, glancing almost distrustfully between the Smalljon and himself.

"You have my word."

She nodded and turned, closing the door to their bedchamber behind her. Robb turned to look at the Smalljon. "You might not know exactly what happened, but you know how bad it is," he told his man. "Do not let her go into that room to be caught unaware. What do you know?"

"It's bad news, Your Grace," the Smalljon admitted.

And it was. He sent his squire to wake up his uncle Edmure, the Blackfish, and then as an afterthought his mother. Then all of them went to the council chambers. It was the middle of the night and the castle was cold, many of the fires had burned out or were only embers now. Lenora had a cloak wrapped around her shoulders and she stood close to his side. She held onto his left arm and stood, just a step, behind him. Almost hiding behind him.

His mother stood a bit behind Lenora. Edmure and then the Blackfish stood to his right. Robb had no idea what they were going to learn. But his guards' tight faces had him worried.

They carried the corpses in upon their shoulders and laid them beneath the dais. It had been quiet in the chamber before they brought the bodies in, but it was silent now. Robb could hear Grey Wind howling from their chambers. "He smells the blood," Lenora whispered. "Even from there."

He nodded, agreeing with her.

The boys lay naked and wet on the floor in front of him. They were almost grown, but death had shrunken them. They looked small, and helpless. He heard Lenora's gasp when she recognized them. She had suspected that it was the boys, but he knew that she had allowed herself to hope that she was wrong. But now that she looked down at her cousins she could not hope anymore.

"Cover them up," Robb growled, not taking his eyes off the boys. No doubt they had been asleep, naked and thinking themselves safe when they were attacked. The blonde one, Robb could not remember his name though he was sure Lenora knew it, looked as though he had been caught unaware. The only damage to him was the red slash across his throat, from one ear to the other. Perhaps he had died almost peacefully in his sleep.

But the boy with the light brown hair had struggled. He had fought. His arms bore slashes where he'd tried to block the blades, many of the cuts were still leaking blood. He had finally been finished by a sword ripping through his stomach. "Cover them up," he ordered again when no one moved. He would look at their faces, they deserved as much from him, but Lenora did not need to stand there staring at their injuries. The Blackfish moved forward, taking off his own cloak to spread it out, covering the boys' bodies though he left their faces uncovered.

He finally turned away from the bodies to glance at Lenora. The Smalljon had suggested that they don their crowns for this. The candlelight danced a dark dance on the bonze. Shadows danced in her eyes as well. She had visited the boys just the other day, and now they were gone.

His Lords bannermen and captains stood in the chamber before him in various states of dress. For Lenora and his mother's sake the men were all dressed, though many were not wearing their armor. Robb lifted his eyes from Lenora and turned toward the front of the room. "Smalljon," he said, his voice softer than he felt. "Tell your father to bring them in."

Smalljon Umber turned silently to obey and quickly moved from the room.

It was too long before he returned, Robb's eyes fell back on the faces of the dead boys before him. He only lifted his eyes when he heard the doors open, as the Greatjon led his prisoners through the doors many of the other men in the chamber stepped back to give them room. It was as if treason could somehow be passed by a touch, a glance, a cough. And perhaps it could.

If it weren't for the chains and the lack of weapons the prisoners and the captives would have looked very much alike. They were all big men, every one. They wore thick beards on their faces and long hair. All were clad in mail hauberks or shirts of sewn rings. They all had heavy boots on their feet and thick cloaks on their shoulders.

Robb stared at them for a minute before he spoke, "Five?" he asked, looking at the silent prisoners. "Is that all of them?"

"There were eight," the Greatjon told him. "We killed two taking them, and a third is dying now."

"It took eight of you to kill two unarmed boys?"

"It was not murder, Your Grace," Lord Karstark spoke up, at least having the grace to look a bit ashamed by his actions. "Vengeance. Any man who steps between a father and his vengeance asks for death."

Robb glanced back at his mother, his eyes narrowing into a glare, this was almost as much _her_ doing as the Karstarks'. Willem and Martyn Lannister would have still been alive if she had not set Jaime Lannister free. He only turned from his mother when he heard Lenora whisper, her voice soft and weak, "Vengeance?" She closed her eyes and shook her head as she echoed Lord Rickard's words.

"I saw your sons die in the Whispering Wood," he told Lord Rickard. "Willem Lannister did not kill Torrhen. Martyn Lannister did not slay Eddard. This is not vengeance. This is murder. Your sons died honorably on a battlefield, with swords in their hands."

"They _died_ ," Lord Rickard answered. "Killed by the Kingslayer." He nodded to the bodies in front of him. "These two were his kin."

"They were boys!" Robb yelled at him, his voice echoing through the hall. His shout was so loud, so angry that his bannermen seemed to step away from him. Even Lenora seemed to flinch away from his anger, though a moment later she was back, just as close as before her hands shaking with what he assumed was rage. "How old were they?" Robb asked Lord Rickard. "Fourteen? _Squires_."

"Squires die in every battle," Lord Rickard defended himself.

"Die fighting, _yes_. These boys gave up their swords in the Whispering Wood. They were captives, locked in a cell, asleep, unarmed ... boys. _Look at them!_ "

"Tell your mother to look at them," Lord Karstark growled, looking past Robb and Lenora to glare at Catelyn. "She slew them, as much as I."

Lenora lifted her hand from his arm for a moment before she placed it back on his upper arm, sliding down his sleeve gently. A comforting motion. Robb did not yell when he spoke next, he was calm. "My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your murder. Your treason."

"How can it be treason to kill Lannisters, when it is not treason to free them?" Lord Karstark asked, his voice harsh and angry. "Has Your Grace forgotten that we are at war with Casterly Rock? Has your Lannister wife whispered in your ear and made you forget? In war you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that, boy?"

" _Boy_?" The Greatjon yelled before slamming his mailed fist into Lord Rickard's stomach and sending him falling to his knees on the floor.

"Leave him," Robb commanded. Those single two wards causing the large man to move away from Lord Karstark.

"Aye," Lord Karstark sneered, "Leave me to the king. He means to give me a scolding before he sets me free. That's how he deals with treason, our King in the North." He turned to smile at Robb, he had lost a tooth, his smile was bloody and red. "Or should I call you the King Who Lost the North, Your Grace?"

Robb looked at his uncles, "I would speak to Ser Brynden and Lord Edmure in private," he announced, nodding toward the door that led to a private audience chamber off the counsel chamber. But then he turned back toward Lord Karstark and the rest of the prisoners. "Greatjon, keep Lord Karstark here till I return, and hang the other seven."

"Even the dead ones?" the Greatjon asked.

"Yes," Robb said with a nod. "I will not have such filth fouling my Lord Uncle's rivers. Let them feed the crows."

One of the captives dropped to his knees, "Mercy, sire," he called out, begging Robb to listen to him. Robb turned his gaze on him. "I killed no one, I only stood at the door to watch for guards."

Robb looked at him for a moment, "Did you know what Lord Rickard intended? Did you see the knives drawn? Did you hear the shouts, the screams, the cries for mercy?"

"Aye," the man nodded. "I did. But I took no part. I was only the watcher, I swear it."

It would have been smarter for the fool to lie. "Lord Umber," he called out, addressing the Greatjon though he did not look away from the begging prisoner. "This one was only the watcher. Hang him last, so he may watch the others die." Then he turned, glancing at his mother and Lenora. "Lenora, Mother, with us."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! How are you doing? I hope everyone is fantastic this evening!  
And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! If you did ... let me know!  
Thank you for reading! Thank you in advance for reviewing! And a HUGE thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. You are the most wonderful.

 _RHatch89_ : We will have to see! Thank you for reading!

 _darkwolf76_ : I loved reading your reviews as you read your way through the chapters that you had missed! I'm glad that you enjoyed them! And I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!  
I'm glad you enjoy how I write Jaime ... he's a lot of fun to write. And I like him witty, the dumb ones are no fun to write.  
Yes you were right about the tea. Lady Sybell is a scheming bitch no matter what story she's in. :D  
As for your question about my response to someone else's review. I'm going to try to address it without giving too much away. It is a maybe, a perhaps, a possibly that Jon will be named King in the North. An option. But if Robb dies, Lenora will definitely have a child by him.  
I'm glad you're sticking with this one all the way to the end! We've still got a while, you and I!

 _JustDroppinIn_ : Damn! You write a book when you review! And I love it! Thank you!  
You don't have to worry, Lenora will definitely see Jaime again and when she learns about his hand she will react with sympathy and eventual sarcasm ... because that's who she is.  
Robb's bannermen might start questioning Lenora's fertility, but they're running out of time to do that.  
I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter. Theon was so much fun to write. And Jaime too. Lenora makes him a better person, but it's a quiet way. He's still an asshole, still a jerk, but then he remembers her and how she believe the best in him and suddenly, quietly he's being better.  
That's interesting about the update notifications. I had never thought of that!

 _writingNOOB_ : She does think she's being clever, but you're right. Robb doesn't care about having kids immediately and he's not going to set her aside.

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you! I'm glad you're still enjoying it! I hope you liked this chapter too!

That's it. Have a great evening guys!  
See you back here tomorrow!  
Chloe Jane.


	47. Chapter Forty-Seven: No King of Mine

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Seven: No King of Mine_

 _Lenora_

Lenora followed Robb and his uncles into the audience chamber. She did not want to be there. She was sure that she did not belong. Robb was going to decide what to do with his bannerman. The one who proudly admitted to murdering her cousins. As much as she believed that she truly was a Stark. As much as she believed that Robb had the right of it, that if there was a righteous king in this battle of five it was Robb. But it was hard to be so certain as she stood and looked down at the bodies of her murdered cousins.

She must have been standing stiff. Because Robb approached her and ran a calming hand down her spine. "I assure you, Nora, they will be punished. You will see justice for your cousins."

 _But will they?_ Lenora wondered. _And will I?_ She could not help but wonder if she would be punished too. If it had been, in part, her presence in the castle that had helped push Lord Rickard to kill the boys.

"The Karstarks are gone," the Blackfish told them as soon as he shut the door behind them.

"All?" Robb asked, his voice thick. Lenora turned to study his face, she could not decide if it was anger or despair that colored his tone like that. Both would have been appropriate.

"All the fighting men," Ser Brynden replied. "A few camp followers and serving men were left with their wounded. We questioned as many as we needed, to be certain of the truth. They started leaving at nightfall, stealing off in ones and twos at first, and then in larger groups. The wounded men and servants were told to keep the campfires lit so no one would know they'd gone, but once the rains began it didn't matter."

Lenora's heart fell and her fists clenched in the same moment. It was premeditated then. "Will they reform away from Riverrun?" she asked after swallowing some of her disgust.

"No, Your Grace," Ser Brynden assured her. "They've scattered, hunting. Lord Karstark has sworn to give the hand of his maiden daughter to any man highborn or low who brings him your uncle's head."

"Has he not gotten enough vengeance?" Lenora hissed, stepping away from Robb's calming hand. She did not want his comfort. She wanted to be angry. "Does he want it so much that he would have his daughter married to any lowborn man who somehow had the luck of capturing Jaime?"

Robb sighed, "Near three hundred riders and twice as many mounts melted away tonight." He lifted his right hand to rub at his temple, "All the mounted strength of Karhold, lost."

Lenora turned to look at him, understanding his despair. For the moment he held the riverlands, but his kingdom was surrounded by enemies to every side but east, where his aunt sat aloof on her mountaintop. She was not an enemy, but he would get no help from her.

"No word of this can leave Riverrun," Edmure told Robb, his voice quick and desperate. "Lord Tywin would ... the Lannisters pay their debts, they are always saying that. Mother have mercy, when he hears."

Robb's glare was icy, "Would you make me a liar as well as a murderer, Uncle?" he asked, turning to Edmure.

"It won't be a lie," Edmure told him. "We will bury them and remain silent, until -"

"Until we can bring the murdered dead back to life?" the Blackfish snapped at his nephew.

"Until the end of the war," Edmure corrected.

Robb turned to Lenora, "You're too quiet," he told her. She opened her mouth to tell him that she wanted no part in the discussion, no part in the decision, but he shook his head. "These are your cousins," he told her, reaching out to gently cup her cheek in his hand. "Your blood. Tell me, Nora, what would you have me do? Hide their deaths?"

It would make him safer, but she shook her head, they could not hide them. Lord Karstark had seen to that. "The truth escaped with the Karstark men," she told him. She glanced at Edmure and shook her head sadly, "If there was a time to play your games, Lord Edmure, that time has passed."

Robb sighed and nodded, "I owe their father truth," he told them. "And justice. I owe him that as well." He moved away from Lenora and threw himself down in a chair, reaching out for her once he was seated. Lenora moved to him quickly, without thought, and was shocked when he pulled her straight into his lap, as if his uncles weren't in the room. As if his mother was not in the chamber. "Lord Rickard defied me. Betrayed me. I have no choice but to condemn him."

"Lord Rickard has one more son," Lenora murmured quietly. "His son at Harrenhal, his new heir. Disown Lord Karstark, take away his lands and his title. Name his son Lord Karstark. Send Rickard to the wall. Nothing will shame him and his family more. He murdered my cousins for his family, make him lose his own."

Edmure nodded, "Keep Lord Rickard as a hostage," he urged his nephew. "Tell the Karstarks that as long as they remain loyal he will not be harmed."

Robb looked at his uncles for a moment, debating. "The Others take him," he growled angrily with a sigh. "And Theon Greyjoy, lazy Walder Frey, Tywin Lannister, and all the rest of them. Gods be good, why would any man ever want to be king?"

"Because not every man rules like you," Lenora told him thinking of her father. And her brother.

"When everyone was shouting _King in the North, King in the North_ I told myself ... _swore_ to myself ... that I would be a good king, as honorable as father," he murmured, pressing his lips against the back of her neck as he spoke. "Strong, just, loyal to my friends and brave when I faced my enemies. Now I can't even tell one from the other. How did it all get so _confused_? Lord Rickard's fought at my side in half a dozen battles. His sons died for me in the Whispering Wood. Willem and Martyn Lannister were my _enemies_. Yet now I have to kill my dead friends' father for their sakes."

Lenora glanced at him sharply, he had asked for her opinion. No one in the chamber had suggested that he execute Lord Karstark. And yet, it seemed that Robb had already made up his mind.

He lifted his face from her neck and looked around the room at them. Though it was Lenora who he posed his question to. "Will the Lannisters thank me for Lord Rickard's head?"

"No," Lenora told him, shaking her head while wishing that she had a different answer for him. "They will not."

"All the more reason to spare Lord Rickard's life and keep him hostage," Edmure urged him.

Robb's hand slipped under her chin and he lifted her gaze up so that she would look at him. She could see it, in his hard blue eyes. He had made a decision. He was only looking to her for approval. But he would do what must be done, with or without it. She would only make it easier on him. She closed her eyes and nodded.

Robb nodded back, his face hard, "Lord Rickard dies."

"But _why_?" Edmure asked. "You said yourself -"

"I know what I said, Uncle," Robb snapped at him. "It does not change what I must do. In battle I might have slain Willem and Martyn myself, but this was no battle. They were asleep in their beds, naked and unarmed, in a cell where I put them. Rickard Karstark killed more than two Lannisters. _He killed my honor_. I shall deal with him at dawn."

...

He sent her back to their chambers though he did not accompany her. He told her to try to sleep and she assured him that she would do so much more easily if he came to bed with her. He told her that he would try, but that he had some things to attend to first.

She would never know what he did in those long hours before the dawn. But she knew what he was about. He hoped that she would return to their bedchambers and fall so deep asleep that she would not wake up at dawn. He was attempting to protect her. To keep her from having to watch Lord Rickard's execution. But she would be there.

She made sure of it. She needed to be there, to see justice done for those two young boys. She went back to their chambers as Robb asked her to but she did not sleep. She paced around their bedchamber. She changed her gown. She braided her hair. And then she sat in a chair by the windows. Watching as, despite the rain, the sky began to lighten in the east.

And then, once the sky was grey with dawn's light, she donned her cloak and went out to the Godswood. Despite the steady, soaking rain the wood was crowded. River Lords and Northmen, highborn and low, knights and sellswords and stable boys. They all stood together amongst the trees, waiting to watch their king deal out his justice.

She saw Robb sigh when he looked up to see her standing by his mother. He truly had hoped that she would not come for this. Lord Edmure had already given the commands and the headsman's block had been set up before the Heart Tree. That was kinder than what Lenora would have done. Lord Rickard had murdered two innocent boys and betrayed his king. Now that the decision had been made, that he would die, Lenora would not have given him the honor of a northern death in a Godswood. She would have taken his head in the yard.

And put it on a spike on the wall.

Rain and leaves fell all around them as the Greatjon's men led Lord Rickard through the press, his hands were still bound. One of Edmure's men waited beside the block, but Robb took the sword from his hand and ordered him to step aside. "This is my work," he said, his voice was soft, though Lenora heard every word. His blue eyes searched out her face in the crowd. He nodded to her, "He dies at my word. He must die by my hand."

Lord Rickard bowed his head at that, "For that much, I thank you," he growled out. "But for nothing else." He was dressed for his death in a long black wool surcoat emblazoned with the white sunburst of his House. "The blood of the First Men flows in my veins as much as yours, boy. You would do well to remember that. I was named for your grandfather. I raised my banners against King Aerys for your father, and against King Joffrey for you. At Oxcross and the Whispering Wood and in the Battle of the Camps, I rode beside you, just as I stood with Lord Eddard on the Trident. We are kin, Stark and Karstark."

He was telling the truth of it. Lenora could still remember when her maester in King's Landing had told her about the Starks and the Karstarks. The Karstarks could trace their descent to Karlon Stark, a younger son of Winterfell who had put down a rebel lord a thousand years ago, and been granted lands for his valor. The castle he built had been named Karl's Hold, but that soon became Karhold, and over the centuries the Karhold Starks had become Karstarks.

They were kin.

Just as the boys Lord Rickard had murdered had been her kin.

"The kinship did not stop you from betraying me," Robb told him. "And it will not save you now. Kneel, my Lord."

"I do not want it to save me," Lord Rickard growled at him. "I want it to haunt you."

"Kneel, My Lord," Robb commanded when the man remained standing. "Or must I have them force you head onto the block?"

The man glared at him as he kneeled. "The Gods shall judge you," he warned. "Just as you have judged me." He laid his head on the block.

"Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold," Robb started as he lifted his sword with both hands. He turned to look at Lenora, steeling himself once more before his gaze lowered to the man in front of him. "Here in the sight of Gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In mine own name I condemn you. With mine own hand I take your life. Would you speak a final word?"

Lenora's chest tightened as Lord Rickard turned to glare at Robb, "Kill be and be cursed," he growled. "You are no king of mine."

The blade crashed down. Heavy and well-honed, it killed at a single blow, but it took three to sever the man's head from his body. And by the time it was done both living and dead were drenched in blood. Robb flung the sword down in disgust, his fist clenching once it was free of the sword.

He turned his back on the Heart Tree wordlessly and stormed away. Lenora took a step forward, meaning to follow him, but Catelyn caught her arm. "Best to leave him alone for now," she warned her, her blue eyes far away. Lenora wondered if Ned had been like this the first time he had executed a man. "He'll find you when he's ready."

That was the last she saw of her husband that day.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

His hand burned.

Still, _still_ , long after they had snuffed out the torch they'd used to sear his bloody stump, days after. When he closed his eyes he could feel the fire burning its way up his arm, he could feel his fingers twisting in the flames. The fingers he no longer had. Sometimes he cried. Sometimes he prayed.

But no matter what he felt the burn.

They tied his hand to a cord and hung around his neck. But at least they were kind enough to give him his own horse to ride to Harrenhal. Though _kindness_ was not the reason. They enjoyed watching him fall off of it.

His throat was so raw that he could not eat, but he drank wine when they gave it to him, and water when that was all they offered. Once they handed him a cup and he quaffed it straight away, trembling, and Locke laughed, harsh and cruel, before he said, "That's horse piss you're drinking, Kingslayer." Jaime was so thirsty that he drank it anyway, but afterward he retched it all back up. They made Brienne wash the vomit out of his beard, just as they made her clean him up when he soiled himself in the saddle.

On the third night of their ride, he tried to fight.

He was riding beside Brienne, trying not to focus on the insult that they had bound the wench to her horse, but had not bothered to tie him to his. He was not a threat to them. He could feel her concerned eyes on him, but he did not look up. Instead he kept his chin down, his eyes focused on his hand as it bounced against his chest with each of the horse's steps.

"How many of those fingers do you think we could shove up his ass?" he heard one of the men ask. His companions laughed.

"It depends if he's had any practice," Locke answered. "Is that the sort of thing you and your sister go in for, Kingslayer?" he taunted, riding closer to Jaime. Jaime wouldn't look at him either. "Has she loosened you up for us?"

The men laughed louder as Locke rode away. Jaime closed his eyes, his world was going grey and spotty. He felt dizzy. He heard the wench beside him, she was yelling to their captors. "He's going to fall!" she announced. "He's going to fall off his horse, someone help him."

But the help did not come. And Jaime did fall, face first into a patch of mud. The men laughed as he tried to push himself up. On the first attempt, out of instinct, he tried to push with his right hand, his stump hit the ground and he almost passed out from the pain. The second attempt was better, he used his left hand and managed to push himself up into a kneeling position.

One of Locke's men approached him from behind and grabbed onto his right arm, yanking him to his feet. That was his mistake.

They may not have needed to bind him to his horse, they may have forced him to drink horse piss, and had the wench clean him up when he shit himself. But he had been the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. And the fool grabbed the arm that ended in a stump.

It was clumsy, when he reached for the sword handle, but successful. He pulled the sword from the sheath and stepped away from him, quick and unsteady, the sword wobbled in his hand as he tried to keep his grip on it. But he was weak. And he had never fought with his left hand. The sword felt heavy. Even to him.

One of Locke's men approached him and Jaime swung his sword. He met the man's swings with very little force, but at least he was able to keep his grip on his blade. For a moment he thought he saw fear in the man's eyes, but then he blinked and it was gone. He heard someone approaching from behind him so he turned to cross swords with him and his first attacker kicked him in the back and he fell to the mud again.

But still, he kept his hold on the sword.

"Stop!" the wench ordered them from her horse. "Stop it!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw her jump from her horse and attack one of Locke's men with a head butt. More men went to surround her and Jaime turned his back on her as he pushed himself to standing.

There were still two men with swords facing him. _Let them kill me_ , he thought, _so long as I die fighting, a blade in my hand_.

But they did not try to kill him. They humiliated him instead. They took turns as he spun around to face each of them in turn, hitting his back with the flat sides of their swords. They did not fear him any more than he had feared Lenora when she was a young child.

They knocked him to the ground again. And this time, before he could stand up Locke kicked him in the stomach.

Once. Twice. _Three times_. Then he stood on his wrist, grinding the heel of his boot into Jaime's one working wrist until he let go of the sword in his hand. One more kick to his stomach and Locke turned around, heading back toward his horse. "That was amusing, Kingslayer," he threw out over his shoulder. "But if you do that again I will take your other hand." He called out to his men, telling them that they would make camp there that evening.

Jaime did not try to stand up. He rolled over onto his back and lay there, staring up at the night sky and trying not to feel the pain in his right arm every time he moved it, trying not to feel the shame of not being able to fight. The night was beautiful, in a strange and cruel way. The moon was a crescent in the sky and he was sure that he had never seen as many stars as he did now, laying in the mud with his severed hand tied around his neck. The King's Crown was at the zenith, and he could see the Stallion rearing, and there the Swan. The Moonmaid, shy as ever, was half-hidden behind a pine tree.

 _How can such a night be beautiful?_ he wondered to himself. _Why would the stars want to look down on a man such as me?_

"Jaime," Brienne whispered, making her way to his side. "Jaime, what are you doing?"

He voice sounded distant. Too far away. He wondered if he was going to faint again, he had done it before. Perhaps this time he would not wake up, perhaps this time the Gods would be kind and he would die. "Dying," he finally told her when he realized that she expected an answer.

"No," she told him. "No, you must live."

He wanted to laugh at her but he did not have the strength. "Stop telling me what to do, wench. I'll die if it pleases me."

"Are you so craven?" she asked him.

That shocked him enough that he opened his eyes. He was Jaime Lannister, a knight of the Kingsguard, he was the Kingslayer. No man had ever called him craven. They whispered behind his back, made his greatest deed something shameful, but no one ever called him craven. They called him oathbreaker, liar, murderer; they said he was treacherous, reckless, cruel. But never craven.

"What else can I do, but die?" he asked her, turning his head to the side so that he could look at the wench's face.

"Live," she told him, her voice a hushed whisper. "Live and fight and take revenge."

 _Live_. She made it sound so easy. But he had always been his sword hand. And now his sword hand was hanging around his neck, useless and rotting. What use was he? What was he? How could he live when the thing that made him _him_ was no longer there? But the wench had the right of it. He could not die. Because he was not _just_ a sword hand. He was a brother. And an uncle. Tyrion was waiting for him in King's Landing. And Lenora, somewhere in the North. He needed to bring her home. He had sworn an oath.

And his enemies were waiting too; the Young Wolf who had beaten him in the Whispering Wood, Edmure Tully who had kept him in the darkness and chains, and Locke and his men.

When morning came he made himself eat. _Live_ , he told himself harshly. _Live for Lenora, live for Tyrion. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays his debts._ His missing hand throbbed and burned and stank. _When I reach King's Landing I'll have a new hand forged, a golden hand, and one day I'll use it to rip out Locke's throat_ , he promised himself.

...

Locke wanted to make a show of parading him in, so Jaime was made to dismount a mile from the gates of Harrenhal. A rope was looped around his waist, a second around Brienne's wrists; the ends were tied to the pommel of Locke's saddle. They stumbled along side by side ahead of his horse.

It was his rage that kept him walking. The linen that covered the stump was grey and stinking with pus. But with every step he took he made himself a promise. He was stronger than these men, smarter than these men, he was still a Lannister. He would pay this debt back. _With interest._

As they approached the clifflike walls of Black Harren's monstrous castle, Brienne reached out to squeeze his arm, "Lord Bolton holds this castle. The Boltons are bannermen to the Starks."

"The Boltons skin their enemies," Jaime told her, his voice flat. She could hope all she wanted, but the wench would not find kindness here.

They were made to kneel in front of Lord Roose Bolton, though Jaime did not remain on his knees for long. "Lord Bolton," Locke greeted the Lord of the Dreadfort when he approached them. "I give you the Kingslayer." And with one quick kick to the middle of Jaime's back Locke sent him face first into the mud of the courtyard.

"Pick him up, Locke," Lord Bolton ordered.

Jaime waited until Locke and one of his other men had pulled him back onto his knees and then he squinted up at Roose Bolton. "Can this be the Lord of the Dreadfort?" he asked, his tone taunting. "When last I heard, my father had sent you scampering off with your tail between your legs. When did you stop running, my Lord?"

Bolton's silence was a hundred times more threatening than anything Locke had told him on the ride to Harrenhal. Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. The Lord of the Dreadfort finally pursed his lips and said, "You've lost a hand."

"No, My Lord," Locke chuckled, jerking Jaime to his feet and reaching out to tap his right hand. "He has it here."

Lord Bolton's jaw clenched and he moved forward toward Jaime quickly, ripping the hand from his neck and shoving it at Locke, "Take this away," he ordered.

"I'll send it to his father, then?" Locke asked, jeering at Jaime.

"You'll hold your tongue unless you want to lose it," Lord Bolton snapped before he turned, his pale eyes landing on Brienne. "And cut her free." His voice was quiet, but harsh. It smoothed out, got softer when he spoke to Brienne, "My apologies, my Lady," he told her as one of his men cut her bindings. "You are under my protection now."

"Thank you," Brienne told him, though her voice did not sound particularly grateful, "my Lord."

Bolton watched her as she stood up before he turned back to Jaime, though when he next spoke it was to his men, not Jaime. "Find suitable rooms for our guests," he ordered. Then he nodded to Jaime, the only indication that his neck statement was for him, "We'll talk later."

But Jaime could not wait until later. He had questions and he would have answers now. "What is the news?" he asked, risking a beating if Lord Bolton was displeased.

Lord Bolton had been walking away from him, but he stopped, pausing for a moment too long. Jaime was sure that he was going to keep walking away from him when the man turned and moved closer again. "Lord Karstark has taken his men from King Robb and sent them out to search for you," he told Jaime, his voice quick and soft. "But the Young Wolf has shortened him by a head for treason and murder. Your father remains in King's Landing. He will stay there till the new year when King Joffrey takes his bride from Highgarden."

"Winterfell," Brienne cut in, voicing the same confusion and surprise that Jaime felt. "You mean Winterfell. King Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark."

"No longer," Lord Bolton informed them. "The Battle of the Blackwater changed all. The rose and the lion joined there, to shatter Stannis Baratheon's host and burn his fleet to ashes."

"Is there any other news?" Jaime pressed, his voice urgent, he would take whatever Lord Bolton deigned to give him. "Word from my sister? From my brother? From my niece?"

"Your sister is well," Lord Bolton assured him. "As is your ... nephew." He paused before he said _nephew_ , a pause that said _I know_. "Your brother also lives, though he took a wound in battle. And Queen Lenora has healed from her injuries at the Crag. She is at Riverrun now, with King Robb."

Jaime's eyebrows lifted at the word _injuries_. He had not known that Lenora had been injured. He wanted to ask more. He needed to know more. But it would seem that that was all he would get from Lord Bolton for now. He turned away from him, his lips pursed in thought. He beckoned to a dour northman and waited until the man approached, "I've changed my mind," he informed the man. "Escort Ser Jaime to Qyburn. And unbind this woman's hands." He waited until the rope between Brienne's hands had been slashed, "Once again, my Lady, I must ask your forgiveness. In such troubled times it is hard to know friend from foe."

"They took my sword," Brienne informed him, not quite comfortable with the idea of forgiving the men around her. "And my armor."

Lord Bolton waved her off, "You shall have no need of armor here, my Lady. In Harrenhal, you are under my protection." He looked at the men around him, "Find suitable rooms for the Lady and bring Ser Jaime to Qyburn at once," he ordered with the air of a man who was not used to having to ask for things twice.

This time his men listened to him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

Her father had sent for her.

As much as she hated being sent for as if she were a young child, as if she were not the queen regent of the Seven Kingdoms, she was heartened by his message. He said that he had things he wished to discuss with her.

Perhaps she had gotten through to him when she had begged him to rely on her. Perhaps this was the beginning of it all.

She went straight to the Tower of the Hand, she would not make her father wait. He was seated at the head of his Council table, a piece of parchment in front of him when she arrived. "Ah, good," he said, looking up from his parchment when he heard her walking into the chamber. "You are here before Tyrion. I have some news to share with you."

It hurt her that her father had also sent for Tyrion. She had hoped that he would only trust her with his plans and schemes. _But_ he had news that he wished to only share with her. "Is it about Jaime?" she asked as she sat down in the seat to his left.

Her father arched one eyebrow at her, "That news would involve Tyrion too, would it not?" he asked her, his voice harsh. Just as it had always been when she displeased him when she was a child. Cersei looked down at the table in front of her, shamed. Tywin sighed, "This news involves your daughter," he told her after a moment.

Cersei looked up sharply, forgetting her shame. "Lenora?" she asked, waiting for a silent nod from Tywin before she continued. "What has happened? Is she alright? She hasn't been murdered has she?" In her mind she was thinking of all the terrible things that could have happened to her daughter. The memory of when Joffrey admitted that he had paid a man to murder her was still fresh in her mind. She worried that he had tried again, and this time he had been successful. "I told Joff," she started before she cut herself off, afraid to tell her father what Joffrey had done.

Tywin did not ask. "She is alive," he told her, soothing her fears. "Nothing has happened. The fools in the North still call her _Queen_. Lady Sybell Westerling wrote that Lenora is quite safe at Riverrun, that the Stark boy has ordered two guards to follow her everywhere. She is constantly surrounded and it would seem more safe than we are in King's Landing. Robb Stark will not have her harmed if he has any say in the matter."

"Westerling?" Cersei asked, her brows furrowed. "But they surrendered to the boy. They swore allegiance and fealty to him. They -"

"And yet," Tywin interrupted her, tapping his index finger on the folded parchment in front of him, "she writes coded messages to her maester at the Crag who decodes them and sends them to me. I assure you, Cersei, the Westerlings are still loyal to House Lannister."

Cersei nodded, thinking over everything her father had told her. He said that he had news of Lenora, but all he had told her was that she was still alive. And safe, Robb had given her guards, even amongst his own men. He desperately wanted to keep her safe. "Is she with child?" she asked suddenly, thinking that would be the only reason the Stark boy would have given her guards. If she was carrying his child and the heir to the North he would want to make sure that she was safe until she birthed the child.

Tywin's smile was victorious, his chest even seemed to puff out a bit with pride, "She is not," he told her. "She has tea every afternoon with Lady Sybell, and Lady Sybell has assured me that she is not with child. And that she will not be with child."

"How can she know?" Cersei pressed, wondering what had her father so happy.

"Because each afternoon Lady Sybell pours Lenora a cup of Moon Tea," Tywin told her, chuckling at his words as if he had just told the funniest joke. "The Stark boy could try to get a baby on Lenora every hour of every day but as long as she continues to have afternoon tea with Lady Sybell nothing will ever come of it."

"So that's your big plan?" Cersei bit out, a bit angry that _this_ was what her father had hid from her since returning to King's Landing. "To keep feeding her Moon Tea until the end of the war?"

"No," Tywin told her, his voice hard. He was no longer happy, he was angry at her for questioning his plan. "But Lady Sybell _will_ keep feeding it to her until I can finalize my plan to get her out of there. All the pieces are beginning to fall into place, save one."

"So you do have a plan to bring her home?" Cersei pressed, she wanted to hear it. She wanted something to hold onto, to hope for until her daughter was back in King's Landing. "Tell me!" she ordered when her father did not speak.

Tywin shook his head, "You will know," he told her.

"When?" she pressed. She could hear footsteps in the hall outside the chamber. She was running out of time to learn her father's plan. "When will I know?"

"When it happens," Tywin told her as the doors swung open and Tyrion waddled into the room. "You're late," he told Tyrion, speaking louder than he had when he was speaking to Cersei alone.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Tyrion asked, making no attempt to politely greet their father. Cersei could not help but grin, her father might not share his plans with her, but at least she knew that out of her and Tyrion he enjoyed her more than the little monster.

The same could not be said for Jaime.

"Our business concerns her too," Tywin told him. "Sit."

Tyrion sat. "You will be happy to know that after just one conversation with Olenna Tyrell I have saved the Crown hundreds of thousands on this wedding," he informed them, grinning like a small child who expected to be praised for doing what was expected of him.

"Never mind that now," Tywin ordered. "We have something more important to discuss."

"I'm the Master of Coin," Tyrion told them. "Saving money _is_ important." He turned to Cersei, "Stop that, you're making me uncomfortable," he ordered. It was only then that Cersei realized that she had been smiling at her brother. She had not expected him, but now that they were both there and her father had no news of Jaime she could only think of one thing.

Perhaps her father had listened to her when she brought him proof of the Tyrell's plots regarding Sansa Stark. And if it involved Tyrion, she was sure it would be good.

"Your sister has informed me that the Tyrells plot to marry Sansa Stark to their boy, Loras," Tywin informed Tyrion. Cersei's smile grew wider. She had been right. And she had proved useful to her father.

It felt good.

"She's a lovely girl," Tyrion said, leaning back in his chair. "Missing some of Loras' favorite bits, but I'm sure they'll make do."

"Your jokes are not appreciated," Tywin snapped at him. "I bring them into the royal fold and _this_ is how they repay me. By attempting to steal the key to the North right out from under me."

"Sansa is the key to the North?" Tyrion asked. "I seem to remember she has an older brother. An older brother married to our girl."

Cersei grinned, _Yes_ , she thought. _But our girl will not give him an heir_. Now she saw why her father had been so happy about the Moon Tea. He would not share his plan with her, but it appeared to be working.

"The Karstarks have marched home," Tywin told Tyrion, as if it were news to him. "Half the Frey's too. The Young Wolf has lost half his army, his days are numbered. Theon Greyjoy has killed his two younger brothers. Provided that Lenora stays without child that would make Sansa Stark's children the heirs to Winterfell. I am not about to hand her over to the Tyrells."

"The Tyrell army is helping us win this war," Tyrion pointed out. "Do you really think it's wise to refuse them?"

"There's nothing to refuse," Tywin told him. "This is a plot. Not public knowledge. They had not spoken of this plan to many. And they won't, not until after the wedding, when their daughter is on the throne and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." He shook his head, "They won't act until it is Margaery, not us, who controls Joffrey," he continued, speaking more to himself than his children. "We need to act quickly. To nip this in the bud."

"And how will we do that?" Tyrion asked.

"We find Sansa Stark a different husband," Tywin told Tyrion as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. And it was. Cersei could not understand how her brother had not gotten it yet. He claimed to be _so_ smart.

"Wonderful," Tyrion said sarcastically, no doubt wondering why he had been put on the council to find Sansa Stark a new husband.

But he was not the council, he was the _husband_. "Yes it is," Cersei sneered at him, turning to grin at him. Watching as the realization hit him. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and then they got impossibly wide as he glanced quickly between Cersei and their father. He chuckled to himself as if he thought it was a joke.

And it was a joke.

A joke on him.

And a joke on Sansa Stark.

"You can't mean it," he said, his voice flat as he turned to stare at their father.

"I can and I do," Tywin told him.

Cersei laughed to herself. Tyrion glared at her, "Joffrey has made this poor girl's life miserable since the moment he took her father's head. Now she's finally free of him and you give her to me? That's cruel. Even for you!"

"Do you plan on mistreating her?" Tywin asked. "Do you plan on humiliating her? Do you plan on making her life miserable?" He shook his head, "The girl's happiness is no concern of mine, nor should it be one of yours."

"She's a _child_!" Tyrion yelled at him.

"She's flowered, I assure you," Cersei told him, rolling her eyes. "She and I have discussed it at length."

"There," Tywin agreed with a nod, though he had not been privy to those conversations. "She's as much a woman as the whore you brought into your bed when I sent you here. You will wed Sansa Stark. You will bed Sansa Stark. And you will put a child in Sansa Stark. Surely you are capable of that?"

"And if I refuse?" Tyrion asked, his ugly eyes dating between Tywin and Cersei.

"You wanted to be rewarded for your _valor_ in battle," Tywin sneered at him. "Sansa Stark is a better reward than you could have dared hope for. And it is past time that you were wed."

"I _was_ wed," Tyrion interrupted.

"To a whore," Cersei sneered. She leaned forward in her chair, "You should be thanking the Gods for this, little brother," she told him. "This is _more_ than you deserve."

"Tyrion will do as he's bid," Tywin assured her. Cersei laughed to herself, she could not wait to see the day when Tyrion and Sansa were married. The girl would have a heart attack. "As will you," her father added.

She shifted in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable. "What do you mean?" she asked, her eyes darting to her father's face.

"The Tyrell's want another wedding," Tywin told her, his eyes hard and cruel. " _You_ will marry Ser Loras."

Cersei was mortified. She could feel Tyrion's gaze on her, but she refused to look away from her father. This had been a fun game while they were discussing Tyrion marrying someone against his will. But it was no longer fun. Her father had forced her to marry someone before, she was no longer a little girl. She was no longer _his_ to order around. She was Queen Regent. She shook her head, "I will not," she told her father. She had hoped that her voice would sound strong and firm, but it came out shaky and embarrassingly weak.

"He is heir to Highgarden," Tywin pointed out. "Tyrion will secure the North and you will secure the Reach."

"I will not," Cersei tried again.

"Yes you will," Tywin ordered her. "You are still fertile. You need to marry again and breed."

 _Breed_? That word sent rage coursing through her veins. "I am Queen Regent," she snapped at her father. "Not some brood mare -"

"You are _my daughter_!" Tywin thundered at her. "You will do as I say and you will marry Loras Tyrell. And put an end to those disgusting rumors about _you_ once and for all."

 _They're not rumors_ , she wanted to tell him. _And it was not disgusting_. But that was not the way to win this argument. She dropped her gaze from his face to the table. One moment insolent, the next shamed. "Father," she begged. "Please don't make me do this again."

"Not another word," Tywin roared, slapping his hand against the table top as he stood up. "My children," he sneered, glancing between both Cersei and Tyrion. "You've both disgraced the family name for far too long."

He left them then. And Cersei, broken hearted for herself, glanced up at her brother. They were feeling the same pain. She had delighted in it when it seemed that only Tyrion would be punished with a marriage that he did not want. But once again her father had stolen her joy too.

She wondered if she would ever be of an age where her father could not order her around like one of his servants.

* * *

Author's Note:

It seems to be good luck for the Cavs when I post during game time. So here I am watching the game on my couch surrounded by cats and posting a new chapter.  
And the Cavs are up by thirteen!  
Maybe it's you guys that are the good luck?  
Anyway, happy Sunday friends! I hope you've had a great day.  
And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!  
If you did ... let me know. Reveiws make me really happy during my work weeks!  
HUGE thank you to those who reviewed yesterday's chapter. You are wonderful!

 _writingNOOB:_ But Karstark's right too. I think this is where Robb lost the North. Everyone says it's when he broke his vow to marry a Frey girl, but with the Karstarks he might have been okay. He lost half his army in a night. He's honorable and that's why I love him, but a smarter man would have kept Karstark alive. Even if he is a bastard.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Here's your new update!

 _Archangel Igneel_ : I completely agree with you. This is where he lost the North. His biggest mistake. And still a mistake in this story. The first time I read the chapter when he killed Karstark I was so angry at Robb. Because it was the biggest mistake he could have made. But I've come to love it.  
Because he's his father's son. Ned wouldn't have died if he had decided _not_ to do the honorable thing in warning Cersei that he knew the truth of her children. Robb wouldn't have died if he had decided _not_ to do the honorable thing in executing Rickard Karstark for his crime. But the Stark men died because ... they were too good for the world.  
I love that response! It's wonderful!

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! Hope this one is just as awesome!

 _Janaoliver:_ Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you dear! Hope this chapter did not disappoint!

That's all I've got for now guys. But thank you for all your support. You are completely wonderful!  
See you back here soon!  
Chloe Jane.


	48. Chapter Forty-Eight: Shifting Alliances

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Huge THANK YOU to the people who added this story to their community archives. I went to work and it was in one C2 and I came back and it is now in three. That's pretty cool!

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Eight: Shifting Alliances_

 _Sansa_

Margaery truly was a good friend. It had not taken Sansa long to realize that. The girl had barely been in King's Landing for a moon's turn and she had already realized how much pain the city caused Sansa. Not only had she realized the pain Sansa was in, but she had set about making a plan to end that pain.

Before Margaery, Sansa had thought that she would spend the rest of her life in pain and humiliation, mistreated by Joffrey every day. But now she had a secret, she was to marry Loras Tyrell. He was the knight from her dreams, and she was to be his Lady. He would be kind to her, good to her, gentle with her.

And best of all ... he would take her far away from King's Landing and Joffrey.

This was a better ending than Sansa could have hoped for.

She and her secret betrothed were sitting together now in the gardens. She was as grateful to Loras as she was to his sister. He too had seen her pain. She spent so much time alone now, the Lords and Ladies of the court saw fit to distance themselves from her now that she was not Joffrey's betrothed. It did not bother her, she did not want false friends. But it was lonely. Ser Loras must have seen that because they now went on a walk through the gardens together every afternoon. It was the happiest part of her day.

Just like Margaery, Loras had rescued her.

Though she did wish that he were easier to talk to.

"That's a lovely pin," she told him, flinching internally at the lameness of her conversation starter as she lifted her finger from her lap to point at the golden rose that was pinned to the front of his silk doublet.

"Yes," Loras agreed with her, looking down at the pin in question. "It's more of a brooch, really." He looked away from her and Sansa wondered if any of her brothers even knew the word brooch. He pursed his lips together, his brows furrowed as he turned back toward her, "Though I suppose a brooch is a type of pin. So there's that."

They fell into silence again. Their walks were always punctuated by these awkward silences. Sansa hoped that they would be fewer and farther between as they got to know each other better. She hoped that by the time they were married they would _never_ have these silences.

Her mother had told her that most marriages did not start with love. That love grew between a husband and a wife once they were wed and living together. But she was sure that she already loved Ser Loras. And she desperately hoped that she would be able to make him love her in return.

When she thought that she was going to marry Joffrey she had resigned herself to a horrible, loveless marriage. Like the queen and King Robert. She had told herself that all the fairytales her mother had told her as she was growing up, all the stories of dashing, courteous knights and their fair ladies were made up and untrue.

But now she could see that she was wrong. The brave, handsome, courteous King was a fable, but the knight? He was sitting beside her now, as if he had stepped out from one of her dreams. And she would make the most of it. She would make him love her. If only she could get around these awkward silences and say something that would interest him.

She cleared her throat and waited until he looked at her before she spoke. "I'm very happy," she told him, her heart beating wildly. How she hoped that he would tell her that _he_ was happy about their marriage too. He did not say anything. She tried again, "I'm very happy ... about ..." she could not bring herself to say it, not even alone in the garden with just him. There were spies everywhere. She could only hope that he got her meaning.

He sat up a little straighter and nodded, clearing his own throat, "Ah yes," he told her. "I am happy too."

She blushed and looked down at her lap, he had not said _marriage_ but that was what he meant. She _knew_ it. "I feel like I'm in a dream," she admitted without thinking. She forced her gaze away from her lap and to her left, she could not even look at him. She was so embarrassed by her confession.

What would he think of her now? Would he think she was a child? One who had spent her entire life dreaming of knights and weddings? She _had_ , but that did not mean that she wanted him to know that. His sister was so beautiful and sophisticated, she wanted to be like Margaery. And Margaery would never have said something like that.

She bit her lip, she could feel her blush burning on her cheeks. But she was soothed a bit when Loras spoke again, "Yes," he said again. She allowed her eyes to dart to his face and he was smiling kindly at her as he nodded. "Me too. Definitely."

He paused and once again Sansa was left to worry that they would fall into another awkward silence. She worried that she would try to break the silence with another embarrassing statement. She worried that he would think she was simple and stupid. But then her knight, _her_ Loras, saved her again. "I have dreamed of a large wedding since I was a young child," he admitted to her.

Sansa smiled, finally lifting her chin so that she could look him directly in the eye. She shifted in her seat so that she was angled toward him. They were talking about something she could agree with. And for the first time that afternoon, it was Loras rather than Sansa who was admitting to something that was potentially embarrassing.

Not that he ever needed to feel embarrassed around her. She already loved him and there was nothing that would change that.

His eyes got a dreamy, far off sort of look to them. "The guests," he told her. "The food. The tournaments." She smiled at his excitement. He lowered his gaze to her face and slowly he came back to her. His eyes lost that dreamy look, now there seemed to be a sadness in them, "The bride," he added to the list, nodding to her. She wondered what about the thought of their wedding made him so sad.

 _Perhaps he is thinking about how he would have felt if I had been forced to marry Joffrey_ , she thought. It was perhaps a fool's hope. But the queen had called her a fool so many times that Sansa thought perhaps she was one. And whether it was foolish or not, it was pleasant to think that Ser Loras would have been saddened by her marrying Joffrey.

The sadness left his eyes and he smiled sweetly at her, "The most beautiful bride in the world." She blushed, looking down at her lap. When he said things like that it was easy to believe that he might one day fall in love with her. Someday soon, perhaps. She smiled, this was how Robb spoke about Lenora, it was how her father spoke about her mother, it was how she had always dreamed her husband would speak about her. And now she had it.

He continued to describe their wedding day. "In a beautiful gown of green and gold brocade with dagged sleeves. And roses everywhere. Red and pink roses in the garden, white rose petals scattered to the ground as she walks to the front of the sept, gold roses in her hair." He was careful not to say _your_ , they were still keeping the marriage plans a secret until Margaery and Joffrey paused, ducking his head so that he could make eye contact with her now that she had looked down. "Have you ever been to Highgarden, my Lady?" he asked her.

She shook her head, lifting her gaze back to his face, "No," she told him. "I had never left Winterfell before I came ... before I came here. But it sounds lovely. I can't wait to see it." She paused, the smile fell from her lips. She dropped her voice to a whisper, daring herself to say what she truly wanted to say. "And to leave this place."

Loras nodded as he glanced away from her, out into the garden. He was gentle and kind, he understood her pain better than anyone else. She was sure that it was _this_ understanding that would be the foundation of their marriage. He would never hurt her the way Joffrey had hurt her because he cared _too much_ for her to do that. "It's terrible, isn't it?" he asked her, his voice little more than a whisper. He looked back at her and forced a smile onto his lips, "The most terrible place there is," he added.

She nodded to him, though she was at a loss as to how they had stopped speaking of the arrangements for their happy wedding and had landed on how terrible King's Landing was. She was sure that it was somehow her fault though. And so she would have to be the one to change the course of the conversation.

He stood from his seat on the edge of the fountain and held his hand out to her, she smiled at him as she slipped her hand into his soft one and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "Tell me more about Highgarden," she requested as he placed her hand on his forearm and began to lead her away from where they had been sitting. "I know almost nothing about it, only what you and your sister have told me. And if I am to be the future Lady of Highgarden, I should know all there is to know about it."

"And so you shall," Loras agreed with her. He fell silent for a moment, thinking of what he wanted to tell her. She loved that, how thoughtful he was. He chose his clothes and his words so carefully. "Highgarden is the most beautiful castle in the entire Seven Kingdoms," he told her, his voice a bit wistful. "It sits just off the Mander river. On the top of a perfectly symmetrical hill. It has three concentric tiers of white stone walls, as you move inward the walls get taller and thicker. You _will_ be safe there, Lady Sansa."

Sansa smiled at his promise, "I'm glad," she told him in a whisper. "It's been so long since I've felt safe. Tell me more. Please." She added the _please_ as an afterthought, to soften her demand. She did not want him to think her rude or demanding.

He smiled at her. "Between the outermost and middle walls is our briar maze. It's a labyrinth of wonderfully maintained hedges. It serves as entertainment for the residents of Highgarden castle, but also as a defense."

Sansa found herself giggling in delight, "Anyone who dares to attack the castle and makes it past the outer wall must then find their way through the maze! That's genius!"

Loras nodded, "We certainly think so, my Lady." He paused for a moment, thinking of what else to tell her. "There are flowers and vines and orchards everywhere," he promised her. "No matter where you look your gaze will find beauty. These gardens are nothing but weeds in comparison." He looked disdainfully at the flowers around them. "You will be surrounded by peace and beauty at Highgarden, Lady Sansa," he promised her. "And all of it will pale in comparison to your own, sweet beauty."

Her cheeks burned with their blush. But she was pleased. Loras Tyrell was indeed the knight of her dreams. And the more they spoke the more she was convinced that she could and would be the Lady of his.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

He found his sister in her solar. She was sitting at the window that overlooked the gardens. She made a pretty picture. It was times like this when Tyrion could almost pretend that she wasn't the cruelest woman in the world. Looking at her now, her hair and skin shining in the sun he could almost forget that she had taken such joy in the fact that their father was forcing him to marry Sansa Stark. Seeing her calm and quiet like this, he could almost feel sorry for her as well.

She looked up at him and he expected to see her jaw clench and her eyes narrow. But her face remained soft and she inclined her head to him before she nodded toward the window, silently indicating that he should come closer. He briefly wondered if she intended to throw him out the window, but on a beautiful day like this there was sure to be people in the gardens. People meant witnesses. Cersei would never throw him from a window when there were witnesses.

He was right. There were people in the gardens below them. Two to be exact. His wife to be and Cersei's new husband. They were sitting side by side on the edge of the fountain. Whispering to each other. Tyrion craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes to be able to see over the window sill. Cersei watched him for a moment before she sighed and moved toward her desk. She carried her chair over for him so that he could stand up on it and use it to climb onto the window sill. Then she sat beside him.

"Do you think they're planning their wedding?" Tyrion asked her, his eyes darting from the couple in front of them to his sister. She was acting strangely, nice even, and in his experience Cersei was never nice to him.

"You know the girl is," Cersei told him, her voice soft. "Sansa Stark has been dreaming of a wedding since she was a child. She just never knew what a marriage was."

"She's much like you," Tyrion told her.

"I was never as simple as she is," Cersei snapped at him, though her voice didn't hold its usual bite. "I knew what the world was and I knew that there was never going to be a knight to save me."

"You knew that," Tyrion allowed her with a nod. "But I do recall a time when you came running into my chambers at the Rock, giggling because Father had told you that he was going to try to arrange for you to marry Prince Rhaegar."

"I was a child," Cersei told him. "A child who wanted to be queen. A child that thought my husband would adore me. A child -"

"Like Sansa Stark," Tyron finished for her.

Cersei nodded, "Lady Catelyn should have done the girl a favor and told her the truth of marriage. That there's rarely love or happiness. Catelyn Stark should know that, Ned Stark took her as his wife out of a sense of duty, not love. And I suppose they were well suited for each other, but that was luck. It could have just as easily gone the other way. They could have been like Robert and me." She was still staring into the garden, but her green eyes had a far away look to them. She wasn't thinking about Sansa Stark, Tyrion had a feeling that she was thinking of her own children. "Say what you will about me, but I prepared my girls. I told them the truth. I made sure they knew about love, or the lack of it, in a marriage. I warned them. My girls did not walk around the world thinking that marriage held the key to their happiness."

"It seemed to work for Lenora though," Tyrion pointed out cautiously.

Cersei nodded, he knew she could not argue with him. As much as she did not like having Lenora in the North with Robb Stark she could not tell him that she had not seen how happy the two of them had been at Winterfell. She was quiet for a moment and then she snorted, her lips twisting into a rueful smile, "Lenora," she said softly. "Have you realized what your marriage to Sansa Stark will make you to her?"

Tyrion chuckled too, though there was little humor to it. "I will be married to her husband's sister which would make me her uncle _and_ her brother."

Cersei nodded, "And I will be married to her brother's wife's brother. Which I believe would make me her mother _and_ her sister."

"And Sansa will be Joffrey's aunt and good sister," Tyrion continued.

"And Loras will be Margaery's father by law."

"And you will be Margaery's and Joffrey's sister and mother." Tyrion shook his head and sighed, "It will make for some fun family dinner's won't it?"

Cersei nodded, her lips still turned up into that rueful smile of hers. "What was Father thinking?" she asked him, still looking down into the garden. Sansa and Loras had stood up and started to walk away from the fountain now. Soon there would be no witnesses. If she wanted to push him from the window she would be able to do it.

But Tyrion was sure that she would not do that. "I don't suppose there's anything we can do about this?" he asked her, turning to look at her for help. No matter how cruel she had been to him, she was his older sister. When they were growing up he had thought that she and Jaime had all the answers. He supposed that a part of him still thought that.

She shook her head, "He'd have them both killed."

Cersei was growing soft in her older age. There would have been a time when she would have happily allowed their father to have Loras Tyrell and Sansa Stark killed. But now she said it as if that was an unwanted outcome. Perhaps Tyrion had been more right than he thought when he suggested that she saw a bit of her younger self in Sansa Stark.

Thinking about the Stark girl made him feel even sorrier. Not for himself, but for the girl. He had not spent a great deal of time with the poor girl, but he was sure that there was a part of her that would rater die than be married to him. And to go from believing that she was going to marry a tall knight like Loras to learning that she was going to marry the Imp? Well, Tyrion would not be surprised if she took it upon herself to die without any help from Tywin Lannister.

"It's hard to say which of the four of us is getting the worst of this arrangement," he mused. "Probably Sansa though Loras will come to know a deep and singular misery." She did not contradict him or argue. If Jaime had been here he would have told Tyrion not to be so down on himself. He would have told him that Sansa Stark would have been lucky to have him. It was too bad that the wrong twin had been captured at the Whispering Wood.

"Father doesn't discriminate," she told him, standing up from the window sill and moving back into her solar. "We're all being shipped off to hell together."

"On a boat _you_ built," Tyrion pointed out as he crawled down from the sill and followed her into the room. He felt a bit sorry for his sister, but he would not let her get away with pretending that she was at fault for a large part of this arrangement.

"The Tyrells were plotting against our family. I did what I did to protect our family."

"I'm your family," Tyrion told her with a glare. His hands clenched into fists, he had not meant for his voice to come out so sullen sounding. He would not have Cersei thinking that he wished she would care for him. "A member of your family who's actively contributing to that family's survival. Whether you or Father or anyone else wants to admit it."

"I do admit it," Cersei told him. "If it weren't for your trick with the wildfire Stannis would have sacked the city long before Father got here. Our heads would still be rotting on spikes on the city walls."

"Trying to have me killed is an odd way of showing it," Tyrion told her, finally giving voice to his suspicions. She looked down at her hands, that surprised him, he had expected her to own up to it. "There are two people in King's Landing who can control the Kingsguard," Tyrion told her, moving closer to her. "Did you or did you not tell Ser Mandon to kill me?"

Her silence was enough to give him his answer. It was not Cersei. "It was Joffrey," he told her, his voice flat and hard. She would not meet his eyes. "Fair enough," he muttered with a nod. "He wants me dead. But his _stupidity_? He could have had me poisoned and no one would have known. But the _king_ tells the _Kingsguard_ to murder the _Hand of the King_ in full view of his entire army. The boy's an idiot."

She finally looked at him. "What do you want me to say?" she sneered at him.

"I want you to tell me if my life is still in danger."

"Probably," Cersei told him, rolling her eyes. "Though not from Joffrey. He won't do anything now that Father's here."

"The Seven Kingdoms, united in fear of Tywin Lannister," Tyrion quipped, his voice sarcastic and bitter.

"Not the Tyrells," Cersei corrected him, her voice as bitter as his. "Soon they won't need to be afraid of him. Joffrey will belong to Margaery, the little doe-eyed _whore_. And so will his children and their children. History will be taken from our hands."

" _You_ may escape at least," Tyrion told her, bringing their conversation back to where it had started, with their future weddings. "Once Jaime gets back Ser Loras might come down with a terrible case of sword through bowels."

Something crossed his sister's green eyes. A bitterness. He wondered what had her so upset. She shook her head, "Jaime won't help me," she told him. "He hasn't helped me in years. Not truly. And it may not be a _when_ but an _if_ he gets back. He's out there somewhere, but we have no idea where."

Tyrion sighed, "Jaime or not, I am truly fucked."

His sister nodded, "Who's going to tell _her_?" she asked him.

Tyrion sighed, he was sure that Cersei would delight in telling Sansa that she was to be married to him. But it was already a cruel enough joke to make her marry him, he would not allow his sister to torture the girl with the information. "I will," he told her. "It will have to be me."

Cersei watched him, one of her eyebrows raised in a graceful arch, "You are truly fucked."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

When he returned from his morning ride out to the camp beyond Riverrun's walls to see his soldiers his uncle's steward announced that two of Walder Frey's sons had arrived and wished to speak to him. He had sent them up to Robb's solar to wait for him. He nodded, he had expected them to come, though not so soon. At his mother's insistence he had sent a raven to Walder Frey stating that he wished to discuss the terms of their agreement.

The polite way of saying that he meant to find a husband for one of Walder's daughters.

"Which ones?" he asked.

"Your Grace?" the steward replied, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "My apologies, I don't know what you mean."

Robb sighed, "Which sons?" he asked.

"Oh," the steward answered with a nod. And for one moment Robb thought that he would have an answer. But then the steward frowned, "I'm not sure, Your Grace," he shook his head. "Lord Walder has so many. Perhaps you could call them Walder? There's got to be at least one of them."

Robb sighed, _useless_ , "Send for Ser Brynden and Lord Edmure," he instructed the steward. "If I must speak to them without knowing their names I will not do it alone."

"As you wish, Your Grace," the steward answered, bowing quickly before he almost ran from the hall to find Robb's uncles.

Robb waited for them outside his chambers, he was not afraid of the Freys, but he wanted his uncles with him when he entered the solar, if only so that one of them could make introductions and he would not have to guess who he was speaking to. It did not take them long to join him and when they opened the doors to walk into the chamber he realized that he need not have worried about being alone with the Freys.

Lenora was already there, sitting across the table from them. She smiled at him when she looked up and quickly stood from her chair, the men across from her followed her lead. She inclined her head to him and his uncles while the two men bowed low.

"Robb," she greeted him once they straightened from their bows. "You of course know Lothar and Black Walder Frey."

He grinned, his wife was an angel. Not only had she given him the men's names, but she had subtly pointed her finger to each man in turn as she said his name. He walked toward her and pressed a hard kiss against her cheek before he moved around the table to shake both their hands. "Of course," he chuckled, "I am sorry for the delay, if I had known that you were arriving today I would have been ready for you."

"We were just telling the queen that we traveled quickly and unannounced with very few soldiers on purpose," Black Walder told him. "It's safer that way during war time."

Lenora smiled and nodded, "You're right about that, Ser." She turned toward Robb, "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of thanking them for coming so quickly." She turned back to the men, "We've let the matter of the wedding we promised your father go on long enough. Much too long to be honest, it's time that we settled the matter."

"Aye," Lothar agreed. "You speak the truth of it. Father would appreciate that. He had hoped to see many of his children married by now. Three brides for three of his sons, and two husbands for two of our sisters." Robb bristled, sure that this reiteration of their deal was for _his_ benefit _._ "Instead only Walda was married. Though she's been sent to the Dreadfort and her Lord Husband is at Harrenhal, so it's a strange sort of marriage."

"It is true that I promised my sisters for two of your brothers," Robb told them, his voice hard, "and Lenora's brother and sister as well. But even your father must admit that I cannot be blamed for the fact that we have not found them yet."

"And the Princess Myrcella has been sent to Dorne," Black Walder interjected. "Do you intend to take her back at the end of the war? Or will you leave her there and hope that my father won't remember your promise if you wait long enough?"

Robb's hand clenched into a fist on the table and Lenora reached out, she placed a gentle hand on top of his, in part to soothe him and he was sure in part to hide his animosity from their guests. "I assure you that waiting your father out and hoping that he forgot our deal was never our intention. Lord Walder did us a great service by allowing us to use the crossing, and we intend to pay that back."

"No one was accusing you, Your Grace," Lothar told her with a nod. "Everyone knows that the Lannisters always pay their debts."

Robb turned to look at Lenora and watched as her eyes narrowed slightly, she was confused by that reference. He turned back to the Freys, Black Walder was whispering something to his brother, it looked like he was scolding him. "Your father took half of his forces from me after the Crag," he pointed out, putting an end to the whispering between the two brothers. "How am I to understand that?"

"He begs your pardon, Your Grace," Black Walder told him, his voice sounded sincere. "He's worried is all. With the Ironborn attacking holdfasts in the North and the Highgarden allegiance with the Lannisters and King's Landing. He worried that _someone_ would come for the Twins next. And with so many of his children left with their futures undecided or in the balance he felt it was his _duty_ to protect the House seat."

"His _duty_ is to serve his king," the Blackfish bit out.

"Did he really think that we would let anyone attack the Twins?" Robb asked, surprised.

Lothar raised his eyebrows, "As you wouldn't let anyone attack Winterfell, Your Grace?"

Lenora shook her head, "Treason," she whispered under her breath.

Black Walder shot his brother a glare before he turned back to Robb. "Again, Your Grace, I apologize. To tell you true, yours was not the only raven our father has received. There have been other ravens," his eyes darted toward Lenora, "from King's Landing."

"And what did Tywin Lannister have to say?" Robb asked, because he knew no negotiations would come from Joffrey. Lord Tywin spoke for the king.

"He offered terms," Black Walder told him, it seemed as though the man was being purposefully evasive. "That were much more inviting than the agreement that was originally made for the crossing. Lands, gold, titles, more marriages than our father could hope for. But our father is a loyal man. He pledged fealty to the King in the North and he means to remain loyal to you, Your Grace, as long as his terms are met."

"That is why we are meeting today," Robb pointed out. "To meet the terms of our agreement."

"His _new_ terms," Lothar interjected.

Robb tensed, it was not honorable to change the terms of an agreement once the deal had been struck. But he was not going to be the one to tell Lord Walder or his sons that. He sighed, "Very well, what would your father have of me? I will hear it and decide."

"In payment for his loyalty to you when you showed no intention of being loyal to your agreement our father demands Harrenhal and all its attending lands," Black Walder told him.

"I don't think that's wi -" Edmure started to counsel.

Robb interrupted him. "We are fighting for the North," he told his uncle. "Harrenhal is not in the North. But we have captured it and it will be his once the war is over and we have no further strategic need for it."

Black Walder nodded and glanced at Lothar, "Our Father would like your solemn promise that you are doing everything in your power to find your sisters and that once they are found you will bring them to the Twins so that their weddings can take place immediately."

Robb nodded, "Done," he assured them.

Lenora snorted beside him, "Lord Walder cares more about marriages than my mother did," she whispered to him, so low that the men across the table would not be able to hear her. "And mine and Myrcella's marriages were matters of state."

Robb smiled at her and reached out, gently chucking her under her chin with his thumb.

The Freys watched his action with a look of curiosity. There was something else in their eyes too, though it was hard to place. Robb thought it looked something like satisfaction, though he could not for the life of him understand why his actions toward his wife satisfied them. "There's something else," Black Walder continued.

Robb nodded, "We will do everything we can to give Lord Walder what he needs."

"Not _what_ ," Lothar corrected him, " _who_."

"Your original agreement with our father was that you would pick out a suitable husband for our sister, Roslin," Black Walder told him. "But Father grows impatient and weary of waiting. He feels slighted and with the strength of his loyalty that he has showed you in spite of Lord Tywin's promises, he feels that he should be able to name the bridegroom. This way he can be sure that his grandson through Roslin will inherit lands."

"And who does your father have in mind?" Lenora asked them, her teeth gritted together. Robb looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed, something that the Freys had said had angered her, though he knew not what it was.

They did not answer verbally, instead both Lothar and Black Walder turned to look to Robb's left at Edmure. "What?" Edmure asked when he realized that everyone at the table had turned to look at him.

"You want Roslin's son to inherit Riverrun?" Lenora asked.

"Not _we_ , Your Grace, our Father," Lothar assured her. " _We_ would never presume to tell the King in the North what to do."

 _And yet, you are_ , Robb thought to himself.

Edmure laughed, finally understanding, though the look on his face told Robb that he did not find the situation humorous, "No," he told them quickly, shaking his head.

"Our father requires Lord Edmure marry our sister Roslin," Black Walder told them, as if they needed any further clarification.

Edmure stared, "How - how old is she?" he stuttered.

"Nineteen."

Robb glanced at Lenora. Roslin was older than her by a year, but she seemed so young to marry his uncle, almost half his age. He was not sure who he felt more sorry for, the girl who would marry what would seem an old man to her, or his uncle who would marry a Frey against his will.

"Can I see her first?" Edmure asked.

"You want to count her teeth?" Lothar shot back at him. "We will leave for the Twins in the morning. We require an answer by then and a wedding not more than a fortnight after or this alliance is at an end."

"Your father does realize we're in the middle of a war?" the Blackfish asked.

"Lord Tywin promised quick marriages," Lothar argued.

Black Walder, definitely the more intelligent of the two brothers spoke loudly, over his brother, "Father is old. It would put his mind at peace to see her married to a good husband. It would give him hope that the other promised arrangements will also occur." He glanced between Robb and Edmure, "We will need your answer by morning, Your Grace."

Robb sighed, he did not look at his uncle when he spoke next, "You will not have to wait," he told them. "I have your answer now. I will agree to the terms."

* * *

Author's Note:

And there it is, another nail in Robb's coffin. (Or so to speak. I will make no promises about coffins. Not now, at least.)  
Thank you my friends, for stopping by and reading! Thank you for adding this story to your alerts or favorites lists. Thank you in advance for the glowing review you're about to leave.  
And thank you for all the wonderful reviews you have already left. You guys are wonderful!

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you friend! I hope this update was just as awesome!

 _sltsky96:_ Cersei and Tywin are complete jerks, though I will say this. If Sansa is going to marry anybody, she could not find someone better than Tyrion. I just love him. And Robb should trust Lenora and Grey Wind more. If only because Grey Wind is obviously magic and Lenora was trained by the greatest military general living in the Seven Kingdoms. She might know a bit about wars and men. She will catch on, unfortunately it might be a bit late.  
And yeah, in the next chapter (and the chapter after that) Lenora is going to start "losing her shit" and going off on Robb about all of the dumb shit he's doing. She knows it's stupid and there's going to come a time, probably tomorrow, where she starts to tell him exactly what she's thinking.

 _Darkwolf76_ : No need to apologize, you found the chapter! And I'm so glad that you enjoyed it. Even if it was rough for our characters. And things are just going to get worse, as you can imagine.  
I felt the worst for Jaime too. He is a much better person here than in cannon. I like him, books or show, I like Jaime Lannister. (Probably in the books more than the show if I'm being honest. He's witty and sarcastic with these flashes of decent human being) but his redemption arc was taking too long on the show for my liking so I wrote this story to give it to him earlier. And I will admit I'm quite pleased with it.  
As for Robb, I love the sweetheart, but he deserves what he's going to get. Killing Lord Karstark, making new deals with the Frey's. He's a stupidly honorable man in a completely dishonorable world. And it's going to hurt him. He and Lenora actually fight about it in the next chapter... not that I'm going to give away much more than that.  
I hope you enjoyed your traveling!

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Here's your newest update!

 _HPuni101:_ I won't make any promises about whether or not Robb will die. We're too close for me to drop anymore hints. But I will promise once again, that this story has a happier ending than one can expect from Game of Thrones! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _WritingNOOB:_ You're right. No matter what happens, Robb is not going to come out of the wedding unscathed. It's rather a question of how bad it will be for him. He is kind of fucked. :D

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : Don't worry, I have promised. If she loses Robb she will have a Stark baby. So just keep that in mind.

 _DannyBlack70_ : There will be a scene when Lenora finds out about the moon tea, unfortunately, with the red wedding being _so_ close, I will not say when that scene occurs. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _RevanKnight25_ : I'm mixing and matching book/tv versions as I go. Garlen is there, he's joined the Kingsguard. And Willas is the heir to Highgarden. But one I like awkward Sansa and Loras conversations. And two, why marry your heir to Sansa Stark and have to wait until she has children to gain control over Winterfell when you can marry your spare to her and have him in control of Winterfell as soon as the war is over. Just a bit of scheming on the Tyrell's part.

 _BigWilly526_ : So you reviewed on chapter eight and it's going to be a while before you get here. But there's a reason I sent Jon to the wall, even if I don't plan on focusing too much on the White Walkers. He's not going to be wasted, I promise.

That's all I've got for now! Thank you loves!  
See you back here tomorrow!  
Chloe Jane.


	49. Chapter Forty-Nine: Bear and the Maiden

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Forty-Nine: The Bear and the Maiden Fair_

 _Arya_

It was dark. There was a fire burning in the cave in front of her. She had been waiting all day for this. She had been impatient, but Anguy had quietly explained to her that the Lightning Lord worshiped the Lord of Light and that the trial by combat would have to take place in the darkness. Well, it was dark now and they still had not started. She wanted to see the Hound pay for what he had done to Micah. She wished they would stop their praying and get on with it already.

"Lord of Light, cast your light upon us," Thoros prayed, staring straight ahead at the fire.

"Lord of Light defend us," came the answering cry from the surrounding group. Arya looked around, wondering how they all seemed to know the words. Anguy cut the ropes that tied the Hound's hands together.

"Show us the truth," Thoros continued, "strike this man down if he is guilty, give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom." He turned away from the fire to look at the Brotherhood around him, "For the night is dark and full of terrors."

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," the Brotherhood parroted back.

Thoros handed Lord Beric his sword, she watched, brows furrowed as the leader of the Brotherhood used the edge of his blade to slice open his palm. He then ran the blood over the blade and it caught fire. She turned to look at Gendry, her eyebrows raised, he had told her that the flaming sword was a trick, that it was wildfire. But she was sure that Lord Beric Dondarrion did not have wildfire in his blood. Gendry shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to make of the magic before them. She turned back to the center of the cave, smirking in delight when she caught sight of the fear in the Hound's eyes.

 _That's right_ , she thought, _the Hound does not like fire_.

She hoped he would burn.

Steel clashed against steel, the fiery sword glowed and flashed in the dark, but the fight was over too quickly. At first it seemed that Lord Beric would be the clear and easy victor. He had the Hound on the run, staying out of reach of the flaming sword. At one point the Hound actually stepped into the fire, screaming in rage and fear as he jumped back out. At another moment his wooden shield was on fire and Arya was sure that _that_ would be the end of him. But he simply threw it to the ground and fought without it.

And now without the shield he was angry. For the first time Arya was able to see _why_ the Hound had been named part of the Kingsguard, _why_ he was Joffrey's sworn shield. He was strong. And he was fast. And he was _good_. He overpowered Lord Beric quickly and just as Arya was screaming at the Lighting Lord to kill him, _to just kill him_ , the Hound knocked the man down to his knees and swung at him from above. His sword cut straight through the flaming sword and embedded itself in Lord Beric's chest.

For a moment the leader of the Brotherhood remained kneeling and then he fell to the side. The men around her fell into a quick and stony silence. Thoros rushed to Lord Beric's side, throwing himself over his body and praying to the Lord of Light. It was High Valyrian, she could not understand it though she was sure it was useless. Lord Beric was dead, just like Micah.

And the Hound was still alive.

She could feel the anger coursing through her veins as she grabbed Anguy's dagger and launched herself at the Hound. He was laying on the floor of the cave, he would be an easy kill. And perhaps it was justice for Micah for his murderer to be killed by a girl. "Arya," she heard Gendry yell from behind her. "Arya, no!"

And suddenly he was in front of her, catching around her middle and throwing her back, away from the Hound. She screamed at him. How many days had they spent together? He _knew_ how important her list was to her. He _knew_ the Hound was on it. _He knew_. And yet he kept her from killing him.

The Hound laughed. "Looks like the Gods like me more than your butcher's boy," he sneered at her.

"Burn in hell!" she screamed back, fighting against Gendry with everything she had.

"He will," said the only voice that could quiet her fight. The only voice that should not have spoken. She stopped fighting against Gendry and she felt his grip on her go lax as they both turned their gaze on Lord Beric who was sitting up, wincing a bit in pain. "But not today."

...

They set him free. They set him free. _They set him free_. Lord Beric had made the excuse that the Lord of Light was not done with the Hound yet. But that was a lie. The entire trial by combat had been a lie. The Hound had murdered Micah and once again he got away with it.

Arya did not speak to anyone for the rest of the evening. She glared at them. And recited her list over and over and over.

 _Cersei_. _Joffrey_. _The Mountain._

She stayed at the fire, glaring into the flames, cursing the _stupid_ Lord of Light, and refused their attempts to feed her dinner.

 _Tywin Lannister. The Kingslayer. The Imp._

The men fell asleep around her until it was only Thoros, Lord Beric, and herself that seemed awake.

 _Ser Meryn. Ilyn Payne. The Hound_.

She looked up at Thoros, glaring at him across the flames, "What are you going to do with me?" she asked him, speaking for the first time since the Hound had left the cave.

"At first light we'll ride for Riverrun," he told her. "Your brother's there now. He'll make a contribution to our cause and then you can go."

 _Cersei. Joffrey. The Mountain._

"So I'm a hostage," she told him. "And you're selling me." She wondered if her brother weren't alive, or if he was further away if the Brotherhood Without Banners would have sold her to the Lannisters instead.

"Don't think of it that way," Thoros counseled her, as if he could read her thoughts.

"But it _is_ that way."

"It is and it isn't" the man told her.

"More _is_ than _isn't_."

 _Tywin Lannister. The Kingslayer. The Imp._

Thoros watched her, "Beric admired your father a great deal, you know," he told her, as if that would soothe her worries. "He wanted to refuse your ransom all together."

"So why don't you?" Arya asked. _So they wouldn't sell me to the Lannisters, for my father_.

She watched as Lord Beric sat down next to Thoros. He watched her with his one eye for a moment before he sighed, "You're angry with me," he told her. It wasn't a question. "And I don't blame you. But letting him go was the right thing to do. And I have more reason than most to want him hanged."

"I thought he killed you."

Beric chuckled, "He did."

"But how -" she started.

"Thoros," Beric interrupted. "How many times have you brought me back."

"It's the Lord of Light who brings you back," Thoros told him. "I'm just the lucky drunk who says the words."

"Yes," Beric agreed, rolling his one eye. "But how many times?"

"Five?" Thoros asked. "This would make six." Arya felt her eyes widen as she watched the men. There was no way that Lord Beric could have died six times. It wasn't possible. But she had seen him set his blade on fire with nothing but his blood, so what did she know about _possible_. "There was the first time," Thoros said, holding up one of his fingers.

Beric nodded, "The Mountain," he agreed.

"Show her," Thoros commanded, "A lance through the chest." Beric undid the laces on his tunic so that he could open it and show her the scars that covered his chest. He ran his fingers over the scar on his chest before they dropped to a scar on his belly.

"Then I was stabbed in the belly."

"An arrow to the back," Thoros continued, studying his flagon as Beric gestured to another scar. Then an ax to the side." Beric's hand drifted into his tunic to touch his side.

"Then the Lannisters caught me," he continued as he laced his tunic back up. "And executed me for treason. Was that hanging?" he asked, turning to look at Thoros. "Or a dagger to the eye?"

"Both," Thoros told him, his tone almost bored. Lord Beric turned back to her and smiled as he lifted the scrap of fabric used as a patch over his eye. "The fuckers couldn't decide." The red priest sighed, "And the Hound makes six."

Beric shook his head, chuckling ruefully, "The second time I've been killed by a Clegane."

"You'd think you'd learn," Thoros chuckled. His laughter came to a quick end though, "It's not getting any easier, you know?"

"I know," Beric agreed. "Every time I come back I'm a bit ... _less_." He glanced at Arya, "Pieces of you get chipped away." He turned back to Thoros, "I feel that you won't have to deal with me much longer, my friend."

Arya glanced at Thoros, "Could you bring back a man without a head?" she asked. "Not six times. Just once."

They both looked at her with sympathy shining in their eyes. Arya looked away. She did not need their sympathy, she needed them to bring her father back. "I don't think it works that way, child," Thoros told her, his voice soft and gentle.

"He was a good man," Beric told her, no doubt hoping to comfort her. But she already knew that he was a good man. She did not need to hear it again. "Ned Stark. He's at rest now, somewhere. I would never wish my life upon him."

"I would," Arya assured him. "You're alive."

 _Ser Meryn. Ilyn Payne. The Hound._

...

She found Gendry the next morning as the men were preparing to leave the cave and head toward Riverrun. He was hiding from her, his back turned toward the cave as he mended one of the men's armor. "What are you doing?" she asked him though it was obvious what he was doing.

"Mending Lord Beric's armor," Gendry told her, looking up at her, shamefaced. "I'm going to stay on a smith for the Brotherhood."

"Why?" Arya yelled at him. "Do you think that when the Lannisters find this place they will spare the smiths? They'll kill you with your hammer in your hand."

"The Lannisters wanted me dead long before now," he told her. "And the Brotherhood needs good men."

"Robb needs good men too!" she told him. "We're leaving today. And then you can -"

"What?" Gendry asked her, " _Serve him_?" He shook his head. "Look, I have served men my whole life. I served Master Mott at King's Landing and he sold me to the Knight's Watch. I served Lord Tywin at Harrenhal wondering _every_ day if I'd get tortured or killed." His jaw clenched. "I'm done serving."

"You just said that you're serving Lord Beric," Arya pointed out.

"He may be their leader, but they _chose_ him," he told her. _The men in the North chose my brother_ she wanted to scream at him. "These men are brothers," he continued. "They're a family."

She realized that she would not win him over. He had made up his mind. And he had hid from her so that he would not have to tell her himself. She turned away from him, she could feel tears prickling her eyes and the last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. He waited until she had taken a step away from him before he said, "I've never had a family."

She turned back to him, "I can be your family," she told him, her voice cracking.

He smiled at her, almost ruefully, "Well you wouldn't be my family," he told her, "you'd be my Lady."

And that was when she saw it. No matter what she said, no matter what she did. Gendry would never stay with her. Because even if she did not treat him like he was inferior, he believed it.

...

The Red Woman met them on the second day of their ride toward Riverrun. She spoke to Thoros in High Valyrian for a few minutes before he agreed to take her to see Lord Beric. Arya started to follow them, she did not trust the woman. But Thoros turned to look at her and smiled down softly, "I'm sorry, Little Lady," he told her. "But you must stay here."

He left her with Anguy and Gendry as he and the red woman rode toward the back of the column where Beric was riding.

She waited impatiently. They would not let her go with them. But the Brotherhood would not ride without Thoros at the front. They had to wait.

They waited for almost an hour. For almost an hour she had to stand there and listen to Gendry talk to Anguy about arrow heads and rejoice in his new position as member of the Brotherhood Without Banners instead of hostage.

She hated him for it.

When she came back the Red Woman came with a cart that had been converted into a cage with wooden bars. "I don't like that woman," Arya told Gendry and Anguy.

Both men looked up at the woman and smiled. "That's because you're a girl," Anguy told her with a chuckle.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Arya asked as the Red Woman, Thoros, and Lord Beric approached them.

She never got an answer.

"Forgive me, lad," Lord Beric told Gendry before two of the soldiers the Red Woman had brought with her grabbed Gendry.

He fought against them, but they were bigger, taller, stronger. "What are you doing?" Arya yelled at them, grabbing the closest one by the arm and trying to make him let go of Gendry. The soldier threw her off of him and into Anguy. "Tell them to stop!" she ordered the archer. He was friends with Gendry, they had been talking about arrows. She could not understand why he would let them take Gendry. She moved away from Anguy to yell at Thoros and Lord Beric. "He wants to join the Brotherhood. He wants to be one of you. Why are you letting them take him?"

"We serve the Lord of Light," Lord Beric told her, his voice infuriatingly calm. "And the Lord of Light needs this boy."

"Did the _Lord of Light_ tell you that? Or did _she_?" Arya yelled at him, glaring at the Red Woman. The woman looked at her for a long moment before she turned away from her and followed Gendry and his guards toward the cage. "You're not doing this for your god," Arya sneered as she watched one of the soldiers return with two large sacks of coins. "You're doing this for gold."

"We're doing it for both girl," Thoros told her, moving closer. His voice was quiet, he meant to soothe her as he had the night before when he told her not to think of herself as a hostage. "We cannot defend the people without weapons and horses and food. And we cannot get weapons and horses and food without gold."

"You told me this was a brotherhood!" Gendry yelled from the cart. "You told me I could be one of you!"

The Red Woman moved closer to him, "You are more than they could ever be," she told him. "They are just foot soldiers in the great war. You will make Kings rise and fall."

As they shoved him into the cage she moved back to her horse to ready the saddle to ride again. Arya pushed past Thoros so that she could approach her. "You're a witch," she accused when the woman turned to look at her. "You're going to hurt him."

The woman stared at her face for a moment before she reached out and grabbed her chin, "I see a darkness in you," she told Arya. "And in that darkness eyes staring back at me. Brown eyes, blue eyes, green eyes. Eyes you'll shut forever. We will meet again," she promised.

As she let go of Arya's chin and turned back to her horse all Arya could think was that the witch's eyes were blue.

Perhaps those would be the blue eyes she would shut forever.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"You're angry with me," Robb told her as they mounted their horses. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, an assumption. And truth be told Lenora was angry, though not with him.

She was angry with the weather. It was raining again, it had been raining since they left Riverrun three days before. She had spent the last two days cold and wet and on a horse.

She was angry with Edmure for complaining. He was unhappy to have to marry a girl that he did not choose. He was jealous of Lord Bolton for having been given the choice of daughters while _he_ , the Lord of Riverrun, had one mandated for him. And she understood more than most how upsetting it could be to be forced into a marriage that she had not chosen. But instead of bearing his anger in silence as would have been expected and honorable. Edmure complained.

Day in and day out he complained.

And she was angry at Lord Walder Frey for changing his terms after a deal had been struck. For daring to place orders on his king. For calling Robb's honor and honesty into question. But most of all she was angry that the man had used letters from her grandfather to threaten Robb into complying with these new terms.

And yes, perhaps she was a bit angry with Robb. For not only agreeing with the new terms, but for agreeing to travel out to the Twins to attend the wedding. They had not attended Lord Bolton's quiet wedding to the fat Frey girl, and Roose Bolton was a much more useful, and perhaps loyal, bannerman than Walder Frey. Lord Walder had taken half of his soldiers without asking for either permission or forgiveness from his King. He had, to some extent, consorted with her grandfather, the enemy. And he had threatened Robb into accepting new terms on a deal that had already been made.

And Robb had allowed him to do it.

If Walder Frey had been her grandfather's man instead of Robb's and he had tried to pull this stunt Lenora knew what would have happened. Tywin would travel to the Twins as well, but it would not be for a wedding. He would behead Walder Frey and bestow the Twins onto someone else. Someone more loyal.

Instead Robb was rewarding the man with a very good marriage for his daughter, a new castle and lands, and the king's presence at the wedding.

It would make him look weak to their Lannister enemies.

It might make him look weak to his own men.

"Lenora," Robb pressed when she did not answer right away. "Talk to me."

"I mislike it," she told him, her eyes facing forward so that she would not have to look at him. "I don't trust Walder Frey and neither should you."

"I don't trust him," Robb assured her. "But I need him."

"He's not loyal," Lenora told him. "He's not loyal. He serves himself, not you. And the moment my grandfather offers him terms that are more to his liking he will turn on you."

"His sons have already said that Lord Tywin offered him sweeter terms than mine, and he still chose me," Robb pointed out. "And his daughter will be married to my uncle and living at Riverrun, do you think he would turn on me when I would hold his daughter? When I could imprison her? Or kill her for his crimes?"

"He chose you because you were closer. The bulk of the Lannister forces remain in King's Landing until after Joffrey's wedding. If they left today it would still be a moon's turn before they reached the Twins. But if he were to turn on you, you would march on him. He chose you because you're the bigger threat at the moment. But that might not always be the case."

"We will still have his daughter," Robb pointed out.

"And he has many more,' Lenora argued, adjusting her grip on her reins. "Even if you were to kill her. What's the loss of one daughter when he has so many more? Perhaps he'd even be thankful for it. One less mouth he would have to feed."

"You think he cares so little for his kin?" Robb asked her. He was watching her, she could feel his blue eyes on her. He thought her cold for expecting so little from Walder Frey. Well, cold she may be, but she thought he was a fool for thinking so much of the man. It was clear that Robb did not like Walder Frey, but he seemed to think more of the man's sense of duty and loyalty than she did. "You think he would give her to us to use how we see fit and not care how his actions might affect her wellbeing? He's her _father_."

"And the queen regent is my _mother,_ " Lenora fired back. "You've seen the two of us together. Very few people have a kind word to say about my mother. But the one thing everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows is that Cersei Lannister loves her children. She loves me, I'd dare say she loves me more than Lord Walder loves any of his children. Perhaps even more than Walder Frey loves his own skin. And you _had_ me. Her actions could have a profound affect on my wellbeing. If you had been any other man I could have been killed. But did that stop her from allowing Joffrey to cut off your father's head? Did that stop her from declaring war on you? Did that stop my grandfather and my uncle from fighting you in battle?"

Robb was silent. She had made her point and she had made it well. She sighed, finally turning to look at the man riding beside her. "Grandfather would have him killed," she told him. "Whether he was still a Lannister man or not. He would have him killed just for the _doubt_ of it."

"Well, I'm not your grandfather," Robb pointed out.

"No," Lenora told him, shaking her head. Her voice was quiet and flat. "No, you are not. And that's the shame of this whole business."

"The shame?" Robb bit back. "You think it is a shame that I keep my word? My father kept his word. My father was honorable. My father did his duty. _Always_. And _that_ is what a king should do. How can I ask my men, my country, to follow me into battle if they cannot trust that I will do the right thing after the war is over?" He shook his head and sighed. "I gave Lord Walder my word when he allowed us to use the crossing. He thinks that I broke it, or that I'm dragging my feet on the matter. I mean to show him that I have not and will not break the faith."

"He gave you his word as well," Lenora told him. "He swore his fealty to you and named you his King. And he still broke his word. He took back his men and allowed my grandfather's offers to turn his head, at least a little. _You_ do not owe him _anything_."

"Men may break their words," Robb told her. "Even if the man is a bannerman. But a liege lord, a _King_ may not. My father -"

"Is dead," Lenora interrupted. She knew it would hurt him to hear it, but she needed him to hear her, to listen to what she had to say and understand where she came from. "He was honorable, and honest, and he did his duty. And he died for it. Do you know who survives this world? The dishonorable, the liars, the men who give their word and break it. The men without scruples. The men who see duty as an ever changing thing. The Walder Freys of the world. The Tywin Lannisters of the world. The honorable Starks are _dying_."

Robb watched her, his jaw clenched, "You knew who I was when you married me," he told her.

"You didn't give me much choice in the matter," Lenora fired back.

That made him chuckle, though it was not his usual laugh full of joy and light. This one was dark and humorless. "Aye," he agreed with her. "I did not. But it did not take you long to decide that you loved me. To be happy with me. Has that changed with Lord Walder's new terms?"

Lenora sighed, "I _do_ love you," she told him. "That has not changed. It will never change. I don't know if I know _how_ to unlove you, even if I wanted to. And it is because I love you that I must tell you the harsh realities of the world. And one of those realities is that I think you are making a terrible mistake trusting Lord Walder. I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know he will betray you. I can _feel_ it."

"Woman's intuition is it?" Robb asked. This time when he laughed it was a bit closer to his usual sound. Her assurances that she loved him had done their job. He would not listen to her, but at least he was not angry with her for speaking her mind. "Tell me, love, shall I have Grey Wind smell him before I attend the wedding? Shall we leave if the wolf growls?"

Lenora glared at him, though there was little heat to it. _I wish you would_ , she thought. She sighed and shook her head as she looked away from him. "I believe in you, Robb Stark. I believe that you will make a great King. That you will treat your subjects with honor and respect, two things they do not get from my brother. Two things they did not get from my father, or the Mad King before him. I believe that you will make the Seven Kingdoms a better place."

"Then trust my decision now," Robb cut in, begging her to stop being angry with him. "Believe that I know what I'm doing."

Lenora shook her head, "I believe that if you continue acting like an honorable Stark you will never see the end of this war. I believe that if you keep believing that _every_ man has your father's sense of honor and duty you will never be able to do all the good you plan for these kingdoms. I believe that men like Walder Frey have survived a lot longer than you have, and they will continue to survive long after you're gone."

"You think this war is a worthless cause then?" Robb asked.

"I think you're not listening to me," Lenora told him, smiling in spite of herself. "I think you are deliberately not listening to me. I think this war is the most worthy cause, but I think you will lose it if you continue to carry the assumption that all men think as you do. That all men think and act as your father did." She shook her head. "I think I will lose you," she told him, lifting her gaze to his face. "And I won't know what to do if I lose you."

Robb's face softened as he watched her. "You will know what to do, Nora," he promised her. "You will keep going. Because you are a survivor. You got it from your mother's blood. You will keep going and you will be just as strong without me as you are now. Perhaps stronger, as you will have lost your fear of losing me."

Lenora felt tears filling her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of him. She wanted to be the strong woman he described, she wanted to believe it as he did. He sighed, a soft smile resting on his lips, "All this worry is for naught," he told her. "You will _never_ lose me, Nora, I promise you." He looked away from her for a moment, his gaze moving over the long column of men and horses following behind them. "And as evidenced by all this trouble for a wedding, I always keep my word."

Lenora laughed in spite of herself.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He had bathed with her. He had told her the story of his nickname, the story he had told no one save Lenora. She had saved him when he passed out and had practically carried him to Roose Bolton's tower where they were to have supper with the Leech Lord. If Jaime was able to think of anything besides his missing hand he would have been ashamed to admit how much he had needed to rely on the wench that evening.

But all he could think about was his missing hand. And all the things he could no longer do with it. He could not fight with a sword, he could not dress himself, for the sake of the Seven he could not even cut his own damn meat. He was struggling with it now, as Lord Bolton finally decided to speak with them.

"I see my men have found you something appropriate to wear," he started with Brienne.

Jaime snorted _appropriate_ would not be the word he would use to describe the dress. It was pink satin with Myrish lace. And had obviously been cut for a very differently proportioned woman. A woman with slimmer arms and shorter legs, and much bigger breasts. Pink was not the wench's color. All in all the dress made her look more ridiculous than usual. Though it was a gown, and she was a woman - he had seen her cunt to prove it - so as far as Roose Bolton and his men were concerned, perhaps it was _appropriate_.

The wench shot him a glare at his snort before she answered Lord Bolton, "Yes," she agreed with him. "Most kind of them." She paused for a moment, glancing between Jaime and Lord Bolton. "Lord Bolton," she started, "I must ask - what are your intentions with the Kingslayer?"

Lord Bolton smiled, though Jaime misliked it, he did not trust the smile. He turned to lower his pale-eyed gaze on Jaime, "You are a perilous prize, Ser," he informed him. "You sow dissension wherever you go. Even here, in my happy house of Harrenhal." His voice was nothing more than a whisper. "And in Riverrun as well, it seems. Do you know, Edmure Tully has offered a thousand golden dragons for your recapture?"

 _A thousand?_ Jaime thought. _Is that all?_ "My father will pay ten times as much," he promised.

"Will he?" He was smiling again, it seemed to himself. As if he were in on some joke that Jaime and Brienne were not. "Ten thousand dragons is a formidable sum. Of course, there is Lord Karstark's offer to consider as well. He promises the hand of his daughter to the man who brings him your head." He was quiet for a moment, letting that sink in before he continued, "Fortunately for you, I have no need of a wife. I wed the Lady Walda Frey whilst I was at the Twins."

"Fair Walda?" Jaime asked, there were so many Waldas that they each had a nickname.

"Fat Walda," Lord Bolton corrected.

Jaime watched the man for a moment, trying to figure out if he was jesting. He couldn't tell. Lord Bolton looked at him for a long moment and then he mused, "Perhaps I ought to make a wedding gift of you to Edmure Tully." He spoke slow and soft, but Jaime heard every word, "Or I could strike your head off, as your sister did for Eddard Stark."

"I would not advise it," Jaime told him, still struggling with his meat. His knife was dull, he was sure _that_ was the problem. "Casterly Rock has a long memory."

"And the North has a longer one," Bolton argued. "And a thousand leagues of mountain, sea, and bog lie between my walls and your rock. Lannister enmity means little to Bolton."

"Lannister _friendship_ could mean much," Jaime countered. They were playing the game now, both he and Lord Bolton knew it. He wondered if Brienne knew too. He did not look at her to see.

"I am not certain you are the sort of friends a wise man would want," Bolton told him. Again with _that_ smile.

"You're a Stark bannerman, Lord Bolton," the wench cut in, reminding the lord of his place. "I am acting on Lady Stark's orders to return Ser Jaime to King's Landing. An exchange for her daughters. You must free us to continue on our way."

"The raven that came from Riverrun told of an escape, not an exchange. King Robb is holding his mother as his prisoner. If she were not his mother he would have had her hanged for treason," Lord Bolton told her.

It seemed that Brienne had had enough of watching Jaime struggle with his meat. Without a word her right hand shot out and she rammed her fork into the meat, holding it steady for him so that he could cut a bite for himself. Roose watched the exchange with a smirk, "I serve the King in the North," he told them. "Or the King Who Lost the North, as some now call him." Jaime smirked at that, it was treason to say what Lord Bolton had. But Lord Bolton was a smart man, he would not have said it if he weren't in the market to stop serving the King in the North. "I should send you both back to him."

"Perhaps you should," Jaime told him with a nod. "But instead you're here, watching me fail at dinner. Why is that?"

The wench was tense beside him, she did not like where this conversation was going. But Jaime loved it. When he spoke next Lord Bolton addressed the wench, "Lady Brienne, would it calm your nerves to know that I hope to send Ser Jaime on, just as you and Lady Stark desire?"

"I - you'll send us on?" she stuttered out, mistrustful of the lord's generosity. "That is good, my Lord."

Bolton nodded and turned to Jaime, "As soon as you're well enough to travel I will allow you to go to King's Landing as restitution for the mistakes my soldiers made," his pale eyes dropped to the stump that now made up the end of Jaime's right hand. "And you will swear to tell your father the truth, that I had nothing to do with your maiming."

Jaime grinned, "My Lord, send me to my father, and I'll sing as sweet a song as you could want, of how gently you treated me. Had I a hand, I'd write it out. How I was maimed by the sellsword my own father made, and saved by the noble Lord Bolton." He turned to the wench, "My Lady, may our journey continue without further incident."

"Oh," Lord Bolton interjected, shaking his head. "I said that _you_ would continue on to King's Landing, I said nothing about the Lady."

"Lady Catelyn -" Brienne started.

"Were I you, my Lady, I should worry less about the Starks and rather more about _sapphires_ ," Lord Bolton cut her off.

Jaime felt his heart sink, Bolton meant to leave her at Harrenhal with Locke. And Locke still believed the lie about the Sapphire Isle. _Jaime's_ lie. "I'm afraid I must insist."

"You are in no place to insist anything," Lord Bolton told him. "I had hoped that you had learned your lesson about overplaying your," he paused, " _position_."

Jaime glanced at Brienne, there was nothing he could do for her. He wanted to apologize but he could not find the words. She watched him for a moment before she nodded.

She understood.

...

He dreamed about her the first night on the road back to King's Landing. The wench. They were together in dark cave, there was no light, but somehow he _knew_ they were underneath Casterly Rock. There was water in the cave, and something else in there with them. A beast that growled. The wench guessed that it was a bear, Jaime was sure it was a direwolf. But whatever it was, they had no weapons to defend themselves. And even if they had, he had not hand to hold one.

He woke from his fever dream screaming some time before dawn. In a matter of moments Qyburn and the leader of his guard, _Steelshanks_ they called him, were by his side. Jaime paid no attention to the guard's questions as Qyburn helped him sit up. Instead he turned to the disgraced maester, "You were in charge of the ravens at Harrenhal. Did you, did you get a bird off to Brienne's father in Tarth?"

"A bird flew off and a bird flew back," Qyburn assured him. "Lord Selwyn Tarth offered three hundred gold dragons for his daughter's safe return."

Some of Jaime's fear abated. That was a good offer, Locke would be a fool not to take it. "Fair offer," he commented.

"More than fair," Qyburn agreed with him. "But Locke won't take it." Jaime raised his eyebrows. "Someone's convinced him that Tarth owns all the sapphire mines in Westeros. He thinks he's being cheated."

"They'd be fools to kill her," Jaime argued.

"These men have been at war a long time," Qyburn made an excuse for their behavior. "Most of them will be dead by winter. She'll be their entertainment tonight, but beyond tonight?" He shook his head, "I don't think they care very much."

Jaime ran his fingers through his hair, then he turned, squinting in the near dark to look at Steelshanks, "Walton," he addressed the guard using his family name. "Saddle the horses. I want to go back."

"Back?" the northman asked him, looking at Jaime as if he had lost his mind.

 _Perhaps I have_ , Jaime thought. "I left something behind."

"And I've got orders from Lord Bolton," Steelshanks argued.

"And what are those orders?" Jaime asked, his tone sarcastic.

"To deliver you to your father in King's Landing."

Once Jaime might have countered with a smile and a threat, but one-handed cripples do not inspire much fear. He wondered what his brother would do. _Tyrion would find a way_. "Lannisters lie, Steelshanks. Didn't Lord Bolton tell you that?" he asked.

The man frowned,"What if he did?"

Now, Jaime smiled, "Unless you take me back to Harrenhal, the song I sing my father may not be one that the Lord of the Dreadfort would wish to hear. I might even say it was Bolton ordered my hand cut off, and Steelshanks Walton who swung the blade."

"That isn't so!" Steelshanks argued with him.

"No, but who will my father believe?" He paused for a moment, "We return to Harrenhal, now."

And by the time the sun came up, they were halfway back to Harrenhal.

Jaime pushed his horse much harder than he had the day before, and Steelshanks and the northmen were forced to match his pace. Even so, it was midday before they reached the castle on the lake.

The sky was darkening with a coming storm. And there was no one to be found on the castle walls. It was almost too quiet. Steelshanks ordered him to get what he had come for when he heard it. "Be quiet!" he ordered.

 _Singing_ , he could hear singing. And laughter. He quickly dismounted, in a moment he understood what was happening. His stomach lurched as he ran across the outer ward, beneath an arched stone bridge, around the Wailing Tower, and through the Flowstone Yard.

They had her in the bear pit.

All the sellswords were packed in the stands singing _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ at the tops of their lungs. Their focus on the spectacle before them was so great that none seemed to recognize Jaime as he pushed his way toward the railing.

Brienne wore the same ill-fitting gown she'd worn to supper with Roose Bolton. No shield, no breastplate, no chainmail, not even boiled leather. Only pink satin and Myrish lace. Perhaps they found her more amusing when she was dressed as a woman. Her dress was torn, and her neck bleeding from where the bear had raked her.

The men were yelling at her, a mix between insults and obscene suggestions as she kept trying to run away from the bear. "Well, this is one shameful fucking performance," he heard Locke yell.

 _At least they gave her a sword._ But he had thought too soon. He watched as she jabbed her sword into the beast's side, but there was no blood. They had given her a play sword. "A _wooden_ sword?" he yelled out, turning to glare at Locke.

If he was surprised to see him, Locke did not say so. "We've only got one bear," he told Jaime, completely unashamed.

"I'll pay her bloody ransom," Jaime bargained through clenched teeth. "Gold, sapphires, whatever you want."

Locke turned away from the fight with a roll of his eyes, "All you high lords and ladies think the only thing that matters is gold. But this makes me happier than all your gold," he growled, grabbing at Jaime's stump. "And that makes me happier than all her sapphires." He pointed at the pit. "So go buy yourself a golden hand and fuck yourself with it."

The men around them cheered and Jaime turned back to the pit in time to see the bear swipe angrily at Brienne, knocking her sword from her grasp. Its next attack sent her falling to the ground. He didn't think. He only acted.

His good hand fell to the railing and he vaulted himself over it, rolling as he hit the sand. Bear and woman turned to look at him, both bewildered. "Kingslayer?" Brienne asked, astonished.

" _Jaime_ ," he told her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Something stupid," Jaime assured her, his eyes never leaving the bear. Whatever confusion the beast had felt by his arrival was quickly diminishing. "Get behind me."

He expected her to argue with him. But she didn't. She listened and started to run toward him. But with one swipe of its large paws the bear kicked her legs out from under her. She fell to the sand again. Jaime straddled her, shielding her body with his own.

The bear came charging.

There was a deep _twang_ and a feathered shaft sprouted suddenly on the bear's right shoulder. Jaime turned to see Steelshanks loading another bolt in his crossbow. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Locke yelled at him.

"Lord Bolton charged me with bringing the Kingslayer back to King's Landing _alive._ That's what I aim to do," Steelshanks told him, loosing another bolt into the bear.

Jaime took advantage of the bear's distraction. He stood from the ground and ran for the outer edge of the pit, "Pull her up!" he ordered, bending down so that Brienne could climb on his back and be tall enough for the men to grab her. She was a heavy thing, but in a matter of moments they were pulling her out of the pit.

The bear chose that moment to charge again.

Brienne had them hold her legs and she leaned over the edge of the pit, reaching for him. It was a struggle to climb, what with one hand and a bear charging at him. But with her help Jaime managed to climb high enough that he was out of the bear's reach. He made it to the platform and turned in time to see one of Steelshanks' bolts imbed itself in the bear's eye, killing the beast.

"You slew my bear!" Locke yelled at Jaime's guard, as if he were more angry about the bear than Brienne's rescue.

Steelshanks was not to be intimidated though, he leveled Locke with a glare. "And I'll serve you the same if you give me trouble," he threw back. He paused for a moment, thoughtful, "We're taking the wench," he told Locke.

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime corrected him, not taking his eyes off the girl as he searched for more serious injuries. "Brienne, the maid of Tarth. You _are_ still maiden, I hope?"

She blushed and nodded, "Yes."

"Oh good," Jaime told her with a nod. "I only rescue maidens."

...

She waited until they were well away from Harrenhal and it was dark before she approached him. "Ser Jaime?" she asked as they sat by a fire that night. "I am grateful, for what you did. But ... you were well away. Why did you come back?"

A dozen quips came to mind, each one crueler than the one before. But Jaime only shrugged and settled for the truth, "I dreamed of you," he said.

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Author's Note:

Hello friends! A long chapter this morning! One that I hope you enjoyed!  
Did you? Did you? Did you?  
You should let me know by posting a review down in that beautiful box down there! It's sad. And reviews make it happy.  
Reviews make _me_ happy too! And a happy writer updates more frequently. Just saying ...  
Anyway, thank you for reading! And thank you to the wonderful souls who reviewed the last chapter. Seriously... THANK YOU.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Hope you enjoy this newest chapter!

 _RHatch89_ : I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope this chapter was good too. Is the foreboding setting in yet? I post the Red Wedding chapter this week.

 _darkwolf76_ : Every once in a while I like to throw in _nice_ Cersei. I write that sarcastically because I imagine that even when she seems nice, there's a hint of cruelty in it. But it's lovely to write because it would be so easy to make Cersei a one dimensional bitch, and I don't think she is. She's a much more enjoyable character when you don't know what Cersei you're going to get. As for that scene, I think she was nice, not for the sake of being nice to Tyrion, but because she felt sorry for Sansa and it just bled over to her interactions with her brother. Remember ... Cersei has been in Sansa's situation before.  
As for Sansa without giving too much away. Her plot is going to get more and more AU after her wedding to Tyrion. I so desperately want to play with Ramsay, but I can't do that to Sansa. It would make me incredibly unhappy to write that. She's too innocent for that shit.  
And I have to write Lenora and Robb so cute because that's how it hurts. The cuter they are, the more it hurts if something were to happen to them. And it's GoT so there's gotta be pain somewhere.  
As for your question ... yes. If Robb survives there is still a chance for a Stark baby as well. It's just a guarantee if he dies.

 _Provider of odd things_ : Hello new reviewer! I love your name! Thank you for reviewing! I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter just as much. Because you are a new reviewer I will give you a promise, the Red Wedding will be bad, but not _as bad_ as the television show. (Full disclosure: I'm not really revealing anything because in the show both Robb and his wife die. In this story ... we already know that at least Lenora will survive.)  
As for Tywin's plans, yes a baby born to Lenora and Robb would have a stronger claim on Winterfell than one to Tyrion and Sansa. _But_ Tyrion and Sansa are in King's Landing Lenora and Robb are pretty far away. And Lenora has been with Robb for so long that there is no guarantee that Tywin would be able to control her. Sansa is a safer bet, she's easy to control.  
When Lenora finds out about the moon tea she will be angry, and there will be eventual vengeance. Though she'll have to be patient for it.

 _WritingNOOB_ : Gods! You guys are all writing books for reviews. Which means I have to write books back. I love it. As you can see in this chapter Lenora agrees with you. Robb is an idiot for being so honorable. And she's terrified that it's going to get him killed. She's been walking this line for so long, where she doesn't want to call him out on it for fear that his men will lose respect for their King who gets schooled by his wife. But at the same time, this isn't just his fight anymore. He praises her for being Tywin's granddaughter and it's time she starts acting like it. You're going to see a lot of that soon.  
As for your gut feeling you are right. Tywin has contacted Bolton and asked for the safe return of his granddaughter. During this chapter Bolton sweetened the pot by returning the son as well.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _HPuni101:_ You should be nervous. T-minus two days until the Red Wedding. Get ready! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you so much for your review!

That's it for now guys!  
Thank you, once again, so much!  
Chloe Jane.


	50. Chapter Fifty: Winterfell and King

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Two chapters in one day ... someone must love you guys. (Or have a posting deadline ...)

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty: Winterfell and King's Landing_

 _Tyrion_

He would not allow Cersei to tell the Stark girl about the marriage arrangements. He was sure that Sansa would not welcome the news from anyone, but he knew that his sister would take too much joy in breaking the girl's heart. He would not allow for anyone to celebrate the child's pain.

Though knowing that he alone in the kingdoms would not rejoice in Sansa Stark's fall did not make it any easier for him to tell her the news. He dragged his feet for days before he sought her out to tell her. She was in her chambers, with her handmaidens.

Shae would be there, perhaps that was what had stalled him all along.

Since his father had returned he had seen less of Shae, but this news would break her. He would go from seeing less of the woman he loved to seeing none at all. He knew that. And he dreaded it.

When he knocked on the door to Sansa's chambers one of her other handmaidens answered the door, one of Cersei's spies no doubt. The girl did not say anything, but Tyrion caught the way her eyebrows rose in surprise. If she had expected anyone at the door, it was certainly not him.

"Lord Tyrion?" she greeted, dropping into a curtsy, "these are Lady Sansa Stark's chambers?" Her voice rose at the end, a question. No doubt she wondered if Tyrion had traveled here by mistake, there could be no reason for him to seek out Sansa Stark.

"A fact I am well aware of," Tyrion told the girl, his tone dry and humorless. At any other time he would have delighted in her confusion and surprise. But this afternoon, this conversation was not a cause for delight. "Could you please announce me to Lady Sansa?"

The maid nodded and with another quick curtsy she turned and moved out of the way and invited him into the outer room of Sansa's chambers. She gestured to seat that he could wait in before she moved to a door that led to the girl's bedchamber. She knocked politely and opened the door, not enough for Tyrion to see inside, but enough that she could stick her head in to announce his presence.

"Lady Sansa," she called out, getting the girl's attention. "Lord Tyrion is here to see you."

She would be surprised, no doubt, just as her maid had been. She would be confused. Tyrion had seen enough of the Stark girl to imagine the way her eyebrows would crease together. Perhaps she would even worry. She would think that Tyrion was there to bring her news of her family. And if it was a Lannister bringing the news it could only be bad.

He would not leave her to worry for long. He found that he could not wait for her to come to him. He moved away from the seat and as quickly as his legs could carry him walked to the door, pushing the maid out of the way so that he could enter and speak to Sansa directly.

She would be even more surprised by this action, but Tyrion had learned long ago that news like this was best delivered quickly. It was less painful that way.

"Lady Sansa," he greeted as he entered the room, only then realizing how improper it was for him to enter her bedchamber uninvited. She was standing, half turned toward him, the front of her dress undone, her corset visible to the waist. She quickly turned away from him, glancing at Shae with wide eyes and silently asking her handmaiden to help her tie the laces of her dress as quickly as possible.

Shae moved quickly, her fingers quickly lacing and tying the dress. But neither was quick enough. Before Sansa had turned Tyrion had caught sight of her. She was a girl, a child he knew that. But she had a woman's body.

His eyes had landed on the soft swell of her breasts, her narrow waist. Many men would be honored and happy to be her husband. Her body promised pleasure, as sick as it made him feel to think that. And it would be his.

Her beautiful body would be waisted on the Imp.

He quickly looked down, away from her, until her laces were tied and she had turned back to face him.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady," he greeted her when he was finally able to look up from the ground.

No matter how uncomfortable he was, she was more so. A pink blush covered her cheeks and spread down her long, pale neck. "Good afternoon, Lord Tyrion," she greeted him, ever the proper lady, even in the face of such embarrassment. She gestured to the purple gown she had on, "I was just trying on a gown for King Joffrey's wedding."

Tyrion nodded, "Yes," he agreed. "It should be quite a ... wedding." He stuttered over the word, realizing now that there would be another wedding before Joffrey's. One that Sansa would enjoy even less than the latter. He shook his head, two hard shakes left and right. He could not handle anymore small talk, if that was what one could call _this_. "I need to speak with you," he told her, his eyes darting toward Shae, "Lady Sansa," he stressed, hoping his love would understand and leave the room.

She did not.

"Of course," Sansa agreed, her shoulders square, a disinterested mask falling over her face. He was right, she thought that he brought news of her family. She was preparing for the worst. She was preparing to hear what he had to say and not reveal her inner feelings. Instead she would say what was required of her and wait until he had left to mourn.

She would do the same with the news of their wedding.

" _Alone_ if I may," Tyrion stressed, still looking at Shae.

"Why do you need to speak to her _alone_?" Shae snapped at him, her eyes narrowing into a glare.

He wondered if Shae could read his face, if she somehow knew what he was going to tell the Stark girl and wanted to punish him for it; or if she was glaring at him on behalf of Sansa Stark, if she was worried that what he had to say would hurt the girl.

He had not anticipated Shae growing quite as attached to Sansa as she had. As much as Shae tried to deny it, Tyrion knew that she cared for Sansa, loved the girl even. Perhaps her glare was solely for Sansa's benefit.

" _Shae_ ," Sansa scolded, turning to look at her handmaiden over her shoulder before she turned back to Tyrion. "Please excuse her Lord Tyrion," she apologized. "She is not from here. But I trust her, even though she tells me not to."

Tyrion sighed, his eyes darting from Sansa's face to Shae's and back again. They completed this circuit two more times before finally landing on Shae. When he spoke it was to both of them, and perhaps a bit to himself. "Sometimes, we think we want to hear something. And it's only afterwards when it's too late that we realize we wished he had heard it under completely different circumstances."

"It's alright, really," Sansa told him, she would not let him get away with sending Shae from the room. She would hear what he had to say and it seemed so would Shae. This would be much worse than Tyrion had intended.

"Where to begin," he mused as he turned away from his bride-to-be and his mistress so that he could shut the bedchamber door. Perhaps it was a bit improper, but he had already barged in on Sansa as she dressed and he would not have the other handmaiden hear this conversation. He squared his shoulders and turned back to both of them, "This is awkward."

Sansa smiled at him, almost sweetly, "My Lord," she told him, "whatever it is you need to tell me, surely cannot be so bad. What is it?"

"You are to be married, Lady Sansa," Tyrion told her. He did not have the stomach for small talk, but now that the moment had come he could not bring himself to tell her. He did not know how to. He watched as her eyes widened and she turned to look at Shae in surprise.

"Am I, my Lord?" she stuttered out. "And pray, how do you know?"

 _Seven Hells_ , Tyrion thought, _she thinks I mean to Loras Tyrell. She thinks she's been caught_. And she had, but she would also be punished. And it was up to Tyrion to inform her of her punishment. He looked away from her for a moment, "As you are a ward of the crown, ultimately it is the king's decision as to what to do with you," he told her, swallowing thickly once he had gotten the words out. "And the king and his council have decided that it is time for you to marry. If you were home in Winterfell, no doubt your mother would have started the process already."

Sansa smiled sadly at that and Tyrion cursed to himself, realizing that bringing up the mother Sansa might never see again was not the way to ease himself into this conversation. "Yes, my Lord," Sansa finally told him, still the courteous lady. "You speak the truth."

Tyrion nodded, still unsure of how to continue this conversation. Perhaps he should have allowed Cersei to tell the girl. His sister would have delighted in the girl's pain, but she would have just come out and told her. She wouldn't have stalled. She would not be at a loss for words now.

Sansa sighed, seeing his discomfort, but still not aware of the source of it. "Who am I to marry, Lord Tyrion?" she asked him, finally giving him an opening.

"Well," Tyrion said, drawing out the word as he looked away from Shae. His eyes landed on Sansa for just a moment before they dropped down to the ground. "Me. You are to become my wife."

...

Neither woman was particularly pleased with the news Tyrion had brought them. But they were so markedly different in their responses.

Sansa's face had been filled with relief when he mentioned that she was to be married. A short-lived relief that he did not bring news of another member of her family dying. But the relief quickly disappeared. For a moment several different emotions shifted over her face: surprise, fear, disgust, sadness, anger. Each rapidly replacing the other before she quickly allowed her disinterested, courtly mask to fall over her face. Her voice had been as hard as stone when she thanked him for telling her and asked for him to leave her chambers. But she had curtsied and her face had not betrayed her again in the minutes it took him to stutter out an apology and a goodbye before he left her alone.

Shae on the other hand had been livid. She was angrier than Tyrion had expected her to be. He supposed it was because of his assumption that she truly cared for the Stark girl. She was not simply angry that he had to marry another woman. She was angry that he had to marry _Sansa_ , the girl she cared for. The girl she had sworn to herself that she would protect. She must have made some excuse to Sansa because she had quickly left the girl's side to quickly follow after him to yell at him. Tyrion had tried to explain to her that he had little choice in the matter, that his father would have Sansa killed if he did not marry her, but Shae would not listen.

After she had yelled at him she had stormed away, back to Sansa. And Tyrion had not seen either of them for a week.

But now, a few days before the wedding Tyrion could not let it go on anymore. Sansa would have to marry him, but Tyrion would do as much as he could to ensure that she would not marry a stranger. He sought her out, she was walking in the garden with Shae as his luck would have it.

He could not make eye contact with either of them as he bowed lowed to Sansa, "Lady Sansa," he asked her, addressing her foot rather than her face, "I wondered if I might accompany you on your walk this afternoon."

He was still looking down, he did not see the look Sansa and Shae exchanged, but he did hear Sansa when she spoke, "Of course, Lord Tyrion," she agreed. He looked up then, expecting to see the same polite courtly mask he had seen on her face the last time they had spoken, but instead the girl was smiling at him. A bit shy, a bit nervous, a bit embarrassed, but a smile all the same.

Shae glared at him as she moved several steps back and allowed him to take her spot next to Sansa.

They walked in silence as he worked up the nerve to speak to her. To tell it true he had not expected her to allow him to walk with her. He had not thought of what to say to her because even in his wildest imagination he had not thought that he would get even this far. Despite her smile and her agreeing to allow him to join her Sansa did not seem inclined to help him start a conversation. She walked beside him quiet as a ghost.

Most of the people they passed looked away from them, whispering quietly as they moved away. News of their engagement had spread through the Red Keep quickly, no doubt from Cersei's spies who posed as Sansa's handmaidens. As soon as they were married Tyrion would dismiss them all. He would have Varys find some girls that Tyrion and Sansa would be able to trust. Everyone was talking about their future wedding. Everyone was laughing behind their backs. And while they were walking they passed two men who dared to laugh in their faces.

"Ser Eldric Sarsfield, Ser Desmond Crakehall," Tyrion muttered to himself, speaking for the first time since they had started walking together. "Ser Eldric Sarsfield, Ser Desmond Crakehall."

He would have continued repeating the names, just to fill the silence if Sansa had not interrupted him. "What are you doing?" she asked, glancing down at him.

"I have a list," Tyrion told her without looking at her. They said the Starks were wolves, but Sansa was more of a doe, or perhaps a rabbit. Shy and fearful. He did not want to scare her away just as she was beginning to talk to him.

"A list of people you mean to kill?" she asked him, sneering slightly. Tyrion's jaw clenched for a moment at the sneer. He hated how little she thought of him. That she thought it a laughing matter that he could think to kill someone. He had killed many men at the Battle of the Blackwater. He had the scar to prove it. Why would it be unbelievable that he could kill Ser Eldric Sarsfield or Ser Desmond Crakehall?

But he did not mean to kill them. "For laughing at me?" Tyrion asked, finally glancing up at Sansa and smiling a crooked smirk at the girl. "Do I look like Joffrey to you?" He shook his head and looked away, missing the smile that slipped across her own lips at his question. "Death is a bit extreme, but fear of death ..."

"You should learn to ignore them," Sansa instructed him.

Tyrion sighed, she was a sweet girl, he realized. One that he definitely did not deserve. "My Lady, people have been laughing at me far longer than they have been laughing at you," he told her, his voice gentle. "I'm the Half-man, the Demon Monkey, the Imp."

Sansa sighed and shook her head, "You're a _Lannister_ ," she corrected him, saying the family name as if it meant something. And she was right, it did. " _I_ am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark."

Tyrion smirked, "The disgraced daughter and the Demon Monkey. We're perfect for each other." He was speaking more to himself than to her. It surprised him when she laughed. It was a bitter laugh, one with very little humor, but a laugh all the same. He glanced over his shoulder to look at Shae, wondering how the girl was taking this interaction. When she had yelled at him she had told him that she feared that Sansa would fall in love with him and he with her. Tyrion had assured her that Sansa Stark would never love him, but Shae had told him he was wrong. _She's a child. A scared child in a city of will be kind to her, gentle to her. The first kind man she's seen in a long time. She will fall in love with you_ Shae had told him.

She was glaring at him now, no doubt believing that Sansa's laughter was the first sign that the girl could indeed be falling for him.

"What should we do to punish them?" Sansa asked, bringing his attention back to her.

"Who?" Tyrion asked. " _Whom_?" he corrected himself.

Sansa sighed as if disappointed with his short term memory, "Ser Eldric Sarsfield and Ser Desmond Crakehall."

"Ahh," Tyrion said, drawing out the word and nodding. _So it's a we, is it, Lady Sansa?_ he thought to himself. "I could speak to Lord Varys and learn their perversions. Anyone named Desmond Crakehall _must_ be a pervert."

"I hear that _you're_ a pervert," Sansa said, smiling down on him.

Tyrion chuckled, delighting in this small conversation, even though it was little more than light teasing and small talk. It was more than he had dared hope for from Sansa Stark. "I am the Imp," he told her. "I have certain standards to maintain."

She laughed again and then gathered her skirts in her hands so that she could rush forward toward a bench and sit down. Her face now level with Tyrion's. Her blue eyes sparkled with merriment and mischief when she spoke, "We could sheep shift Lord Desmond's bed," she told him.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows at her, smiling as he shook his head, glancing between Shae and her Lady, silently waiting for one of them to tell him what she meant. Shae was smiling softly, not at him, but at Sansa. No doubt happy to see her lady happy about something again, even if Tyrion was in some small way the source of that happiness.

"We cut a hole in his mattress," Sansa explained to him, grinning even wider, "then you shove sheep dung inside. Then I'll sew up the hole and we'll make his bed again. His room will stink but he won't know where the smell is coming from."

Tyrion smiled, he liked the idea. And he liked the girl more for it belonging to her. "Lady Sansa," he admonished her in mock surprise.

She smiled, "My sister used to do it when she was angry with me," Sansa admitted, telling him how she knew how to do it. "And she was always angry with me." A sad look filled her eyes at the mention of her sister. The one everyone presumed dead.

"But why sheep _shift_?" Tyrion asked, wanting to chase that sadness away.

Sansa leaned closer to him, smiling wickedly again, "It's the vulgar word for _dung_ ," she whispered to him as if it were a secret.

Shae laughed, Tyrion smirked, quickly glancing at Shae before turning back to Sansa, "Oh, my Lady," he started, preparing to tell her that the word she was looking for was _shit_.

But Sansa interrupted him, " _You_ asked me," she told him.

Tyrion nodded, he had asked her. He smiled at her and held his hand out to her. After a moment's hesitation she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her from the bench. Once they started walking she dropped his hand, but at least her demeanor was not as cold as it had been.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

They were maybe a days ride from the Twins now. Ever since their conversation about Walder Frey's new terms Lenora had been less cold with him. _Less_ not _warm_. It was still clear that she disapproved of how he handled Walder's sons. She was still angry at him for putting his war on hold to attend this wedding. She thought he was weak for holding onto his word. The night before he had told her that he was _honorable_ , she had accused him of _hiding behind his honor_.

He could see her point, but he wished that she could see _his_. The North had named him King, and he needed to be the best King he could. _That_ meant keeping his word even if he did not want to. It meant submitting to Walder Frey's demands even if he would rather kill the man. It meant going to a wedding when he should have marched to battle.

But they had already seen so many battles. And they would see many more before the end of the war. Perhaps a wedding was what they needed. Even if it was for the likes of Walder Frey.

Lenora obviously disagreed with him. But she did not yell at him. And when she looked at him her eyes were soft and gentle instead of narrowed and disappointed.

He found her tonight studying his maps and war table in their tent after supper. She was beautiful, he would be the first to admit that. He stood for a moment in the doorway of the tent, watching her. Her skin seemed to glow in the candlelight, her eyes sparkled as she bent over the table. Sometimes her eyebrows furrowed, other times she lifted her right thumb to her lips so that she could chew on the fingernail, still others she bit her bottom lip. Whatever she was doing, she was certainly thinking.

He must have stared too long because after a minute or so she looked up from the table and her grey eyes landed on him. She did not say anything, she only smiled at him and nodded toward the table, a silent invitation for him to join her. He did, smiling as he moved around the table to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him.

She smiled, almost serenely as she leaned against him, warm and soft in his arms. She even tilted her cheek up to him so that he could press a soft kiss against her skin before she leaned closer to the table again. She did not move out of his arms, but now she was leaning away from his chest, rather than against it.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her, his voice quiet and soft as if it might break some sort of spell that had been cast around them.

"Who says that I am thinking anything?" Lenora questioned back, taking her eyes off the table in front of them so that she could glance over her shoulder at him.

Robb chuckled and reached out, smoothing the worry line between her eyebrows with his thumb, "This line right here," he told her, his voice still soft, "it tells me everything I need to know. It tells me that not only are you thinking about something, but that you are worried about it as well. Let me help you, let me worry with you."

Lenora smiled at him as she turned back toward the table, she reached out and took a hold of one of the carved wolves, bringing it closer to the twin towers of House Frey. "I was thinking about what we should do after the wedding," she told him, he watched as her eyes narrowed involuntarily at the mention of the wedding. "Where we should go."

"That's not a hard thing to figure out," Robb told her. "I already know what we should do and where we should go."

"You do?" Lenora asked, raising her eyebrows. She bit her bottom lip and thought for a moment before she nodded. "I suppose it's not too hard, as you say."

Robb nodded, "We'll march to Winterfell," he told her.

But at the same time she had said, "We'll march on King's Landing."

They stared at each other in surprise. Perhaps it was not as easy an answer as either of them had believed. Robb shook his head, he could see that she thought he was a fool for wanting to march to Winterfell and take it back. "We must march on Winterfell," he told her, hoping that she would understand. She did not understand why he felt the need to agree to Walder Frey's new terms, but he hoped that he could make her understand this.

She arched her eyebrows at him and shook her head, "You should press south to King's Landing," she told him.

"No," Robb disagreed. "I am a King with no castle. Lord of Winterfell, but Winterfell is not mine. How can I march to King's Landing and fight to rule the entire Seven Kingdoms when I cannot hold my own House Seat? Who would follow me? Who would respect me? Who would listen to me?"

Lenora shook her head, "Lord Bolton's baseborn son holds Winterfell now, we had the raven before we left Riverrun. Winterfell is yours again."

"A burnt shell," Robb admitted bitterly. "We must rebuild. And before Winter arrives. And I must find Theon, Lord Bolton wrote that he had no word of what happened to Theon. He killed my brothers, he killed my smallfolk, he captured and burned my home. No man would follow a King who let such a large slight go unpunished."

"No man will follow a King who loses half his army over night," Lenora argued.

"I did not lose half my army when I lost half the Freys," Robb shot back.

Lenora shook her head, "I wasn't speaking of the Freys," she told him. She reached across the table to pick up one of the many scattered Karstark suns, the few best guesses they had as to where Lord Rickard's men were hunting for her uncle. "You lost half your army the night you executed Lord Karstark. And you will lose another half if you travel back to Winterfell, I swear it."

"How do you see that?" Robb asked her, pressing her for more information. "How do you see me losing even more of my men? Do you think they enjoy following a King who has no home of his own. One who cannot even protect his younger brothers?"

Lenora shook her head, "No," she told him, being honest with him. "I do not think they enjoy following a homeless King. But I think that if you brought them back toward their homes you would lose them. The days are getting shorter, darker, colder. There's been snow south of Moat Cailin. It's late autumn now, no longer summer and not quite Winter. But if you bring them back to the North, near their homes. You _will_ lose them. They will sneak off in groups of two or three, a trickle that will turn into a stream and then a river the further north you go."

Robb shook his head, "They won't," he told her.

"They _will_ ," she argued back. "Their wives and homes will call their names. They have harvests to reap and fortifications to make before winter. This far south they would not dare to leave you, you would find them and execute them before they made it to Moat Cailin. Then, if they somehow managed to evade you, they would have to find a way to sneak past the Ironborn who still control the towers."

"But if I defeat the Ironborn," Robb started.

"Then they will have nothing stopping them. Would you hunt them all down in their homes and drag them from their beds?" Lenora asked. She shook her head, they both knew he would not. If he did it would only serve to help him lose more men than he already had. "And need I remind you that no army has ever taken Moat Cailin from the south?" she asked, her gaze landing on the carved Kraken that ruled the Moat on the map. "You were the one that told me that. It's too easy to defend."

"We could," Robb tried, but Lenora shook her head, cutting him off before he could continue his lie.

"If there were an army that could defeat the Moat from the South it would not be this one," she told him. "It's too small. You need more men, Robb."

"If I have too few men to take Moat Cailin how do you expect me to take King's Landing?" Robb growled at her, exasperated with her more than angry. She was right, even he could see that. But it seemed to him that he was trapped. He could not march North because he had too few men, he could not march south because he had too few men, he could not stay in the east, he had stayed for too long as it was.

Lenora smiled, "The people of King's Landing cannot be happy," she told him, "even with the wagons of food coming in from Highgarden. They're starving and poor, their children are dying. And my brother cannot be considered a kind King. They have not revolted because they see little hope in the action, but if they were given another choice, another man to put on the throne. I am sure they would join him in a heartbeat. The common people would join you."

"The common people?" Robb scoffed at her. "And what am I to do with them? They have no training, they have no skills. They would be pawns, used only to die with the hope they took down a Lannister man before they did."

He shook his head. The Lannister in Lenora, the part of her that had grown up planning fake battles with her grandfather did not see this option as a bad idea. He could see it in her eyes. She would send thousands of common people to their deaths if it would make it easier for Robb to take King's Landing.

But he could not do it. He would not do it. It would be cruel to ask it of them. He could not send a million people to their deaths just for a city. "I will not do it," he told her. She sighed at him, disappointed. Robb glanced at the table in front of them, "What about Casterly Rock?" he asked.

Lenora shook her head, "None of the smallfolk from the Rock would follow you," she told him, so sure of herself. "Even with me at your side. They're too proud. And too afraid of my grandfather for that. Though they might be better trained than those in King's Landing."

Robb almost laughed at her, she had such a single-minded focus when it came to planning for war. They had been discussing the common people fighting for him so even though he said no, when he brought up Casterly Rock she thought that he meant to have them fight for him.

He did not laugh though, rather he shook his head, though she could not see the movement. "I did not mean to have them fight for me," he told her. "I meant to ask for your thoughts on marching on Casterly Rock."

Lenora bit her lip. "You will never take the Rock," she told him. "Never. Grandfather would have left only a small garrison at the Rock, but it is too easily defended. And too large. You would never succeed."

"I do not need to succeed," Robb argued. "I only need to march on it. You said most of your grandfather's host was in King's Landing. That they would not leave until after your brother's wedding to the Tyrell girl. But if he heard that I was marching on Casterly Rock would he stay put?"

Lenora thought about it, Casterly Rock's gold mines were the richest and most productive gold mines in the world. There were free cities across the narrow sea that whispered about Casterly Rock gold and the golden castle the Lannisters were said to live in. Lannisters were proud, they could be greedy, and they were protective over their mines. If there were whispers about Robb marching on Casterly Rock then her grandfather would take them seriously.

"He might march out to the Rock," she admitted. "Or he would send soldiers out there."

"How many?" Robb asked.

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, "I wouldn't know," she told him. "I don't presume to be able to read his mind. I suppose he would send most of his Red Guard, he has no control over the City Watch or the Kingsguard, but the Red Guards are his to command. They're Lannister men, they would follow any orders he gave them."

Robb nodded. "And with the Red Guard gone from the city would it be easier to attack King's Landing?" he asked.

Lenora nodded, "They'll still be recovering from the Battle of the Blackwater," she told him. "They'll be weak and unprepared. Perhaps some would even be scared. My uncle Stannis did some damage to the walls and the gates and many of the common soldiers died during the battle. King's Landing will never be _easy_ , but it would be easier if the Red Guard was gone."

Robb smiled at her and nodded, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "Then that's what we shall do," he told her. "March on Casterly Rock, draw the Red Guard out of the city and while they're hurrying back to the Rock, we will attack King's Landing."

Lenora chuckled, low and dark, "You make it sound so simple," she told him.

Robb shook his head, "War is never simple. But it _is_ time to give Lord Tywin a taste of his own medicine. He had the Mountain lead attacks on the riverlands, now we will attack his home. War is difficult, but _revenge_? Revenge is simple enough."

-.-.-.-.-

 _The Hound_

He had followed them for a week after they let him go. For a group of men who claimed to be knights and gave their group such a long, pretentious name they were not good at guarding themselves. Every night he was able to sneak past their scouts, they never caught him.

He was quiet and patient. They had stolen his gold and he would have it back. But he knew how the Brotherhood operated, he knew they no longer had his gold. They had stolen from him and he in turn would steal from them.

He already knew what he would take, it was the only thing he could take from them that may buy his freedom and forgiveness from the Lannisters. Thoros had had the truth of it the other night when he had told the men that Sandor Clegane had lost the protection of the king and his kennels. The men had laughed at the _Hound_ without a kennel, but they did not realize that it only made him more desperate.

But even with the desperation he would be patient. He would wait until the perfect moment and then he would take the girl.

Tonight he had followed them to the top of High Heart, the red priest had been quick to light a fire, they said that sometimes he could see visions in the flames, but the visions could not have been very forthcoming he did not even see the dog hiding just beyond the circle of light that his men slept in, surrounding the fire.

He was hidden from the men and it seemed he was even hidden from the small woman who came to visit them during the hour of the wolf. She stood short, like the Imp, and had wild white hair, she leaned heavily on a gnarled cane as she slowly climbed the hill to warm herself by their fire. "The Ember and the Lemon come to honor me again," she greeted, nodding to the Fire Priest and a man in a yellow cloak in turn. The Hound watched from his spot in the dark as the woman glanced at Lord Beric, her eyes wider than before, "And His Grace, the Lord of Corpses."

"An ill-omened name. I have asked you not to use it," Beric told her, his voice little more than a growl.

"Aye," the dwarf woman nodded, "you have. But the stink of death is fresh on you, my Lord." Sandor smiled at that, the stink of death would be fresh on him, Sandor had killed him himself not seven days past. The woman was speaking again, "Give me wine or I will go. My bones are old. My joints ache when the winds do blow, and up here the winds are always blowing."

The Lightning Lord shook his head, "A silver stag for your dreams, my Lady," he told her. "Another if you have news for us."

The woman shook her head, "I cannot eat a silver stag, nor ride one. A skin of wine for my dreams, and for my news a song from Tom o' Sevens."

Beric seemed to smile at her from across the fire, "You will have you song from Tom," he promised the woman as he handed her his own wineskin.

Sandor swallowed thickly. He had little to eat over the last week and even less to drink. Only rain water, the wine sack was very inviting. But he was a patient dog, and now was not his time. The dwarf took a long drink from the wine sack before she spoke, "Sour wine for sour tidings, what could be more fitting? The king will die, is that sour enough for you?"

" _Which_ bloody king?" the man in the yellow cloak asked.

"The wet one. The kraken king, m'lords. I dreamt him dead and he will die, and the iron squids will turn on one another. Oh, and Lord Hoster Tully's died too, but you know that, don't you?"

Sandor tried not to growl. The woman had the evil eye. She could see things in her dreams, that much was clear. It seemed that she was quite good at it, the Brotherhood Without Banners did not offer silver stags to just anyone, but at the moment she had told them nothing that Sandor could not have told them himself. He hoped for something useful.

Still, she continued, "I dreamt a wolf howling in the rain, but no one heard his grief," she said. "I dreamt such a clangor I thought my head might burst, drums and horns and pipes and screams, but the saddest sound was the cry of the wolf. I dreamt of a lady at a feast and what a lady she was. She wore a gold dipped lion's tooth around her neck, boots of the softest doe skin and a crown of antlers on her dark head. But most impressive of all was her cloak, a large warm grey wolf's fur thrown over her shoulders. She sat at a feast in her honor, though she was far from pleased with the guests. And later I dreamt of that lady again, slaying a red man in a castle built of snow."

Sandor could not believe his ears. He could not understand why the men around the fire were listening to the dwarf woman. She claimed to see the future in her dreams and know news, but so far all she had spoken was madness. What did they care of a well-dressed woman at a feast? What did he care?

Beric spoke up once the woman had stood quiet for some time, "We have a girl with us," he informed the dwarf woman.

"Aye," she agreed with a nod, "the dark heart, so full of pain. I can see her."

"We're taking her to Riverrun to her mother," Beric told her, finally giving Sandor some useful information. He was patient, but his time would come to an end, he would have to grab the Stark girl before they reached Riverrun.

"Nay," the dwarf woman disagreed, "You're not. The black fish holds the rivers now. If it's the mother you want, seek her at the Twins. There's to be a _wedding_." She cackled at the word, as if she knew a joke about a wedding that she would not share with anyone else. She turned to the red priest, ""Look in your fires, pink priest, and you will see. Not now, though, not here, you'll see nothing here. This place belongs to the Old Gods still ... they linger here as I do, shrunken and feeble but not yet dead. Nor do they love the flames. For the oak recalls the acorn, the acorn dreams the oak, the stump lives in them both. And they remember when the First Men came with fire in their fists." She drank the rest of her wine in one large gulp and pointed to Beric, "I'll have my payment now. I'll have the song you promised me."

Sandor moved away from the top of the hill as they woke the singer. He did not want to hear the man's songs, he wanted to think. The old dwarf woman had done him good even for her madness. They would not be traveling to Riverrun, but rather to the Twins. He had even less time now to take the girl than before.

...

The next night Sandor followed the Brotherhood as they made for a small abandoned village that had been burned many years before, during Robert's Rebellion. The Brotherhood took refuge from the cold rain in a half rundown stable, but Sandor was left out in the dark and the rain. Like the worthless dog that many believed he was. But with the entire group in the stables, Beric believing them safe enough to not need scouts Sandor was able to get closer to them than he had ever gotten before.

He was sure that _this_ was his chance. Tonight he would get the girl.

"I say we need a fire," the drunk priest declared, no doubt he hoped to look into the flames and hear whispers from his fire god. "The night is dark and full of terrors. And wet too, eh? Too very wet."

They made a fire and the priest set himself in front of it, staring into the flames. Even from his spot outside the building, staring through a small window that was more hole than window, Sandor could see the drunkard muttering to himself as the men quietly talked amongst themselves around him. He wondered what the priest was saying, wondered what he was seeing.

" _Lannisters_!" he yelled after a few minutes.

Sandor looked over his shoulder despite himself, sure that the priest had seen the Lannisters coming for him that night. But there was no one behind him, only the rain.

"Lannisters," the priest repeated again, this time more calm. "Roaring red and gold." He jumped to his feet and went to Beric. The man in the yellow cloak and the singer followed quickly after. They whispered for a time before Beric gestured toward the girl, silently commanding that she approach them. She did so quietly, carefully, timid like her sister.

"Tell her," the lightning lord commanded when she was finally close enough to the group.

Sandor watched as the red priest squatted down next to her, closer to her face. "My Lady," he told her, "the Lord granted me a view of Riverrun. An island in a sea of fire, it seemed. The flames were leaping lions with long crimson claws. And how they roared! A sea of Lannisters, my Lady. Riverrun will soon come under attack."

Sandor exhaled a breath he had not remembered holding. Good thing the girl's mother was at the Twins and not at Riverrun. If the Lannisters were going to launch an attack on Riverrun that was the last place Sandor wanted to be.

" _No!_ " the girl screamed out at the news.

"Sweetling," the priest tried to soothe her, "the flames do not lie. Sometimes I read them wrongly, blind fool that I am. But not this time, I think. The Lannisters will soon have Riverrun under siege."

"Robb will beat them," she told them stubbornly. "He'll beat them like he did before."

"Your brother may be gone," the priest told her. "Your mother as well. I did not see them in the flames. This wedding the old one spoke of, a wedding on the Twins ... she has her own ways of knowing things, that one. The weirwoods whisper in her ear when she sleeps. If she says your mother is gone to the Twins -"

But the girl wasn't listening to him anymore. She wasn't even looking at him. She had turned to the yellow cloak and the archer, "If you hadn't caught me, I would have _been_ there. I would have been _home_."

She was angry, whirling she broke for the door and when one of the men tried to grab her arm she spun away from him quick as a fox. Out in the rain she ran past Sandor's hiding place, but she did not see him. Sandor did not waste time, as soon as she had walked past him he moved away from the stables. The Brotherhood would be after her soon, he did not need them to catch him spying first.

He had tied Stranger behind a half-burned building down the street from the stables. He moved quickly and quietly to his horse and then quick and quiet as a shadow he untied the horse and swung into the saddle. Stranger only whinnied once as they began to ride after the girl.

They were calling for her now, but they would not find her, not before Sandor and Stranger did. And once he had her on his horse they would be gone and the Brotherhood would never find either of them.

The rain was louder than the sound of Stranger's hooves, she did not hear them coming. He saw her and guided the horse closer to her, holding his reins in his left hand and leaning right, his mailed fist closing around her upper arm and holding on tight.

"Your _hurting_ me," she yelled at him, twisting in his grip, though she could not see his face. "Let _go_ , I was going to go back, I ..."

"Back?" Sandor laughed at her, the sound like iron scraping over stone as he jerked her arm and pulled her roughly up into the saddle in front of him. "Bugger that, wolf girl You're _mine_." She looked at him, wide eyed and kicking at the horse, but Stranger was tough, the horse could handle it. They rode quickly out of the village before the archer would be able to take aim on them. Sandor grinned down at her, "Tell me," he ordered once they were outside the village wall. "Do you know what dogs do to wolves?"

She swallowed, he had asked her that question once before. She did not want to know the answer. That much he knew.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends, a nice long chapter for you this evening.  
Did you like it? You should let me know by reviewing. If you're really nice you might even review the chapter I wrote this morning as well.  
But that's up to you. I won't pressure you or anything.  
Thank you for stopping by and reading! And an even bigger thank you for your potential reviews! I love them.

 _magclot23_ : Whatever happens, don't lose your mind! I have a plan for this story, one I think you guys will enjoy!

 _Stannisfan_ : I know that I'm sticking very close to the books right now, it's where I feel safe. And people seem to enjoy it. But don't worry, I will be branching away from them by the end of the week. I wrote some of the chapters today.

That's all I've got for now ... see you tomorrow.  
In case you were wondering ... T-minus one chapter until we have some fun at a wedding.  
I'm excited!  
Are you?  
Chloe Jane.


	51. Chapter Fifty-One: The Stark Who Knelt

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

One day more! Any theater nerds out there? I'm singing One Day More from Les Mis as I post this chapter. "One more day before the storm!"

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-One: The Stark Who Knelt_

 _Davos_

His mind was reeling. So much had happened in the last hour that it was impossible to wrap his head around it all. No more than an hour before he had been sitting in his cell, sure that any day now his King would order his death. Instead Stannis had sent for him and introduced him to a boy who looked much like the old King Robert. He had the same dark hair, the same silver grey eyes. There was no doubt that the boy was a bastard son of Stannis' brother.

Davos had asked his King why the boy was at Dragonstone, but his king had no answer for him, at least not yet.

Instead he had made Davos kneel before him and when he rose he was no longer, Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight. He rose as Davos Seaworth, Lord of the Rainwood, Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and Hand of the King.

Surely this was a mistake, Davos thought, stunned. _I woke this morning in his dungeon_. "Your Grace, you cannot ... I am no fit man to be a King's Hand."

"There is no man fitter," Stannis told him, sheathing his sword Lightbringer. He held his hand down to Davos and pulled him to his feet.

"I am lowborn," Davos reminded him, in case the king had forgotten. "An upjumped smuggler. Your lords will never obey me."

"Then we will make new lords," Stannis promised him.

"But ... I cannot read ... nor write."

"Maester Pylos can read for you. And write too. All I ask of you are the things you've always given me. Honesty. Loyalty. Service."

"Surely there is someone better ... some great lord ..."

Stannis had snorted at that. He asked Davos who _he_ would name for Stannis' Hand, but Davos could think of no one he trusted to give the king wise counsel. "I trust none of them as I trust you, my Lord of Rainwood," Stannis told him. "You will be my Hand. It is you I want beside me for the battle."

 _Another battle will be the end of us_ , Davos thought. "Your Grace asked for honest counsel," he reminded Stannis before he spoke his mind. "In honesty then ... we lack the strength for another battle against the Lannisters."

"It is the great battle His Grace is speaking of," a woman's voice answered him from behind. Davos did not need to turn to see who was speaking, he could hear it in the accents of the east. It was the Red Woman. She did not need him to turn to look at him though, she continued to speak. "These little wars are no more than a scuffle of children before what is to come. The one whose name may not be spoken is marshaling his power, Davos Seaworth, a power fell and evil and strong beyond measure. Soon comes the cold and the night that never ends." She moved around him and picked up a small silver dish from the table in front of Davos. "Unless true men find the courage to fight it. Men whose hearts are fire."

Davos kept his eyes on his King, but Stannis watched the Red Woman as she moved around him, carrying the silver dish in her hands. He heard her ask the young man, Gendry he believed Stannis had named the bastard boy, to sit down. There was a struggle, the sound of ripping fabric, the boy begged her not to touch him. Davos turned slightly, seeing the boy tied to his chair, his shirt torn from his chest. The Red Woman was lifting the lid of her silver dish when Stannis spoke again, pulling Davos' attention back to his King.

"She has shown it to me, Lord Davos. In the flames."

" _You_ saw it, Sire?" Davos asked in surprise. It was not like his King to lie about something, especially not something like that.

"With mine own eyes," Stannis told him, nodding, his eyes not leaving the Red Woman over Davos' shoulder. "After the battle, when I was lost to despair, the Lady Melisandre bid me gaze into the hearthfire. I stared, feeling half a fool when she bid me look deeper, and ... all at once it seemed to me that I was watching snow fall. The sparks in the air seemed to circle, to become a ring of torches, and I was looking _through_ the fire down on some high hill in a forest. There were men in black behind the torches, shapes moving through the snow. For all the heat of the fire, I felt a cold so terrible I shivered and when I did the sight was gone. The fire, but a fire again. But what I saw was real, I'd stake my kingdom on it."

"And have," Melisandre mused from behind them.

"I don't understand," Davos told his King, shaking his head. He did not know what Stannis meant for him to take from his story.

"It means that the battle is begun," Melisandre told him. "The sand is running through the glass more quickly now, and man's hour on earth is almost done. We must act boldly, or all hope is lost. Westeros must unite under her one true king, the prince that was promised, Lord of Dragonstone and chosen of R'hllor."

"R'hllor chooses queerly, then," Stannis grimaced. "Why me, and not my brothers? Renly and his peach. In my dreams I see that juice running from his mouth, the blood from his throat. If he had done his duty by his brother, we would have smashed Lord Tywin. A victory even Robert could be proud of. Robert ..." he shook his head, his jaw clenched, "He is in my dreams as well. Laughing. Drinking. Boasting. Those were the things Robert was best at. Those and fighting. I never bested him at anything. The Lord of Light should have made Robert his champion. Why me?"

"Because you are a righteous man," Melisandre told him.

Stannis nodded, a rueful twist to his lips, "A righteous man," he agreed, his tone bitter. "With leeches."

Davos raised his eyebrows as he turned again to see that the Red Woman had set three leeches to drink from the young man's chest. They looked normal enough, but they were already fat with his blood. "Yes," Melisandre agreed as she used a pair of tweezers to pluck one of the leeches from the boy's chest and drop it back into her silver dish. "But I must tell you once more, this is not the best way."

"You swore that it would work" Stannis reminded her. He looked angry.

"It will ... and it will not."

"Which?" he asked.

"Both," she answered.

"Speak sense to me, woman."

"When the fires speak more plainly, so shall I. There is truth in the flames, but it is not always easy to see. Give me the boy, Your Grace. It is the surer way. The better way. Give me the boy and I shall wake the stone dragon."

"I have told you no."

"Only a King's blood can wake the stone dragon," the woman reminded him.

Stannis ground his teeth, "I have told you no. You have the leeches. Do your work."

Melisandre bowed her head stiffly, "As my King commands," she told him as she moved closer to the iron brazier in the center of the room. Davos and Stannis followed her. She reached her right hand up her left sleeve and when she pulled her hand free she flung a handful of powder into the brazier. The coals roared. As pale flames writhed atop them, the Red Woman retrieved the silver dish and brought it to the king.

Stannis reached forth a hand and closed his fingers around one of the leeches.

"Say the name," Melisandre commanded.

The leech was twisting in the king's grip, trying to attach itself to one of his fingers. "The usurper," he said. "Joffrey Baratheon." When he tossed the leech into the fire, it curled up like an autumn leaf amidst the coals and burned.

Stannis grasped the second. "The usurper," he declared, louder this time. "Balon Greyjoy." He flipped it lightly onto the brazier, and its flesh split and cracked. The blood burst from it, hissing and smoking.

The last one was in the king's hand. This one he studied a moment as it writhed between his fingers. This time when he spoke it was quieter, as if he regretted this name. "The usurper," he said at last. "Robb Stark." And he threw it on the flames.

Davos watched his King over the fire, he noted the gleam in his eyes. His own gaze flickered to the boy still tied to his chair. Davos did not know what sort of magic the Red Woman had just worked, he only knew that if it proved successful Stannis would use him again, and perhaps this time he would not use leeches.

The needed to get of Dragonstone to be safe. Davos would help him. He would do it tonight and face any consequences Stannis demanded in the morning.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

Cersei had ordered her a new gown. She had also ordered that the serving girls fill Sansa's tub with steaming hot water and scrub her head to tow until she glowed pink. The queen regent's own bedmaid trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her auburn hair so it fell down her back in soft ringlets. She was brought a dozen of the queen's favorite scents as well. Sansa chose a sharp sweet fragrance with a hint of lemon in it under the smell of flowers. The maid dabbed some on her finger and touched Sansa behind each ear, under her chin, and then lightly on her nipples.

It all would have seemed like kind attention from the queen if it weren't for the fact that Sansa knew that Cersei was laughing at her. She would be the most beautiful, sweet smelling bride King's Landing had seen in many years and it would all be wasted on the Imp.

 _Tyrion_ , Sansa reminded herself to use his name. The man was not her ideal husband, but he was kind to her. A kind Lannister was a rarity and Sansa would not chase him away, even if she still hated him.

They had spent some time together since he had told her that they were to be married. It was awkward and strained, but there had been a few times when he had been able to make her laugh. But then she would remember who he was and her laughter would die on her lips. He was a Lannister. His family was trying to destroy her family. His nephew had beheaded her father and his sister had done nothing to stop it. She could not laugh with him without it being a betrayal to her family.

Cersei herself arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Sansa in her new clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. And it was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee covered over with a panel of ornate Myrish lace in dove grey. The waist was so tight that she had to hold her breath when they laced her into it.

"You are very beautiful, my Lady," the seamstress told her.

Sansa nodded, smiling at her as was expected, though she did not feel beautiful. And she did not feel as a bride should feel on her wedding day. Instead of joy her stomach was in knots. Instead of wanting to sing, she wanted to throw up.

Cersei was more critical than the seamstress. She studied Sansa for a full minute before she announced that something was missing. "A few gems, I think. The moonstones Joffrey gave her."

"At once, Your Grace," Shae told her with a nod. Her jaw was clenched, Sansa knew that Shae did not like the queen and she was sure that her handmaiden knew just how uncomfortable she was with Cersei in her bedchamber.

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The Gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

"Lord Tyrion is very kind," Sansa told the queen, her voice flat and cold.

Cersei snorted, "Indeed," she agreed. She looked over her shoulder at the seamstress, "The cloak," she ordered. Sansa stood tall and still as the woman brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa tried not to cry when she looked at the maiden's cloak, done out in her father's colors. She squared her shoulders and allowed the women to fasten it around her neck with a slender silver chain.

It felt heavy on her shoulders.

Heavy like her father's judgement if he could but see her agreeing to marry the Lannister Imp. Tears began to fill her eyes even as she tried to blink them away. Cersei watched her for a minute, "I understand your reluctance," she told Sansa. "Cry if you must. In your place I would likely rip my hair out. He's a loathsome little imp, no doubt of it, but marry him you shall."

"You can't make me," Sansa whispered, for the first time speaking out against the marriage she did not want. She had not done so until this point, but it had not been until her maiden's cloak wrapped around her shoulders that she truly understood what marrying the Imp of Lannister meant.

"Of course we can," Cersei told her, reaching out to smooth some of the fabric on her shoulder. "You may come along quietly and say your vows as befits a lady, or you may struggle and scream and make a spectacle for the stableboys to titter over. But you will end up wedded and bedded all the same." She moved away from Sansa and opened the door to her bedchamber. Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Osmund Kettleback were waiting without, in the white scale armor of the Kingsguard. "Escort Lady Sansa to the sept," she told them. "Carry her if you must, but try not to tear the gown, it was very costly."

Sansa thought of running, but the queen's handmaid caught her before she could, as if she had read her mind. Ser Meryn gave her a look that made her cringe, but Kettleback touched her almost gently and said, "Do as you're told, sweetling, it won't be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave aren't they?"

 _Brave_ Sansa thought to herself. She took a deep breath. _I am a Stark, yes, I can be brave_. They were all looking at her, waiting for her to cry or scream or run. She squared her shoulders, "I'll go," she told them.

Cersei smiled, "I knew you would."

She did not remember walking from her chamber to the doors of the Red Keep. She did not remember the litter that carried her from the Red Keep to the Sept of Baelor. But she would always remember the sadistic grin when she met Joffrey at the door of the Sept.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, her eyes wide with fear. She did not want to marry Tyrion, she believed that Joffrey would never choose her over Margaery, but she was suddenly filled with the fear that he _might_. That he might choose to marry her instead. Today. She would have nowhere to run if he did that.

Joffrey grinned at her, "Your father's gone," he told her. "As the Father of the Realm it is my duty to give you away to your husband." He grinned at her again, clearly enjoying himself as he held his arm out for her to take. She sighed, part relief, still part fear as she placed her hand on top of his and allowed him to slowly walk her down the aisle toward the alter that stood between the two tall statues of the Mother and the Father.

A bride always walked slowly to the alter, but it seemed that this walk was slower than most. Joffrey was parading her in front of the Lords and Ladies who had shown up to witness Sansa's humiliation. And there were a lot of them. The Tyrells, many members of House Lannister, many knights, both of the Kingsguard and from the Seven Kingdoms. It was not as large of a crowd as what would attend Joffrey and Margaery's wedding in a few month's time, but it was larger than most weddings she had been to.

Joffrey was quiet for the beginning of the walk down the aisle, but about halfway down he spoke, his voice a quiet whisper, "You shouldn't look so sad. My uncle is an ugly little thing, but you'll still have me."

Sansa turned her head sharply, looking away from the alter at the front of the sept to glare at Joffrey, "You'll be married to Margaery," she argued.

"A King can have other women. Whores. My father did. The Mad King did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards. My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it."

"He will not," Sansa hissed as she turned her head back to the front, as if she could catch Tyrion's eye and silently beg for him to march down the aisle and save her from Joffrey.

"He will, or I'll have his head," Joffrey promised her. He was silent for a moment, "Perhaps I won't wait until after you are married. You're from the North, they still practice the rite of First Night there, don't they?"

"That was outlawed," Sansa told him. "By one of the Dragon Kings."

"Perhaps I will make a special exception for you," Joffrey mused. "A King is allowed to do that after all."

Sansa remained silent, hoping that if she did not respond all his teasing would lose its fun. It seemed to work, he did not say another word as they continued their walk to the alter. As they approached the alter she looked at Tyrion, he would not meet her eye. Instead he turned away from her so that all she could see was his profile. Margaery had once told her that she found Lord Tyrion handsome. Sansa studied him now. She would not go as far as to call the man handsome, but compared to the king she was walking beside now, the dwarf was glorious. She would rather meet him at the alter than the man walking her to it at present.

What a stranger world she lived in now.

Tyrion and the High Septon stood at the top of the dais; Lord Tywin and Cersei a few steps below; Margaery, Loras, and Lady Olenna stood a few steps below them. Beside Tyrion stood a stool that he could stand on to be closer to Sansa's height. Sansa blushed at the thought that he would have to use it. She wished he did not need the stool.

As if reading her mind and hearing her wish, before he walked to stand between his mother and his grandfather Joffrey bent at the waist and grabbed the stool, carrying it down the steps with him.

He returned a moment later to unclasp her maiden's cloak. He did so from behind, his hands coming over her shoulder to fumble with the clasp. One of them brushed her beast and lingered to give it a little squeeze. She flinched. Then the clasp opened and Joff swept her maiden's cloak away with a kingly flourish and a grin.

His uncle's part went less well. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," the High Septon commanded as Joffrey moved back to his spot, dropping the heavy Stark colored cloak on his uncle's stool as he did so.

The bride's cloak Tyrion held was huge and heavy, crimson velvet richly worked with lions and bordered with gold satin and rubies. Without his stool Tyrion stood a foot an a half shorter than Sansa. She felt guilty for wishing his stool away. If only she had wished him to be taller, rather than not have the stool.

When she was a girl she had dreamed of her wedding a thousand times, and always she had pictured how her betrothed would stand behind her tall and strong, sweep the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, and tenderly kiss her cheek as he leaned forward to fasten the clasp.

This was not to happen at her wedding. She felt a tug on her skirts, and a moment later another one, more insistent than the first. He wanted her to kneel. _I won't_ she thought stubbornly, as if his inability to cloak her would be enough to force this farce of a wedding to come to an end. She was a wolf, not a sheep. They could make her marry Tyrion Lannister, but she would not go so willingly as to kneel for him. _Why should I spare his feelings, when no one cares about mine_?

The dwarf tugged at her a third time. Stubbornly she pressed her lips together and pretended not to notice. Someone behind them tittered. _The queen_ , she thought, but it didn't matter they were all laughing by then.

Joffrey laughed the loudest, "Dontos, down on your hands and knees!" the king commanded as if there were not a stool directly behind him, one for this very purpose. "My uncle needs a boost to climb his bride!"

And so it was that her lord husband cloaked her in the colors of House Lannister whilst standing on the back of a fool.

He climbed down quickly and Dontos scurried away. But when Sansa turned to look at him his mouth was tight and his face was as red as her new cloak. She felt ashamed, he had not asked for this wedding. He had not forced her to be his bride. Tyrion was the only Lannister who had been kind to her and she had helped Joffrey humiliate him.

She had never felt such shame and guilt as she did in this moment.

And so, after the vows had been said and the prayers prayed, when it came time for the kiss, she smoothed her skirts and knelt in front of him so that their faces were on the same level before the king could call the fool back. Tyrion seemed surprised by her action, but Sansa could not bring herself to look at him for long. She felt shamed for humiliating him, but it did not ease her own humiliation at having to kneel to kiss her new husband.

"With his kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband," she told Tyrion, not quite looking him in the eye.

"With this kiss I pledge my love," the dwarf replied hoarsely, "and take you for my lady and wife." He leaned forward and their lips touched briefly. Sansa forced herself not to cringe away from him.

The High Septon raised his crystal high, so the rainbow light fell down upon them. "Here in the sight of the Gods and men," he spoke loud enough for everyone in the Sept to hear him. "I do solemnly proclaim Tyrion of House Lannister and Sansa of House Star to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one who comes between them."

She had to bite her lip to keep from sobbing.

It was _she_ who was cursed.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

The wedding feast was a sorry affair. Whatever goodwill he had built up with Sansa during the short time before their wedding had been spent it seemed when she knelt down in front of him so that he could kiss her without having to stand on the back of the fool. He was incredibly grateful to her for the kneeling. Though, in a dark, stubborn corner of his heart he was angry at her that she did not kneel the first time when he needed to cloak her in the Lannister colors. They both could have been saved a great deal of embarrassment if he had not needed to climb on the fool's back to be the same height as his bride.

Of course, his blame and censure did not truly belong to his new wife. He had had a stool in the sept, he had planned for their wedding ceremony to be as free from humiliation as possible. But Joff, the sweet king that he was, had other plans. He should not be angry at his wife for not kneeling, he should be angry at the king for taking his stool. At least that was what he reminded himself every time he turned and caught sight of Sansa glaring at him. Her glare made him want to yell, and she did not deserve that.

Neither of them did.

His wife ate very little and she drank even less. Tyrion ate nothing at all, but he drank enough for the two of them. And then some, perhaps.

After the feast had been served and the music started Sansa turned to him and spoke to him for the first time since they had left the sept - for the first time all day if one didn't count her vows as speaking to him; and Tyrion did not, she said her vows to the High Septon and to the Gods but not to him. "Shall we lead the dance, my Lord?" she asked him, her voice shaking a bit.

A good husband would say yes. The new husband and wife always led the first dance at the wedding feast. But both Sansa and Tyrion knew that he was not a good husband. And he was probably too drunk besides. He glanced at the open dance floor, the people were waiting until he and Sansa stepped onto it before they left their seats, and glared at it. "I think we've had enough humiliation for today," he told Sansa.

Joffrey and Margaery led the dance instead. And they did it beautifully. Sansa watched them dance and Tyrion watched Sansa. He wondered what the girl was thinking. He wondered if she was jealous of Margaery for her dance partner or for her upcoming marriage to the king. He could not imagine that the girl still wanted to marry Joffrey, especially not after everything the boy had done to her. But she lied so prettily, and so well, that sometimes he was tempted to believe her.

She felt his eyes on her and turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were narrowed, not into a glare, but thoughtful. She was studying him and for a moment he wondered if she could read his mind. She turned away from him, back to the dancers and the moment was broken. But then she spoke, "I never thanked you," she whispered to him. She was a skilled whisperer, Varys would have loved to make her one of his little birds, her lips barely moved when she spoke. If Tyrion had not been watching her so carefully he might have missed it.

He raised his eyebrows, "For what, my Lady?" he asked her. He was being as courteous as possible, he knew his wife liked to hide behind her courtesies and he would help her build her armor as much as he could. "I can't imagine that I, nor the rest of my House, has given you much to be thankful for."

She smiled a bit ruefully at that and he swore he saw a tear fill her right eye, but she blinked it away so quickly that he could not be sure. "For apologizing to me the day of Joffrey's nameday tournament, you were the first person in King's Landing who felt sorry for me after my father was executed," she paused, looking around as if to see if anyone was listening to them, "even though it was rightfully done," she added, just to be safe. "For stopping Ser Boros from beating me in the throne room that day. For being kind to me, you've always been so kind to me."

She was quiet for a long time after that and Tyrion thought that she was done. He was about to tell her that she did not need to thank him for acting like a decent man when she spoke again. "And thank you for marrying me," she whispered quickly, her words tripping over themselves as they escaped her lips as if she needed to get them out fast or they would not come out at all. "I won't be able to say it often, but I am grateful to you for that. If Lord Tywin had picked a less honorable or weaker man then," she paused and shook her head, "I wouldn't be safe from Joffrey."

"Safe from -?" Tyrion started to ask, and then he shook his head. "What did he say to you, my Lady?" he asked her. She looked like she was about to tell him a lie and say that Joffrey hadn't said anything to her, but Tyrion was having none of that. "As your husband I command you to tell me what he said to you."

She didn't look away from the dancers, but she spoke, "He told me that you would take me to his bed whenever he commanded it," she admitted. "He said that since I'm from the North he might claim the rite to First Night. He said that since he is King he can do that."

She was shaking, his little wife and so scared. Tyrion's fist involuntarily closed tightly around the handle of his knife, he was so angry at Joffrey that he was tempted to use it. Instead he forced himself to let go and drained his wine glass instead, "I swear to you, Sansa, I will not let him touch you."

She nodded, "I know you won't, my Lord," she assured him. She was quiet for a moment, rapidly blinking her eyes, she did not want to cry in front of him, but the blinking was not working. She quickly stood up, her chair legs scraping against the floor. As an afterthought she turned to him, "Please excuse me, my Lord," she begged before she moved from her seat and swept her way through the hall.

Tyrion nodded though she was already gone and poured himself another glass of wine. He drank it in four long gulps and poured another. He was paying so much attention to his wine glass that he did not notice his father's approach until he spoke. "You seem quite drunk, Tyrion," Tywin told him, clearly displeased.

"Not drunk enough, actually," Tyrion disagreed. "Isn't it a man's duty to be drunk at his wedding?"

"This isn't about your wedding," Tywin hissed at him. "Renly Baratheon had a _wedding_. Your wife needs a child. A Lannister child as soon as possible. You need to give her one."

"And?" Tyrion asked, rolling his eyes.

"If you're going to do that you'll need to perform," Tywin growled.

Tyrion drank some wine, he was not drunk enough yet, "What did you once call me?" he asked his father. "A drunken little lust-filled beast?"

Tywin seemed to be biting back a smile, almost as if he were pleased with his son, "More than once," he cut in.

"Well there you have it," Tyrion gestured up to him. "Nothing to worry about. Drinking and lust, no man can match me in these things. I am the god of tits and wine. I shall build myself a shrine at the next brothel I see."

His father's smile disappeared, he grabbed the wine glass out of Tyrion's hand and slammed it on the table, "You can drink, you can joke, you can engage in juvenile attempts to make your father uncomfortable. But you _will_ do your duty." With a final glare, he walked away.

Tyrion picked up his wine glass and drank some more.

He regretted letting Sansa leave when a few minutes later he watched as Joffrey pulled her back into the room by her wrist. "Time for the bedding ceremony!" the king commanded gleefully.

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion answered, his voice flat and hard.

"It's for your respect for tradition, Uncle," Joffrey waved him off as he pulled Sansa into the center of the room. He glanced around at the guests, "Come everyone!" he ordered. "Pick her up and carry her to her wedding bed! Get rid of her gown, she won't be needing it any longer." Sansa wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, holding on tightly to the dress.

Joffrey did not seem to notice, "Ladies!" he yelled. "Tend to my uncle, he's not heavy."

"There will be no bedding ceremony," Tyrion repeated himself.

"There will be if _I_ command it!"

The crowd around them seemed torn, no one knew whether to listen to the king or his uncle. Tyrion decided to make it clear who they should listen to. He gripped his knife and slammed the blade into the wooden table top, boosting himself up so that he could glare at Joffrey, "Then you will be fucking your bride with a _wooden_ cock," he promised his nephew.

The hall fell silent. Tywin stood up, glaring at his son. Joffrey turned on Tyrion, "What did you say?" he growled. When Tyrion did not answer he yelled his question again. "What did you say?"

Tywin was the one that answered, "I believe we can dispense with the bedding ceremony, Your Grace," he suggested. "I am sure Tyrion did not mean to threaten the king."

Tyrion turned to glare at his father for a moment before he turned back to Joffrey, forcing himself to laugh, "A bad joke, Your Grace," he told the boy as he removed his hand from the knife handle. "Only because I envy your own royal manhood!" He glanced down at his breeches, pretending to be drunker than he was. "Mine is so small that my poor wife won't even know I'm there."

"Tyrion is clearly quite drunk, Your Grace," Tywin excused him.

"I am," Tyrion agreed, downing the rest of his wine. "But it is my wedding night. My tiny, stunted cock and I have a job to do," he moved from the table and began to walk toward Sansa. He was embarrassing her, and he was sorry for that. But it was better that she be embarrassed because of him and _dressed_ than to have to undergo the humiliation of having the men in the hall tear her dress off of her.

"Come wife," he instructed her, reaching for her hand. "I vomited on a girl once," he told her, his voice loud as he continued his act as they walked from the hall. "In the middle of the act. I'm not proud of it. But I think honesty is important between a man and a wife, don't you agree?" He didn't give her time to answer his question, he kept talking. "Come, I'll tell you all about it to put you in the mood."

As soon as they entered their new chambers he stopped acting drunk. He moved to the table and began to pour himself another drink. "Is that wise, my Lord?" she asked him.

He paused, "Tyrion Sansa," he told her. "My name is Tyrion."

She paused for a moment, "Is that wise, Tyrion?"

He smirked and took a sip, "Nothing was ever wiser," he told her. He studied her for a moment, "How old are you again?" he asked her.

"Fourteen," she answered.

That stopped him. She looked so much like a woman that he had almost forgotten that she was a child. A child of fourteen. He had no business bedding her, drunk or otherwise. He took a clumsy swallow of his wine. "Talk won't make you any older will it?" he asked her. She did not answer. He sighed, "My Lord Father has commanded me to consummate this marriage," he told her. He was explaining their situation to her. He was about to tell her that he would not do it when the sweet girl walked to the table and poured herself her own glass of wine with shaking hands. She drank the wine down in two gulps and turned toward the bed, eyeing it as if it were some sort of monster as she walked toward it on shaking legs.

Tyrion watched her sadly as she came to a stop in front of the bed. It seemed to take her forever and no time at all to take off her dress. But somewhere in between those two options she stood in only her shift. With a sigh and shaking hands she began to take her shift off as well. Tyrion stared at her, his innocent little wife who thought the word _shift_ also meant _shit_. He couldn't do it. "Stop," he commanded. Her hands stilled and she turned to watch him, eyebrows raised. "I can't," he told her.

He thought she would feel relief, but then he worried that she would blame herself. He shook his head, "I _could_ , but I won't," he clarified.

"But your father -" Sansa started to argue.

Tyrion shook his head, silencing her. "I won't share your bed," he promised her, his voice gentle, "not until you want me to."

She turned to face him fully, "And what if I never want you to?" she asked him.

He closed his eyes fighting back the pain of rejection. He could not blame her, he was ugly and stunted and no more than a week ago the poor girl had thought she would marry Loras Tyrell. Tyrion was a ridiculous substitute for the Knight of the Flowers. But he would be kind to her and he would be patient. She had thanked him earlier for protecting her. And he would continue to do so, he would even protect her from himself.

He opened his eyes and lifted his wine glass to her in a mock salute, "And so my watch begins."

* * *

Author's Note:

Poor Tyrion. I always felt like he and Sansa would have worked out if their circumstances had been just a bit better.  
And I love the two of them. Seriously, I love them together. They make me ridiculously happy.  
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Did you? If you did there's this lovely little box down there that you can fill with your praise! (I'm assuming it will be praise, at least, but perhaps not.)  
Thank you so much for adding this story to your favorites and alerts lists. But mostly thank you for the reviews!  
They make me happy.

 _Vulcran:_ No. Weddings are not always a good thing in Game of Thrones.

 _TheHuntresss:_ Ahh! You're going to find out tomorrow. I so badly want to tell everyone, but I won't. I will simply tell you that whatever happens will be fantastic!

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : I'm glad you enjoyed it! Here's your new update!

 _WritingNOOB:_ Oh my friend! You're the only one who mentioned the dwarf woman's prophecy and I adore you for it. It was one of my favorite parts of the last chapter. As for your ponderings and musings and wonderings I don't want to give too much away. But I will point out one detail that is fairly important. As you noticed the woman at the feast the dwarf described was Lenora. She's got something from each of her houses (a gold dipped lion's tooth for Lannister, doe skin boots and a crown of antlers for Baratheon, and a wolf cloak for Stark). But they also describe where her loyalties lie. The lion's tooth would be more expensive than anything else, but it's also significantly smaller and less useful than, say, the boots and the crown. Which in turn are smaller and less useful than a warm cloak. Wherever Lenora is, whatever happens at the Red Wedding, she's a Stark.

 _RHatch89_ : You've only got one more day to be nervous ... just one more day.

 _merlin1989:_ Hello! Jesus! 70 other readers in a group! I love it! I'm glad that you guys are enjoying this story and I hope that you continue to do so!  
Thank you for stopping by and reviewing.

 _HPuni101_ : I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one too. Wear your best ... we're going to a wedding tomorrow!

That's all I've got for now my friends.  
"One more dawn! One more day! One day more!"  
See you at the Twins tomorrow.  
Chloe Jane.


	52. Chapter Fifty-Two: The Wolf Was Howling

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Hey guys ... I know that some of you always read my author's note at the end of a chapter. But do me a favor ... everyone go read it today (after you've read the chapter). Read at least the first part? Okay? Deal.

-.-.-.-.-

Suggested listening for this chapter:  
"Red Wedding" from Red Nose Day last year with Cold Play (if you want a humorous take on it).  
Or Rains of Castamere (Ericthepooh on youtube has a fantastic extended cut of the song if you want to hear it).

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Two: The Wolf Was Howling_

 _Robb_

They could hear the Green Fork before they saw it. With all the rain that had fallen over the last month the river seemed to growl more than flow. Robb donned his crown as they drew nearer to the Twins and he asked Lenora to do the same. She laughed at him when he asked, not sure how much good the crown would do in making her look like a queen when her hair was soaked and her cloak dripping. But all the same, she did as he requested.

His next request was for Edmure and Catelyn to ride with them at the front of his column of men. Edmure rode to his left, Catelyn to Lenora's right. One of the Westerling knights bore his banner, the grey direwolf of Stark on its ice-white field.

The gatehouse towers emerged from the rain like ghosts, hazy grey apparitions that grew more solid the closer they rode. The first time they had come to the Twins Robb had barely seen them, he had sent his mother to treat with Lord Walder and when they were permitted their crossing they crossed the bridge without ever entering Lord Walder's hall. This would be the first time that Robb would see the inside of the Twins.

On the opposite side of the river Robb could see several thousand men encamped around the eastern castle. Under the dark clouds and the rain their banners all seemed to be grey. He imagined that many of them were Frey men, here to celebrate the wedding of their Lord's daughter.

"Tread lightly here, Robb," Catelyn cautioned him from Lenora's right. Robb and Lenora both turned to look at his mother. Robb's eyebrows were arched, he wondered why his mother was nervous. Lenora did not seem as skeptical, though that did not surprise Robb, his wife had been lecturing caution since they had left Riverrun. "Lord Walder has a think skin and a sharp tongue, and some of these sons of his will doubtless take after their father. You must not let yourself be provoked," Catelyn cautioned him.

Robb sighed, "I know the Freys, Mother," he reminded her. "I've ridden with them. I've commanded them. I know how wronged Lord Walder feels, and more than that I know how much I _need_ them. I shall be as sweet as a septon."

Lenora scoffed at him from her horse, "I will believe that when I see it," she muttered.

Robb pursed his lips, trying not to smile at the dark haired girl next to him, but it was impossible. His face split into a grin. She smiled back at him, her eyes shining a light silver despite the grey dreariness around them.

His mother was not finished giving advice though, "If we are offered refreshment when we arrive, on no account refuse. Take what is offered, and eat and drink where all can see. If nothing is offered, ask for bread and cheese and a cup of wine."

"I'm more wet than hungry," Robb told her.

"Listen to your mother, Robb," Lenora snapped at him. Out of the corner of his eye Robb saw his uncle turn to study them, as if he was surprised to hear Lenora order Robb around. Lenora continued, "Once you have eaten of his bread and salt, you have the guest right, and the laws of hospitality protect you beneath his roof." Catelyn nodded, Lenora had understood the warning she was trying to give Robb.

Robb chuckled as he looked at them, his two worrying women. "I have an army to protect me," he told them. "I don't need to trust in bread and salt. But if it pleases Lord Walder to serve me stewed crow smothered in maggots, I'll eat it and ask for a second bowl."

"And you won't kiss me for a fortnight," Lenora warned him, playful again, now that she knew he would heed his mother's warning.

Four Freys rode out from the western gatehouse, wrapped in heavy cloaks of thick grey wool. There was Ser Ryman, son of the late Ser Stevron, Lord Walder's first born. This grandson was the only one that Robb recognized, though he imagined the other three were Ser Ryman's sons, the Lord of the Twins' great grandsons.

Edmure was able to introduce the other three, "Edwyn is eldest," he whispered to Robb. "The pale slender man with the constipated look. You'll know the wiry one with the beard, it's Black Walder, he came to treat with us at Riverrun. Petyr is on the bay, the lad with the unfortunate face. Petyr Pimple, his brothers call him."

They halted their horses as was customary and waited for their host to come to them. Grey Wind edged forward, standing between Robb and Lenora's horses. His tail was stiff, his yellow eyes narrowed. When the Freys were a half-dozen yards away the wolf growled. Robb looked down on the wolf, surprised, but Lenora did not seem that shocked that the wolf was growling. The silver in her eyes had dimmed to grey and her gaze flew to Robb's face, her look clearly telling him, _I told you_.

"Grey Wind," he called, trying to get the wolf's attention. "To me. To _me_!"

The wolf did not listen. Instead he leapt forward, snarling.

Ser Ryman's palfrey shied off with a whinny of fear and Petyr Pimple's reared and threw him. Only Black Walder kept his mount in hand. He reached for the hilt of his sword. "No!" Robb shouted to both man and wolf. "Grey Wind, here. _Here_."

Lenora spurred Casterly between the direwolf and the Frey horses, cutting the wolf off before he could attack. The wolf veered away, and only then seemed to hear Robb calling.

The Freys did not look amused, "Is this how a Stark makes amends?" Black Walder asked, he seemed less polite than he had been at Riverrun, though Robb supposed that being home at the Twins might have emboldened the man. "A poor greeting I call it, to set your wolf upon us." But he was smiling, as if he was joking.

Robb chuckled too, though Lenora struggled to even smile at the man as she guided Casterly back to her spot beside Robb. Robb swung down from his horse and held out the reins to Petyr, "Petyr, take my horse," he commanded. "Yours is almost back to the stable." The lad seemed as if he were going to turn down Robb's offer so Robb dropped the reins in his hand and moved back toward Lenora. She shifted forward in her saddle so that he could climb up behind her. This would not be the first time they had ridden in the same saddle.

"You come late," Ser Ryman declared.

"The rains delayed us," Robb told him. "I sent a bird."

It was Edwyn who cleared his throat, the politest of the four, "We have chambers prepared for you in the Water Tower, Your Graces," he told Robb and Lenora, nodding to each of them in turn. "As well as for Lord Tully and Lady Stark. Your Lords Bannermen are also welcome to shelter under our roof and partake of the wedding feast."

"And our men?" Lenora asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"My Lord Grandfather regrets that he cannot feed nor house so large a host. But your men shall not be neglected. If they will cross and set up their camp beside our own, we will bring out enough casks of wine and ale for all to drink the health of Lord Edmure and his bride. We have thrown up three great feast tents on the far bank, to provide them with some shelter from the rains."

Robb nodded, "Your Lord Grandfather is most kind. My men will thank him. They have had a long wet ride."

With the courtesies and the pleasantries out of the way their hosts turned and led the way to the Twins. The meeting had not gone as badly as Robb had anticipated, but that meant very little. They still had to speak to Lord Walder. There was more trouble at the gatehouse. Grey Wind balked in the middle of the drawbridge, shook the rain off, and howled at the portcullis.

Robb whistled impatiently, "Grey Wind. What is it? Grey Wind, with me." But the wolf only bared his teeth.

"He does not like this place," Lenora whispered to him with a quick glance at their Frey escort to make sure non of the men had heard her.

Two more of Lord Walder's sons had arrived from out of the gatehouse. Lame Lothar and Walder Rivers. "It's the sound of the water he fears," Rivers assured them. "Beasts know how to avoid the river in flood."

"A dry kennel and a leg of mutton will see him right again," Lame Lothar assured them. "Shall I summon our master of hounds?"

"He's a direwolf, not a dog," Robb told him, his voice sharp. "And dangerous to men he does not trust. Rollam," he called for the youngest Westerling - the boy and the wolf had bonded since the Crag. "Stay with him," he ordered the young boy. "I won't take him into Lord Walder's hall like this."

They found Lord Walder Frey sitting in the High seat with the eighth Lady Frey standing beside him. Frey sons, daughters, children, grandchildren, husbands, wives and servants crowded the rest of the hall. When Robb and Lenora were announced they all sank into silent curtsies and bows. Only Lord Walder spoke, "You will forgive me if I do not kneel, I know. My legs no longer work as they did, though that which hangs between 'em serves well enough, _heh_."

The last part of his speech and the little laugh at the end seemed to be directed at Lenora, he seemed to be leering at her. Robb stepped forward slightly, shielding as much of her from Lord Walder's view as he could without being obvious about it.

Walder's gaze scanned Robb's face, "Some would say it's a poor king who crowns himself with bronze, Your Grace."

Robb would allow him this slight, Lord Walder felt wronged. And Robb needed him and his bridge more than Walder needed him. "Bronze and iron are stronger than gold and silver," Robb answered. "The old Kings of Winter wore such a sword crown."

"Small good it did them when the dragons came. _Heh_." From here he moved on to greet the other guests he recognized. "Well, Lady Catelyn, I see you have returned to us. And young Ser Edmure, the victor of the Stone Mill. Lord Tully now, I'll need to remember that. You're the fifth Lord Tully I've know. I outlived the other four, _heh_. Your bride's about here somewhere. I suppose you want a look at her." He waved to one of his sons and quietly instructed him to find the Lady Roslin.

As they waited he turned his gaze back on Lenora. "Queen Lenora," he greeted her with a shallow bob of his head. "You were a Baratheon last time you were at the Twins, though not quite as fair as your _Baratheon_ siblings, are you? You have the look of your father. If I had had my way King Robb would have left you here when he crossed and by now you would be the ninth Lady Frey. How would you have liked that?"

Robb's hands clenched into fists, but Lenora spoke up beside him and her voice, gentle and soft, served to calm him down enough to keep him from reaching for his sword. "It would have been an honor, my Lord. But at the time I had already been betrothed to the king, it could not have been done."

"No, I suppose not," Lord Walder agreed, his gaze dropping from her face to her chest, "You are a pretty slip of a thing. A tiny waist, nice firm teats, I'd wager. Not like this one," he nodded his head toward his current wife. She was blushing, but did not speak out against her husband's rude statements. "I wouldn't have been willing to leave you either."

Lenora was saved from having to answer by the entrance of Edmure's betrothed. Roslin was a small girl, pretty and delicate. Perhaps even smaller than Lenora, but she looked weak. When Robb glanced between the two he thought Lenora the more beautiful of the two, but it was clear that his uncle approved of the girl. She was soft-spoken and sweet, crying a bit as she expressed her desperate wish that she did not disappoint Edmure.

After their introduction Lord Walder sent her away and ordered Lame Lothar to show the guests to their rooms. "My Lord!" Catelyn spoke up from behind Robb. "Some food would be most welcome. We have ridden many leagues in the rain."

"Food, _heh_. A loaf of bread, a bite of cheese, mayhaps a sausage?" Walder asked.

Robb glanced at his mother, she was eyeing him with narrowed eyes, he sighed and nodded to her. "Some wine to wash it down," Robb added. "And salt."

Lord Walder grinned at him. "Bread and salt. _Heh_. Of course, of course." He clapped his hands together, and servants came into the hall, bearing flagons of wine and trays of bread, cheese, and butter. Lord Walder took a cup of red himself, and raised it high with a spotted hand. "My guests," he called out. "My honored guests. Be welcome beneath my roof, and at my table."

...

Robb sent Lenora to their chambers as he went to see his men across the river. It did not take him long and after a quick meeting with Lord Bolton who had arrived from Harrenhal shortly before Robb and his men he arrived back in their rooms.

Lenora smiled at him from over her shoulder when he entered the bedchamber. She had already bathed and rather than dressing she had sat on the floor by the fire in nothing but a silken robe while her handmaiden brushed her hair until it was dry. The hair shown in the firelight as she turned away from him again to whisper something to the girl. The girl nodded and quickly stood, curtsying to Robb on her way out of the room.

Robb waited until the heavy oak door shut behind her before he moved toward Lenora. "You have no more need of your handmaiden tonight, Lady Stark?" he asked her, arching his eyebrow as he knelt down behind her and picked up the brush the girl had set down so that he could continue to brush his wife's hair.

She smiled, sighing almost contentedly as she closed her eyes and leaned back, leaning into his touch. "I don't plan to," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper. "You see, I only truly need her to dress and I was planning on doing nothing but undressing for the rest of the night."

Robb chuckled as he set the brush back down, "Is that so?" he asked, his voice teasing.

Lenora nodded, turning around and rising to her own knees so that they were both kneeling on the ground. She reached out one of her hands and cupped his cheek, "I love you, Robb," she told him before she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his.

It was not a gentle kiss or a particularly soft one. As soon as Robb began to kiss her back she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, biting down on it gently before she slipped her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his. Robb groaned against her lips, letting the kiss continue for a few minutes before he pulled away from her. "I love you too, Nora," he whispered to her.

Then he stood, taking her into his arms and carrying her over to the large feather bed.

She had been right, they did not have need of her handmaiden for the rest of the night.

Nor anyone else for that matter.

...

"Lord Bolton is here," Lenora told him once they were finished and she was curled up, naked and warm in his arms. It wasn't a question, Robb had no idea how she knew that his bannerman was at the castle, but she did. He would not lie to her. "What news does he have from his son?" she pressed. "What news from Winterfell?"

Robb sighed, this was not the talk he wanted to have with her after they had just made love. But she was a determined thing. If Lenora wanted to talk about it, they would talk about it. It was best not to fight her. "The Ironborn killed almost everyone before they set the castle ablaze," he told her. "Bolton's son was able to save a few. They're at Winterfell now, rebuilding as much as they can. Ramsay, the bastard, swears that he will not rest until he has hunted down every last Ironborn and killed them."

"And Theon?" Lenora asked. "What of him?"

"Alive," Robb told her, his voice harder than he meant it to be. "Ramsay sent his father a strip of his skin, flayed from the littlest finger on his left hand. Bolton wanted to make a gift of it to my mother but I told him to burn it instead."

"The bastard flayed him? Lenora asked, her voice tense. She tried to sit up, struggling to push herself away from Robb's chest, but Robb would not let her move. He much preferred her curled into his chest. "That's against the laws of the realm."

Robb nodded. "And I shall punish him once the war is done. I swear it."

Lenora tilted her head up to study him, "You'll hate to hear it," she warned him. "But that is how my grandfather would handle the situation as well."

Robb smiled a bit ruefully at her, "You've been telling me to act more like Tywin Lannister since the war began," he told her. "You should be happy."

"If it keeps you alive then I am thrilled," Lenora promised him, leaning up to press a kiss against his jaw line.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

The drums were pounding, pounding, pounding. It was all Lenora could hear. She wondered if Lord Walder was as deaf as he was old. It was the only thing she could think of that could explain why the Lord of the Twins called this chaos music.

It was cold and wet outside, the rain still fell. But inside the western hall the air was hot and thick. A fire roared in the hearth and rows of torches burned on the wall. And all the people packed in close, sharing their body heat made the room feel almost uncomfortable. Lenora was quietly jealous of the men at arms who were being feasted outside the castle on the eastern side of the river. They would be wet, but she would take that over the uncomfortable heat she was feeling now.

Even on the dais they were closer than she would have liked and as the King and Queen of the North she and Robb had more room than most. She and Robb were seated between Smalljon Umber and Robin Flint, even here at a wedding feast they had guards, not that Lenora minded _them_. It had been she who had forced Robb to accept them when they proposed to guard them during the feast. She was thankful for the sword belts they wore around their waists and even more thankful that they were not drinking during the feast.

Many of Robb's Northmen were, not that she could blame them a great deal. The meal had been a sorry affair. The feast began with a thin leek soup, followed by a salad of green beans, onions, and beets, river pike poached in almond milk, mounds of mashed turnips that were cold before they reached the table, jellied calves' brains, and a leche of stringy beef. The wine, mead, and ale certainly washed down the taste of it all.

She did not envy their guards taking the food straight. Gods, but she was grateful to them.

She had eaten very little though that was in part due to the fact that she and Robb had barely a chance to sit down before they had been pulled onto the dance floor. Robb had danced with each of Lord Walder's daughters, with Edmure's bride and the eighth Lady Frey, with his widowed daughter Ami, and Roose Bolton's wife Fat Walda, he had danced with the pimply twins Serra and Sarra, and even with Shirei, Lord Walder's youngest, who must have been all of six.

Lenora in turn had danced with Ser Ryman Frey Lord Walder's grandson, his son Ser Edwyn, Black Walder, Lame Lothar, Petyr Pimple. And Tytos Frey, Arwood Frey - another grandson, and finally Raymund Frey. Some of the dances had been entertaining, Lame Lothar had spent their time together making jokes about his limp. And Petyr had been kind, stuttering out a thank you to her for Robb letting him borrow his horse the day before. But others had been silent, stoney affairs. Some of the Freys were making merry, but many of them were not. It made Lenora nervous.

She and Robb shared one dance together before he was whisked off by more Frey women. It all seemed to please Lord Walder so much that Lenora would not complain. They needed him, they needed his bridge. If he wanted every one of his daughters and granddaughters and great granddaughters to dance with Robb she would allow it.

She moved back to her seat on the dais as Robb moved across the dance floor. The music was still pounding though it was impossible for her to name the tune the musicians were playing. Above the din came a sudden snarling as two dogs fell upon each other over a scrap of meat. They rolled across the floor, snapping and biting as a howl of mirth came up from the crowd. Someone doused the dogs with a flagon of ale and they broke apart.

The sight of the dogs made Lenora wish once more that Grey Wind had been allowed at the feast Lord Walder had refused to allow him in the hall. "Your wild beast has a taste for human flesh, I hear, _heh_ ," he had told Robb when the king asked. "Rips out throats, yes. I'll have no such creature at my Roslin's feast, amongst women and little ones, all my sweet innocents."

Robb had wanted to argue, but Lord Walder beat him to it, "Have your wedding or have your wolf," he told Robb. "But you can't have them both. And you can't have my bridge without the wedding."

So they had the wedding and Grey Wind stayed outside the hall with Rollam. And Lenora regretted it the entire evening.

Lord Bolton, who had been sitting beside Lady Catelyn had left his seat, no doubt in search of a privy. With Robb still on the dance floor Lenora moved down the dais to sit beside her good mother. "A few more hours and this farce will be done," she murmured to the older woman as she looked around the hall. Her gaze landed on Edmure and Roslin who were sitting as close together as they could, sharing one plate, one goblet, stealing chaste kisses between bites. "Though Lord Edmure does not seem to think it a face," she observed, turning to grin at Catelyn, "And to think he complained about his bride the entire way here."

Catelyn smiled and nodded, "He seems quite pleased with her now," she agreed. "Though something about her is odd, her smile almost seems stitched in place."

"Don't say that to Robb," Lenora warned, "He'll accuse you of worrying like a woman again."

The man in question made his way over to them, he smiled down at them, "Would you care for another dance, Nora?" he asked, smiling at his wife.

Lenora shook her head, smiling back playfully, "I would much rather see you partner with another of Frey's daughters. Surely there's one around here somewhere that you have not yet danced with."

Robb turned to his mother, pretending to be wounded, "Mother! You must save me from this fate and agree to dance with me."

Catelyn smiled kindly at her son, "Thank you, but no," she told him. "A dance is the last thing I need with the way my head is throbbing. Go find another daughter."

"He's going to punish us for this," Lenora mused as he walked away. Though perhaps not, instead of partnering with one of Lord Walder's brood Robb approached Dacey Mormont and asked her to dance.

Dacey was one of Robb's guards and one of Lenora's favorites at that. She was tall and willowy with a shy smile that always seemed to light her face up. She had a graceful way of fighting with her battle axe. One that made Lenora envious. While her uncle had always encouraged her sword fighting her mother had dealt with it as if it were an annoyance. Lenora was jealous of the fighting women of Bear Island who were just as tough as their men, and often twice as deadly. It was a delight to see that Dacey could be as graceful on the dance floor as on the battlefield.

Edmure was kissing Roslin again, the Greatjon was drunkenly singing _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ even though the musicians were playing a completely different tune, Ser Marq Piper and Ser Danwell Frey played a drinking game, Lame Lothar was telling jokes to a group of Northmen in the corner of the hall, one of the younger Freys juggled three daggers for a group of giggly girls. There was noise and joy everywhere.

The Smalljon approached and asked Lenora if she would join him for a dance. As he was not her husband she would not tease him by forcing him to dance with Frey girls. Lenora smiled at him as she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to the dance floor. She was once again surprised by the difference between northern and southern dances.

Southern dances were formal affairs - pairs of dancers would line up on the dance floor before the dance started and they would not leave until it was over; there was a set number of spots on the floor per dance, no more and no less; the dancers rarely touched. Compared to their southern counterparts northern dances seemed complete chaos - couples joined the floor and left it whenever they pleased; they danced wherever they wanted; there were no set steps and much more touching.

She could still remember her first dance with Robb the night she had arrived in Winterfell. How her heart had jumped into her throat the moment he so casually placed his hand on her waist. She was not sure which was greater, her shock at the way they danced or her shock at the realization that no one else seemed to be shocked.

The Smalljon was laughing at her rigid form, calling her a proper southern princess when Lord Walder stood slowly from his seat and clapped his hands, calling for silence. "Your Grace," Lord Walder called out to Robb, "the septon has prayed his prayers, some words have been said, and Lord Edmure's wrapped my sweetling in a fish cloak, but they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath, _heh_ , and a wedding needs a bedding. What does my sire say? Is it meet that we should bed them?"

Robb pretended to think about it as he scanned the hall, his blue eyes finally landing on Lenora. There was a playful sparkle to them, no doubt he was remembering their own wedding. When he had stopped the bedding before it was over and taken her to his tent himself. Lenora understood that the northmen loved their customs, but she did not envy Roslin her bedding ceremony. Even though they had not consummated their wedding that night, even though part of her thought she hated Robb, there had been something special about him taking her to his bed himself.

Roslin would not get that romance, she would not get that kindness. The crowd was already filled with people shouting and begging, " _Bed them! Bed them! Bed them!_ "

Robb raised a hand, quieting the shouts, "If you think the time is meet, Lord Walder, by all means, let us bed them."

His approval was met with a roar of approval from the crowd and the women rushed forward to grab Edmure, pulling him from the dais. Lenora supposed she could have joined, but as a married woman she had the choice not to. She did not particularly want to help undress her husband's uncle, she would stay in the hall. She was not the only woman who stayed, though there were only a few others who remained. Lady Frey, Dacey Mormont, and Catelyn Stark were the only others who did not rush on Edmure.

Robb would stay too, it would have been a great honor to Roslin if he had participated, but he would not presume to insult Lenora in such a way. Many of his guard remained in their spots as well. And even more Frey men, though Lenora could not blame them Roslin was their sister, cousin, aunt.

"I hear Tully men have trout between their legs instead of cocks," Alyx Frey yelled loudly over the noise of the crowd. "Does it take a worm to make them rise?"

Marq Piper answered, " _I_ hear that Frey women have two gates in place of one!"

"Aye," Alyx answered. "But both are closed and barred to little things like you!"

The crowd laughed at the exchange.

Whatever men who chose to take part in the bedding crowded around Roslin and hoisted her out of her chair and onto their shoulders. Over all the noise Lenora could hear the Greatjon yelling drunkenly. "Give this little bride to me!" he bellowed. "Look at this little thing! No meat on her at all!"

Lenora blushed as she thought about her own wedding, it had been the Greatjon who had tried to carry her as well. The Smalljon chuckled beside her, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "My father has always loved carrying the bride. He likes to take part in the bedding ceremony, but he does not enjoy ripping the clothes off the poor maid. So he carries her instead."

Lenora smiled and nodded, "That's much more honorable, isn't it?" she teased.

"He seems to think so, though he's always drunk when he thinks it."

As man and maid were carried from the hall, a trail of clothing behind them, it got quieter. Most of the musicians had left with the crowd to play outside the bridal chamber door until the couple had consummated the marriage. The few that were left seemed to be discussing which song they should play next.

With so many people gone from the hall it was expected to feel different, less merry. But as Lenora looked around it wasn't relief at the silence that she felt, but rather a tense nervousness. Something did not feel right. She was still standing in the middle of the floor beside the Smalljon and she turned on the spot, looking around. She watched as Dacey stepped up behind Edwyn Frey, touching him lightly on the shoulder and speaking softly, asking him something.

Edwyn who had been polite since they arrived and had even spent a great deal of the night flirting with Dacey turned on her now with a stormy expression on his face. "No," he told her too loudly. "I'm done with dancing for the time being."

She turned back to the Smalljon and raised her eyebrows. She was sure that he was going to tell her that her worry was ridiculous, it was what Robb always said whenever she got like this. But the Smalljon was different, he reached out, closing his hand around her left wrist and squeezing it tightly, "Stay close, Lenora," he ordered her, his nerves and worry making him forget to call her _Queen_ or _Your Grace_. She did not mind nor did she want to correct him. "There's something amiss," he mused more to himself as he tried to catch Dacey's eyes and signal that she should move toward Robb.

Lenora pulled lightly against his hand, wanting both of them to walk toward Robb, but the Smalljon shook his head, "I have my orders, Little Queen, if something goes wrong I am to get you to safety. Then come back for King Robb." Lenora wanted to argue, but three things stopped her.

The first was the slamming of the doors, she was sure that if she had been closer to the heavy oak doors she would have heard the bolts slide into place.

The second was the realization that these orders would have come from Robb himself, and the Smalljon would never disobey his King.

The third was that the musicians began to play again. It was a different sort of song, not the bawdy or lively tunes they had been playing previously. This one was slow, and low. It sounded sinister. No one sang the words, but they did not need to, Lenora already knew them. She had known them her entire life.

 _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?_

"The Rains of Castamere," she whispered.

The Smalljon looked at her, his eyebrows knit together in confusion, "What?" he asked her.

"The song," she whispered, "It's the Lannister song." She turned toward where Robb stood, preparing to yell to him that he needed to run, but instead of words a loud seemingly unending scream escaped her lips as she saw him turn toward her, staggering suddenly as a quarrel sprouted from his side, just beneath his shoulder.

If he screamed too, the sound of it was swallowed by the pipes and horns and fiddles. And by Lenora's own scream.

She watched with wide eyes as a second bolt pierced his leg. She saw him fall. Up in the gallery half the musicians had crossbows in their hands instead of drums or lutes.

She wrenched her wrist free from the Smalljon's grasp and ran toward him, wishing for her sword. The Smalljon was faster than her. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him wrestle a table off its trestles. Crossbow bolts thudded into the wood, _one, two, three_ as he flung the table down on top of Robb, shielding him from anymore bolts.

He reached for Lenora again, "Get behind me, Lenora!" he ordered her.

"Give me a sword!" Lenora fired back.

The Smalljon shook his head, looking at her sadly, "If I had two you could have one. But I need it to get you out of here. It's the king's orders."

"Not without _Robb,_ " Lenora argued with him, moving to run toward the table.

The Smalljon stepped in front of her, catching her around her middle and practically throwing her back. "We can't have both of you in the same place!" he yelled at her over the noise. "It's too simple a target!"

"Then get him out of here. _Now!_ "

She felt someone else's arms close around her waist and she struggled against them until the Smalljon lowered his lifted sword and she realized that whoever had her was someone they knew. "Go," she heard Lord Bolton order the Smalljon. "Protect your King as your Queen orders. I shall make sure that no harm befalls Her Grace."

The Smalljon nodded and turned on his heel, rushing into the fray. Lenora's head turned right and left, taking in the scene before her. Robin Flint was ringed by Freys, their daggers rising and falling. Ser Wendel Manderly rose ponderously to his feet, holding his leg of lamb. A quarrel went in his open mouth and came out the back of his neck. Ser Wendel crashed forward, knocking the table off its trestles and sending cups and food flying. Lady Catelyn was on the floor, crawling toward the table that stood over Robb, a quarrel in her own back.

She struggled against Roose, but he would not let go of her.

The Smalljon cut down Ser Raymund Frey, as he lifted his sword to fight another a crossbow bolt drove him to his knees. Lucas Blackwood was cut down by Ser Hosteen Frey. One of the Vances was hamstrung by Black Walder as he was wrestling with Ser Harys Haigh. The crossbows took Donnel Locke, Owen Norrey, and half a dozen more. Young Ser Benfrey had seized Dacey Mormont by the arm, but the Mormont woman grabbed a flagon of wine with her other hand and smashed it full in his face, running for the doors.

They opened before she got there and a dozen Frey men-at-arms followed Ser Ryman Frey into the hall. They were armed with long axes. The horns and drums and clashing steel went on all around them, creating its own deadly music. Ser Ryman buried the head of his axe in Dacey's stomach.

By then more men were pouring in the other doors as well, mailed men in shaggy fur coats with steel in their hands. _Northmen_ , Lenora thought, quickly followed by _Bolton men_. For a moment she thought they were saved until one of them struck the Smalljon's head off with two huge blows of his axe.

She screamed again, suddenly realizing that she was not being held safely in the arms of one of Robb's bannermen, but rather being held captive by a traitor.

She struggled in his arms, stamping on his foot and kneeing him in the groin until she was able to wriggle herself free. She quickly made for a table, hoping to grab a dagger until she could get her hands on a sword. Bolton was moving after her quickly. He caught her just as her hand was closing around the hilt of a dagger. "I'm sorry, my Lady," he apologized, always polite, as he grabbed ahold of her hair and slammed her head down on the table, knocking her out briefly.

She did not stay out for long. It could not have been more than a few minutes when she blinked her eyes open. She was laying on her stomach on the floor, blearily looking around the hall, praying that all the screaming was just the memory of a bad dream. It was not. She tried to stand up, but she couldn't. Her arms were wrenched behind her back, tied together and then tied to her ankles. Bolton had worked quickly to subdue her.

For a moment she wondered why no one was trying to kill her, but the thought quickly left her mind when she saw the tabletop that the Smalljon had flung over Robb shifting. Her husband struggled to his knees. He had an arrow in his side, a second in his leg, a third through his chest.

From his chair Lord Walder raised a hand and the fighting seemed to stop, the music definitely stopped. All but one drum. Outside the doors Lenora could hear the crash of distant battle and closer the wold howling of a wolf. _Grey Wind_ , she thought, wishing the wolf free.

" _Heh_ ," the Lord of the Twins cackled at Robb, "the King in the North arises."

Lady Catelyn had not been as useless as Lenora. She had moved around the room, half crawling, have crouching. She had grabbed a dagger off of some table and now she stood with the stolen dagger to Lady Frey's throat. "Lord Walder!" she roared, gaining the man's attention. "Lord Walder, _enough!_ Let it end! Please! He is my first son, my last son! Let it end and I swear to you that we will not seek vengeance. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. We will forget this."

Walder Frey did not seem swayed by her words. Lenora looked away from the pair and toward Robb, he was crawling toward her. She wanted to shout at him, to tell him to crawl to the door, not to her, but she didn't want to draw attention to him either, lest another bolt find its way into his body.

"Take me for a hostage, Edmure as well if you haven't killed him. But let Robb go!" she begged.

"No." Robb's voice was a whisper. "Mother, no ..."

"Yes. Robb, get up. Get up and walk out, please, _please_. Save yourself ... save Lenora. Get out and go!"

"Nora," Robb gasped out, grabbing the edge of a table and forcing himself to stand. "Grey Wind ..."

"Go to him. Now Robb, _walk out of here_."

Lord Walder snorted. "And why would I let him do that?" he asked.

Catelyn turned back to him, her dagger digging further into Lady Frey's throat. "On my honor as a Tully. On my honor as a Stark. Let him _go_ or I will cut _your_ wife's throat."

For a moment Lenora thought the ploy might work. But then Lord Walder smirked, "I'll find another."

Lord Bolton moved quickly, grabbing Robb by the shoulder and spinning him to face him. Robb looked at Roose with hope shining in his eyes, he still thought the man an ally. "The Lannisters send their regards," Roose growled before he drove a dagger into Robb's stomach. He pulled the blade free and let go of Robb's shoulder.

Lenora screamed, tears streaming down her face, as Robb turned to her, slowly falling to his knees. "Nora," was the last word she heard him say as his face fell to the floor in front of him.

Lady Catelyn's scream joined Lenora's as she sliced the eighth Lady Frey's throat, sending the woman to the floor with a rush of blood.

Lenora did not see what happened next. Lord Bolton was standing in front of her. He grabbed her under the shoulders and ignoring the flinch of pain he pulled her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder, quickly striding from the hall. The way he had thrown her, her chest was pressed against his, her face next to his arm. She could see the hall, just barely with her left eye.

It was full of blood and the sounds of dying men.

She could not be sure, she would never be sure. It all seemed a nightmare. But it looked as though Robb was still crawling across the floor.

Following her, trying to protect her, with his last breaths.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

His father had asked to see him. He was angry no doubt. He had been married for almost a fortnight and Sansa remained a maiden. Worse than that, half the castle seemed to know it. Maids whispering to squires. Squires whispering to knights. Knights whispering to their ladies. And the ladies whispering to anyone who would listen. Tyrion almost missed when the city was preparing to battle against Stannis, at least then all the High Lords and Ladies had something else to worry about than whether or not Tyrion had consummated his marriage with the _child_ his father had thrust upon him.

He heard the whispers and the laughter everywhere he went. It seemed the only person in the Red Keep that did not find their marriage and their unused marriage bed amusing was his young wife.

Sansa's misery grew worse every day. Tyrion would have happily broken through her courtesies to give her whatever comfort he could manage, but he knew it would do very little. Regardless of the fact that she had thanked him on their wedding night for being kind to her and for protecting her - she did not want comfort from him. She had married him because it would keep her safe, not because she wanted to be with him. He was a Lannister. Regardless of how little he had actually done to her family, his family was to blame for almost every one of her woes. She would not forget that. And no kind words from him would make their circumstances any better.

As much as she seemed to appreciate his kindness, no kind words would ever make him handsome or fair in her eyes. _Or any less a Lannister_. This was the wife they had given him, for the rest of his life, and she hated him.

This would be what his father wanted to speak to him about. His failure as the girl's husband. His failure as Tywin's son. His failure as a Lannister.

As he entered his father's solar he heard a voice saying, " ... cherrywood for the scabbards, bound in red leather and ornamented with a row of lion's-head studs in pure gold. Perhaps with garnets for the eyes ..."

"Rubies," Lord Tywin interrupted, "garnets lack the fire."

His father was talking to one of the city armorers, or smiths, about a sword. At least two by the sound of it. Tyrion cleared his throat, causing both his father, and the man he was speaking to, to turn and look at him. "You sent for me?" he asked, walking further into the chamber.

Tywin nodded, turning back to the table, "I did. But first, come and look at this."

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, surprised that his father wanted him involved, or that he might want his opinion on anything. Ever since the scene he had made at his wedding feast his father had had as little to do with him as possible. He walked closer to the table. A bundle of oil cloth lay on top of it. On the cloth lay a longsword and a dagger, Lord Tywin held another longsword in his hand. "A wedding gift for Joffrey," he told Tyrion as he lowered the sword in hand a bit so that Tyrion could get a better look at it.

When the light hit the blade the steel shimmered dark, almost black, and a cherry red, the crossguard and pommel shone a bright gold. "Everyone in the streets is whispering about Stannis' _magic_ sword," Tywin sneered. "Perhaps it is time to give the king a sword of his own. A weapon that would put Stannis' blade to shame."

"That's too much sword for Joff," Tyrion warned his father, thinking off all the evil ways his nephew might try to use it.

Tywin shrugged, "He'll grow into it," her assured him before he handed the sword to Tyrion. "Here, feel the weight of it."

The sword was much lighter than Tyrion would have guessed. He imagined that even _he_ could have wielded it. As he turned the sword over to inspect it more closely he saw why it was so light. There was only one type of steel in the entire world that could be beaten so thin and still be strong and useful in a fight. There was only one type of steel in the entire world that bore those ripples, the mark of steel that had been folded back on itself many thousands of times. "Valyrian steel?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Tywin looked proud of himself as he nodded, "All three," he told his son, gesturing toward the second longsword on the table and the small, but deadly looking dagger.

Tyrion could understand his father's pride. Valyrian steel blades were expensive and hard to find. There were a few thousand remaining in the world, two hundred of which were in the Seven Kingdoms, but no more. It was finite resource. One that could not be found anymore, not since the doom came to Valyria. Many Great Houses owned Valyrian steel blades, they passed them down generation to generation as heirlooms. The Lannister House had even had one once, a greatsword named _Brightroar_ , but it had been lost when the fool King Tommen had carried it to Valyria hundreds of years ago, perhaps even thousands. Neither blade nor King had returned.

On many occasions his father had offered to buy Valyrian steel swords from impoverished Houses that desperately needed money. Tywin would have paid dearly for the steel too. But no House was so far gone, or so foolish as to give up their swords, no matter how desperate their circumstances were.

Tyrion wondered where his father had gotten the these three blades. He knew that there were a few master armorers, even some in King's Landing, who could rework old Valyrian steel. Perhaps his father had not paid for all three blades, but had rather only paid for one, a large greatsword that had been reworked into two smaller longswords and a dagger. "The colors are strange," he murmured turning the sword over and over in the sunlight as he silently tried to figure out where his father could have gotten the steel.

Most Valyrian steel swords were a dark grey, Lord Stark's had almost looked black. But this one in his hand had a red as deep as the grey blended into the folds. The two colors lapped over each other without ever seeming to touch, each ripple distinct, like waves of night and blood upon some steely shore. "How did you get this patterning? I've never seen anything like it."

"Nor I," the armorer agreed, speaking for the first time since Tyrion had entered the solar. "Lord Tywin asked for a crimson sword, and I tried, but every time I folded in the red it would darken and some folds would not accept it at all. They say these old swords remember. And perhaps they do, this one was not easily changed."

 _Old swords remember?_ Tyrion thought, echoing the armorer's words in his head. There was something else that remembered. Something that was just as dark, just as ominous, just as deadly as this sword. _The North_.

He almost dropped the sword in his haste to unhand it. He knew where his father had gotten the steel for the three blades. He had only seen it once or twice when they were at Winterfell, by the time he arrived in King's Landing the sword had seemed to disappear. But here it was again, reworked into three blades, with some red folded in. What had Ned Stark called his Greatsword? _Ice_?

 _I should have returned it to Robb Stark when he asked_ , Tyrion thought regretfully. His father was proud of the swords, that much was clear, but he had come about them in a dishonorable way. Tyrion wondered if the blade would ever work just right for Joffrey. The steel remembered and the North did too. It would know that it did not belong to the Lannister King.

"And the other sword?" Tyrion asked, though he was sure he knew the answer to his question.

"It is meant for Jaime," Tywin told him, confirming his suspicions.

Jaime was still lost somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrion wondered at his father's confidence that Jaime would be returned to them. And it must have been confidence, otherwise he would not have had the sword forged for him. He waited while his father sent the armorer off with the blades, asking for them to be returned the day before Joffrey's wedding with their scabbards.

Once the armorer was gone Tyrion asked about the dagger. "So a sword for Joffrey, a sword for Jaime, and a dagger for yourself?" he asked, not daring to hope that they dagger might be for him. He was not even sure if he would want it if it were.

Tywin snorted, "I have no need for a dagger," he told Tyrion as he moved toward his desk.

"Of course not," Tyrion agreed with a nod, "but it would be nice to have, would it not?"

He was not hinting that he wanted it, though his father must have thought so because his eyes narrowed, "It is not for your either," he told Tyrion. "It is for Lenora once she is returned to us."

Again, Tyrion was struck by how sure of himself Tywin seemed. Lenora was somewhere in the North now, marching and fighting and loving Robb Stark. But Tywin seemed to think that she would soon be home in King's Landing as a certainty.

He snorted, "The only way I see Lenora being returned to us is if her husband is killed. She loves him Father, surely you can understand that. She will be grieving _if_ she is returned to us. You think a dagger forged from her dead husband's, murdered father's greatsword will buy her happiness? Even if it is Valyrian steel?"

Tywin did not seem to appreciate his son's censure, "Lenora is doing her duty by her husband as she was trained to do. If she loses him she will come home and do her duty by her family as she has always done." Tyrion raised his eyebrows, he was not as sure as his father. But he had opened the gateway for his father to get to the point of his invitation to Tyrion, "As will _you_ ," he added, glaring at Tyrion.

"I married the girl," Tyrion told him. "I did as you commanded."

"I commanded you to put a child in her belly," Tywin lectured him.

Tyrion sighed, "And do you think she will open her legs for me?" he asked. "After everything our family has done to her own?"

"One way or another you will get that girl pregnant," Tywin told him.

"I will _not_ rape her!" Tyrion yelled at his father.

Tywin sighed, disappointed in his son, "She will have a Lannister child," he warned his son. "At this point, I don't much care _which_ Lannister it belongs to. Remember that."

* * *

Author's Note:

How are you guys doing? Everyone okay? Happy? Sad? Angry with me? Don't worry, my dears, I have a plan. Trust me, will you?  
But if you don't, if you're so angry at me for what I just did, make me one promise. Wait three chapters before you decide not to read any longer. Okay? Three chapters. Keep reading, at least until Sunday night. You'll have a much better idea of my plan by then if you wait.  
Anyway, I'm quite happy with this chapter. Very happy actually. I'm a bit of a sadist like that, apparently.  
Thank you, as always, for reading. Thank you for adding this story to your favorites list. Thank you for adding it to your alerts list. But most of all thank you for your reviews. Both the ones you've already left and the ones I hope you will leave today.  
They make me ridiculously happy.

 _BigWilly526:_ Don't worry friend, there won't be any Tyrion/Sansa in this story. Just hints of a friendship and respect. As much as I love the two of them I know that a lot of people don't. And it would be cruel to force it on people who are here for a completely different story. I'm glad you liked the Davos part ... there's more in the future!

 _writingNOOB_ : There will be a face off between the two lionesses and Cersei is going to be a vicious, desperate bitch when the time comes. And Lenora is going to be less forgiving of her mother than usual. Because you're right, this is the story that Cersei tried to poison her daughter. And eventually Lenora's going to learn about that.  
Hahaha! It has been a while ... fifty chapters to be exact since that scene!

 _Guest1995:_ Oh my god I love this! You have no idea how much I love this idea. All of them actually. Unfortunately by the time Lenora gets to King's Landing most of these situations will be impossible because there's a lot of death in between now and then. Some of them could be twisted to work though. And if not ... a series of one shots. Hmm. I can see them now: " _Seven_ times Lenora Baratheon was too fiery for her own good" or something like that. It's a working title.  
Mostly because if given the time I could probably think of so many scenes that I would want to play out.  
Of course you would get credit if I used any of your lines ... hell you would get credit for the whole idea of the one shots if I did them. And now that I'm thinking about them I might have to do them! You certainly know how it works ... compliment the author when you make your request and they'll do it.  
At least I probably will. :D

 _sltsky96:_ I'm glad you enjoyed the _Les Mis_ reference. I have loved this musical since high school. I had a rather brave and ambitious theater director who figured that he had like twenty students who regularly auditioned for the school plays and perhaps all of them could sing. So my junior year the school play was _Les Mis_. I auditioned for Eponine ... it was all I wanted, _On My Own_ is probably one of the best songs I have ever heard. But I made two mistakes: 1. I was a junior (he admitted to giving seniors preference). 2. I told him I would take any part in the musical (if you really want a character ONLY accept that role).  
This senior bitch, Kathryn Gill got Eponine (she wasn't actually a bitch ... she was super nice). I got the parts of Fantine and Enjolras. I was a little upset at first, especially when I got the part of a boy (but he was described in the book as looking like a girl) and it made for some fun costume changes back stage, and I looked fantastic dressed as a French revolutionary. Plus between the two characters I got so much more stage time than Kathryn Gill (HA. HA. HA Take that, Gill).  
The whole musical is a masterpiece, though I must say, my favorite song is Grantaire's _Drink With Me_ it's so open and vulnerable, morose and hopeful at the same time. Like, these kids (and they are kids) know they're going to die and still they're singing about their friendship. I was so mad when they cut it out of the 2012 movie. It's a beautiful song. At least until Marius turns it into a song about Cosette. #francebeforeyourpants Marius.  
I'm sorry, you probably did not need this rant about _Les Mis_ , but you got it!

Anyway, that's all I've got for today my friends.  
See you back here tomorrow!  
(Hopefully)  
Chloe Jane.


	53. Chapter Fifty-Three: I am the King

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

I'm dropping hints left and right.

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Three: I am the King_

 _Arya_

Everything was on fire when they arrived at the Twins. Everything was on fire and everyone was fighting. She briefly wondered at the Hound's determination to bring her to her family and ransom her off to them. He must have been desperate for gold, only that could have kept him moving through all the flames even though he was terrified of fire.

She couldn't tell who was the enemy. It was almost impossible to make sense of the battle in the darkness with the flames and the chaos. She thought for a moment that perhaps the Lannisters had attacked. But she could not see any of their red and gold armor. And of course they could have fought without it, but Lannisters were proud men. Both House Lannister and the men that fought for it. She had never seen Lannister men fighting in anything but their crimson plate with gold detailing.

And she did not see any of that here. And besides, hadn't the stupid red priest looked into his flames and seen the Lannisters attacking Riverrun. They weren't going to take her there because it was too dangerous. Ever since they had learned about the Frey wedding they had planned to bring her here. They believed it was safer. Surely if this was a Lannister attack his bloody flames would have shown him that.

She couldn't be sure. She was certain that she was imagining it. She hoped she was imagining it. She prayed she was imagining it. But through all the smoke and the flames and the darkness she thought she saw northmen attacking other northmen. She had never been as good of a student as Sansa, but he had tried to pay attention when Maester Luwin taught her the sigils and House words of all the Great Houses of Westeros, and anyone in the North knew the flayed man of House Bolton.

She was sure that her eyes were playing tricks on her as she watched. But it looked as though the Bolton men and Frey men (she could tell them by the twin towers on their banners and sigils) were attacking the rest. They seemed to be fighting the grey direwolves, the mailed fists of House Umber, the Mallister eagle and the Tully fish.

Whatever was happening it was a massacre, that much was certain. The Frey men and the Bolton men were winning. She screamed at them from her place on the Hound's horse, he was too bewildered to even stop her. She screamed and screamed, "You're Northmen! You're from the riverlands! You named Robb _King_! You're brothers! Why are you doing this?"

No one answered her.

No one paid her any attention at all.

Over the noise of the battle and even over the sound of her screams she heard the sound of a wolf howling. _Grey Wind_. She turned her head frantically, looking side to side for the wolf. Sure that at any moment Robb and Lenora would burst out from the castle, riding side by side with the wolf as they brought the traitorous attackers to justice.

But they never came. And after a short while it became clear to her that Grey Wolf was not fighting in the battle. His howls and cries were coming from a cage outside the castle. He was trapped. He was trapped and he was desperate to get out because he knew that something horrible was happening to his master.

Something horrible was happening to Robb.

She needed to get to the wolf and she needed to free him. Grey Wind _needed_ to get to Robb. He would protect him. He would keep him safe. Nothing would happen to Robb if Grey Wind was at his side.

She squirmed in her place, testing the Hound's grip on her. He had been holding on tight since he had grabbed her and taken her right out from under the Brotherhood Without Banners' nose. He did not trust her at all. But now, now he was distracted. Distracted and afraid. He was trying to make sense of what was going on around them. He was trying to stay away from the fire. He wasn't holding her as tightly as he could have.

He wasn't holding her as tightly as he should have.

She squirmed again, this time very deliberately elbowing him in the chest. It probably did more damage to her than it did to him. Her elbow hurt more than it ever had in her life, she wondered if the bone had shattered. If not there would at least be a horrible bruise on it the next morning. But she was not like Sansa, she did not care about bruises. And she had more important things to worry about anyway.

It would not have worked, but the Hound's armor was old and dented. And somehow she had struck it just right, just hard enough that it had hurt him, or at least irritated him. His grip on her loosened even more as he reached one of his hands up to rub at where she had elbowed him, as if rubbing the armor would make it feel better.

That was her chance. She wiggled a bit more, writhing like an eel almost until she slipped. He reached for her, but they were too close to a fire of his liking and she was already falling to the ground. She remembered what Syrio Forel had taught her when she was learning how to be a water dancer. _Cats always land on their feet_.

She could be a cat.

She twisted as she fell and when she hit the ground it was on her hands and her knees. She didn't look back at the Hound to see what he thought. She didn't look at the men fighting around her. Even if they did pay her any attention it wasn't like she was a threat to them. Both the men that were still loyal to her brothers and the traitors had more deadly things to worry about than a small boy running through the camp.

Besides, she was quick as a cat. They wouldn't be able to catch her.

She ran for Grey Wind's cage, not knowing what she would do when she got there. What if she could not open it? What if it was locked? She would figure it out when she got there. That was how she had always dealt with problems when she was at Winterfell. One thing then the next. _First,_ she would get to the cage. _Second,_ she would worry about opening it. _Third_ , Grey Wind would save her brother.

She was quick as a cat, but she was not watching where she was running. She tripped over something as she was running for the cage. At first she thought it was a log, or a bench from one of the overturned tables, but when she turned to look she realized that it was a body. One of the Umber men.

His eyes were still open. He was staring at her. "Please," he whispered to her, asking her for help.

She shook her head, she wasn't there to help him. She was there to help her brother. She was there to help her mother. She was there to help Lenora. Any time she spent helping this man would be a waste. But then something caught her eye. He still had his sword, he had not dropped it when he fell. It was gleaming silver and red in the firelight.

She braced her hands underneath her shoulders and pushed herself back to standing. And then she turned moving back toward the injured man. "Gods be good," he murmured, no doubt thinking that Arya meant to help him.

"The Gods can't help you," she told him as she bent down and grabbed his sword, pulling it from his loose grip. "I'm sorry," she added over her shoulder as she turned and began to run toward the gate again, this time with her stolen sword in hand.

She was still too far away. And Grey Wind was still howling. But there was someone else running toward the cage as well. A boy, perhaps even smaller than her. She could not tell whose sigil he wore on his livery. She did not know if he were enemy or friend. And because she did not know, she did not trust him. "No!" she screamed at the boy even though he could not hear her over the clashing steel, the yells of the fighting men, and the moans of the dying ones. "No!" she yelled again. "You get away from that wolf!"

But he did not hear her. And perhaps he was a friend after all, she thought as she got closer, squinting through the smoke. He was opening the cage. He was releasing Grey Wind for her. He was helping.

"Grey Wind!" she yelled when the wolf was free. His ears perked at the sound of his name. "Yes!" she shouted. "Grey Wind! To me! To me!" Her brother had been working on that trick when she left Winterfell. She was sure that he had taught the wolf at least that. He turned toward his, his gold eyes glowing in the firelight, the narrowed into slits as he looked at her and for a moment she thought that he might recognize her. But then the boy said something and the wolf turned back to him. The boy said something else and the wolf seemed to nod, as if he could understand.

With one final glance back at Arya the wolf took off, running away from the castle for the woods.

"No!" Arya sobbed more than she yelled. "You're going the wrong way! You're going the wrong way you stupid wolf!" Nymeria would have known to run for the castle. Nymeria wouldn't have run from the battle like a scared dog.

She was still running for the cage, but her gaze was on the cowardly wolf. She did not see one of the Bolton men order others after the wolf. She did not see him run his sword through the boy's belly and twist it before pulling it out and rushing toward the woods after the wolf.

She only noticed it when she arrived at the cage and the boy was not there. She spun in a tight circle, looking everywhere for him. It was then that she saw him leaning against the side of the wooden kennel, his hands pressed against his stomach, trying to hold his innards in. She wanted to kick him. But now she could see his livery, he had a grey direwolf on his doublet. He was one of Robb's squires. "Why'd you do that?" she yelled at him instead, kneeling down next to him so that they could hear each other. "That wolf could have saved Robb! Why did you send him away?"

"I didn't," the boy gasped out, too much in shock to even look up at who he was stalking to. His gaze remained on his stomach wound. "I told him to find King Robb. I told him to save him. I told him to go to the castle and the wolf ran to the woods instead!"

"Why would he do that?" Arya asked, sobbing again.

The boy looked up at her with wild eyes, "The wolf loves King Robb," he told her as if she didn't know. "The only reason he would have left is if King Robb wasn't in the castle. Or if he was dead."

"How would the wolf know that?" Arya asked.

The boy shook his head, "The wolf knows things," he told her. His voice was quieter now, his breath was coming out in quick, shallow gasps. He would die, Arya knew that and it seemed so did he. "Tell her," he whispered, reaching out one of his blood covered hands to grab onto Arya's wrist when she turned to leave him. "Tell her ..."

"Tell who?" Arya asked him, yelling even though they were close enough that she could have spoken at a normal volume and he would have been able to hear her. "Tell who?" she asked again.

"Tell Queen Lenora that I tried," he whispered to her. "They had stolen the key to his kennel. I could have gotten him out earlier. But I didn't have the key. Tell her ... tell her I found it. Tell her I tried."

He was still breathing, perhaps he had other things he wanted Arya to tell Lenora. Perhaps he did not want those to be the last words anyone would hear from him. But Arya did not have time for his last words. She did not care about his last words.

She stood up and turned toward the castle, determined to get in. She did not know what she would do once she was in there, but she would get in. That was her first problem. She thought of her list. _First_ , get into the castle. _Second_ , find her mother or Lenora if they were still alive. Perhaps her uncle Edmure, though he would not recognize her. _Third_ , figure out what to do afterward.

She started to run toward the castle, so focused on her mission that she did not hear him running behind her. But she felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned and faced the Hound. He did not look angry, he did not even look afraid. He was looking down at her with something akin to sympathy in his eyes. He shook his head once, "It's too late," he growled at her.

 _It can't be_ , she thought as she turned away from him, preparing to run away again. _It can't be too late_.

She only got one step away from him before his mailed fist hit her in the back of her head and sent her falling to the ground, knocked unconscious.

...

The Gods were cruel. She did not stay unconscious for long. When she opened her eyes with a groan she was back on the Hound's horse, his arms were wrapped more tightly around her this time. They were still at the Twins, the fighting was still going on. The fires were still burning. And her brother was most likely still dead.

The Hound was kinder than the Gods. When he had pulled her back onto his horse he held her in the opposite direction. Her face was pressed against his chest. His huge shoulders blocked most of her view of what was going on around them.

He wasn't as dumb as he looked, he spurred his horse forward quickly and grabbed onto a banner that bore the twin towers of House Frey. Even though there were still men alive that were loyal to Robb, they were losing. The Frey banner was the safest cover. She did not know how he knew she was awake, but she felt his chest rumble underneath her cheek when he growled, "Keep your eyes closed, girl. Don't look."

And she didn't. At least not until she heard the chanting. _Here comes the King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! Here comes the King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!_

She looked then even though he had told her not to.

A group of Bolton and Frey men were leading a horse through the castle gate. There was a man on top of the horse, but it could not have been Robb, she was sure of it. His head was too large, it was misshapen. Her mind was still fuzzy from when the Hound had knocked her unconscious and it took her too long to realize what was wrong with her brother's head. There was a wolf's head sewn to it.

 _Grey Wind_.

Tears filled her eyes as the Hound spun his horse around and rode them out of the courtyard. "At me, girl!" he growled at her. "If you're going to look, look at me! Don't look at that girl! You don't need to see it!"

But she wasn't the young girl that needed protecting anymore. She had needed Yoren to shield her at her father's execution. She did not need the Hound to shield her now. The Lannisters were behind this. She _knew_ it. And she needed to see everything they had done so that she would be ready when it came time for her revenge.

They were moving too fast, she had only caught a quick glimpse at her brother. But something did not seem right. Grey Wind had run for the woods, but Robb and his wolf head had come from the castle.

It didn't sit right.

But nothing about this night sat right.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

After he had carried her from the hall Lord Bolton brought her up to a bedchamber. He was kind enough not to bring her to the chambers she had shared with Robb the night before, though she was sure that it was not kindness, but rather the fear that she might somehow escape that had him bring her to a different bedchamber.

This one was small, narrow. It had very little furniture, only a small straw bed and a chair where one of Frey's daughters sat. Lenora was sure that they had been introduced but she could not think of the girl's name now.

There were no windows.

Tears were still streaming down her face, but she was too much in shock to do much else. Lord Bolton was surprisingly gentle when he placed her on the bed. She thought he would leave her then, tied up and under the watchful eyes of one of Frey's _innocents_ as the old man had called them.

 _None of them were innocent_.

But he didn't leave them. She felt him reaching for her hands and she found some of her fight again. She started to struggle against him, kicking and thrashing. He had killed her husband, did he really think that she would _let_ him have her after that. He chuckled as she fought, low and dark. "Calm yourself, Your Grace," he commanded, surprising her at his audacity. He had the nerve to call her _Your Grace_ after he had killed her husband. If the king was dead, was she still the queen? And if she was, she definitely was not _his_ Queen. He had made that clear when he shoved a sword in Robb's stomach.

"Calm yourself," he commanded her again. "I do not mean you any harm. I simply wish to untie your restraints."

That caused Lenora to stop fighting. She had spent enough time watching Lord Bolton to know that he was an intelligent man. He was not stupid, and he was not weak. She doubted that he truly meant to untie her restraints. She did not have a sword, but that did not mean that she could not hurt him if she wanted to.

She was right. Once she had stilled he did not begin untying her right away. First she felt cool metal close around both of her wrists. Manacles. Another set closed around her ankles. He did not chain the two sets together, a small mercy.

"Do not try to run away," he warned her in that soft, _too_ calm voice of his as he started to untie the rope from her arms and her legs. "I will chain your hands and feet together if I have to."

Lenora nodded, playing the part of the quiet and meek captive. Now, in a tower of a castle under attack was not the time to try to run away while her wrists and ankles were chained together. Even _she_ was not that bullheaded.

Lord Bolton made quick work of her ropes and then he rolled her onto her side in the bed so that she could see the Frey woman. He stooped, bending at the waist so that he could look her in the eyes, "I will come for you in the morning, Your Grace," he told her, his lips twisting up into a smirk. _I should have kicked him when he was untying me_ , she thought as she glared at him. "In the mean time I shall send up some milk of the poppy or dream wine for you. I imagine that it will be difficult to sleep after all the _excitement_ down in the hall."

She couldn't kick him now. He was too far away. So she spit at him instead. She did not want his milk of the poppy. Or his dream wine. And she certainly would never have described the massacre that occurred in the hall as _excitement._ Her spit landed on his cheek. He sighed, closing his eyes in annoyance before he reached into his doublet and pulled out a handkerchief that he used to wipe off his cheek. He turned and when he spoke next it was to the Frey girl instead of Lenora. "Perhaps I will send up one of your brothers as well," he suggested to the girl. "Unless you think you can handle the princess Lenora."

 _And there it was_... _princess_. She had been _saved_ because she was Cersei and Robert's daughter. They would be sending her back to King's Landing no doubt. If she had taken a moment to think in the chaos down in the hall she would have realized that it all _smelled_ too much like a Lannister plot to be anything else.

Walder Frey would never have acted like this on his own unless he had had a powerful backer. And his own sons had admitted at Riverrun that he had received at least one raven from her grandfather. Tywin Lannister had planned this, but when the small folk heard about the wedding massacre it would be Walder Frey who received the blame.

The girl glanced at her, her eyes wide and nervous. "Perhaps you should send one of my brothers as well, my Lord," she whispered to Lord Bolton before she dropped her gaze, as if she was afraid to look at Lenora for too long.

 _She should be_ , Lenora though as Lord Bolton swept from the chamber. _They all should be afraid of me_.

She glared at the Frey girl for a minute after the door shut. The girl wouldn't look at her, but she was aware of Lenora's gaze. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, looking anywhere other than the bed. "How long has your father been planning for this?" Lenora asked finally.

The girl looked terrified, her eyes darted to Lenora's face and she must have realized that Lenora would not give up until she had an answer, because she gave one. "Since your grandfather wrote to him," she whispered. Lenora thought that was all she would get from the girl, but then she spoke again, "Lord Tywin sent ravens to my father and Lord Bolton. They made plans."

Lenora nodded, she had assumed as much. "And what was the reward for killing the King in the North?" she growled.

The girl shrugged, "I do not know what he gave to Lord Bolton, but Riverrun now belongs to the Freys."

Lenora shook her head, "Edmure is Lord of Riverrun."

"And we _have_ Edmure, Princess," the girl answered. She wasn't arguing with her, simply stating a fact.

"The Blackfish will never give it up," Lenora warned her.

"The Blackfish is old and has not fought for many years, he won't last."

Lenora's eyes narrowed, "They won't get away with this," she warned the girl. " _You_ won't get away with this. I may be in chains now, but one day I will find my way out of these chains. And when I do I swear to you that I will come after anyone and everyone that has profited from this. The Lannisters always pay their debts, you know. I will pay this one."

The girl seemed to smirk as a knock sounded on the door and one of the Frey men entered with a vial. _Dream wine_. "You've forgotten, Princess, the way Lord Stannis talks you are the only of your mother's children who _isn't_ a Lannister. What do Baratheon's do with their debts, my Lady?"

The man stepped forward before Lenora could answer. He opened the vial and reached out for Lenora, she tried to twist away from him, but he grabbed on her hair at the base of her skull twisting her head to face him, "Hold her mouth open," he growled at his sister. The girl nodded and quickly rushed forward, using both of her hands to force Lenora's mouth open. She would have bit the girl, but she was smart enough to keep her fingers out of Lenora's mouth.

She shook her head, trying to fight them, to make the man spill the vial, but he had a stronger hold on her head than she had thought. Her hair started to rip as he tilted her head back, bringing her gaze toward the ceiling. Then, with little thought about choking her he poured the entire contents of the vial into her mouth. With her head tilted back she had no choice, but to swallow. He held her head back for almost a minute before he let go and shoved her back onto the bed on her side. "She'll sleep soon," he assured his sister before he turned. "I'll be outside if you need me, though I don't think she'll be much trouble now."

And he was right. Her vision was already narrowing, her mind going fuzzy. She tried to fight it, focusing on her hatred and the girl across the room from her. She was right, _Lannisters paid their debts_ and she was no Lannister.

She was a Baratheon and she was a Stark. She would hold on to her anger, her fury. And she would never forget. And when her chance came she would show her brother, her grandfather, the Freys, and the Boltons what it truly meant when winter came for them.

...

The next morning the Frey girl pulled her out of the bed and with Lenora's mind still muddled from the dream wine the girl was able to undress her, bathe her, and then dress her again before she handed Lenora over to her brother so that he could drag her down to the hall. Lenora wished that her mind had stayed muddled for a bit longer, but it didn't. By the time she arrived outside the hall her mind was sharp again. She was aware of everything. She remembered everything.

The doors to the hall were wide open, but in her mind she could still hear the sound of them slamming closed the night before. She could still feel the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach when she realized they were trapped.

She didn't want to enter, even though she knew that Lord Walder and Lord Bolton would be waiting for her inside. She couldn't go in. This was the last place she had seen Robb. This is where she had watched him fall to the ground and use his last bit of strength to try to reach her. She did not want to go in there now and hear Walder Frey gloat about how he had killed her husband.

She didn't have much of a choice though. Whichever one of Lord Walder's sons stood behind her shoved her in the lower back, "Get in there," he growled at her. "They're waiting for you."

All the bodies had been cleared away, she was thankful for that, though it did not stop her from remembering. She looked to the right and there was the table the Smalljon had thrown overtop Robb to keep him safe from the crossbows above. And there, next to it would have been where he had died, beheaded at the hands of one of Bolton's men. And _here_ where she was standing was where Dacey Mormont had been torn open by Ser Ryman Frey's battle axe.

The hall was a mess. Tables and benches were still overturned, food thrown on the floor. There were no more bodies. Gods, but there was blood. There was a long streak of blood that started near the middle of the room and made its way across the floor toward the doors. _Robb_ her mind realized, her eyes focusing on his blood. She hadn't imagined it, he had tried to crawl and drag himself after her when Lord Bolton carried her from the room.

She must have still been feeling the effects of the dream wine, because she did not cry as she looked at the blood on the floor. Instead she felt only numb. She took a step further into the room and the men seemed to finally notice her.

Lord Walder remained sitting, eating his breakfast. But Lord Bolton stood from where he had been leaning against a table and he inclined his head to her before he walked closer to her. Lenora stiffened, wondering what he planned to do. She watched through narrowed eyes as he stepped around a woman who sat on the floor in front of the high table scrubbing at a large pool of blood on the floor. _Catelyn and Lady Frey_ , Lenora realized as she stared at the blood pool.

Lord Bolton moved slowly, carefully, approaching her as one might approach a wounded animal. He did not need the caution, with her hands chained behind her back and her ankles chained together there was only so little damage she could do. He reached his hand out to her and she knew that if her own hands weren't chained he would have taken her hand, or her elbow. He seemed to falter for a moment before his hand fell on her upper back, just between her shoulder blades.

She flinched away from his touch, taking a small step forward, but his hand followed, "You must be hungry, my Lady," he said, his voice soft.

Lenora turned her head to stare at him in wide-eyed surprise. He could not truly believe that she could eat, especially here where her husband and his men had been massacred the night before. And yet, he guided her through the mess, being careful to stay as far away from Robb's blood streak as he could and brought her to the table in the front that he had been leaning against when she entered the hall. He sat her down and poured her some watered down wine.

She looked at him, her eyebrows raised, as he placed a plate of food in front of her. Everything had already been cut, she had a fork, but no knife. Not that the fork did her much good, her hands were still chained behind her back. Did he mean to feed it to her?

He used the fork to spear a piece of sausage and he brought it toward her lips. _He did_. She ground her teeth together, pursed her lips, and turned her head away from him. He could try to feed her, but she would have none. _Not here_.

"You must eat, my Lady," he told her. He had always had a soft, gentle voice. It had never bothered her as much as it bothered her now.

"Not here," she whispered to him, still turned away from the fork and offered food. She wasn't hungry, and any food he tried to force her to eat would only come back up. Surely he could understand that. He sighed, but placed the fork down on the table. He would not force the issue.

Lord Walder laughed at her, shoving another bite of food in his mouth as he did. _He_ had no trouble eating this morning. "The _Late_ Walder Frey, Lord Tully called me that because I didn't get my men to the Trident in time for battle," he told her, cackling in his seat above her. "He thought he was being witty. _Heh_. Look at us now, Tully! Your daughter's dead, your grandson's dead, your son spent his wedding night in a dungeon, and _I'm_ Lord of Riverrun. _Heh_."

"The Blackfish still lives," Lenora spoke up, surprised at how strong her voice sounded despite how broken she felt. "The Blackfish still holds Riverrun."

"The Blackfish? _Heh_. An old man, no allies. I have _Tywin Lannister_ backing me. Who does he have?" Lenora flinched at her grandfather's name, at the reminder that it was her own family who had planned this, who had murdered Robb, and caused her so much pain. Lord Walder studied her for a minute, waiting for her to argue. But she couldn't, he had a point. He nodded when she remained silent. "They all laughed at me," he told her. "All those High Lords. They all thought they were better than me. Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, _you_ girl. People snigger when _I_ marry a young girl, but no one said a word when Jon Arryn married a little Tully bitch."

"You'll be needing a new _young girl_ ," Lord Bolton reminded him. During Lord Walder's rant he had walked a slow loop around the hall, but he turned to look at Lord Walder now.

"Yeah," Lord Walder agreed with what Lenora assumed was a smile. "The ninth Lady Frey, perhaps she's in this room now." He leered at Lenora.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, but it was Lord Bolton who spoke up. " _No_!" his voice sounded. It was much closer than he had been before. Lenora turned to see that he was standing directly behind her now. He placed one of his hands on her shoulders, as if he was her guardian and he was protecting her. "Lord Tywin has specific arrangements for princess Lenora."

"Sending her back to King's Landing, _heh_ , what a waste," Lord Walder told him before he took another bite of food. He did not close his mouth when he chewed. When he spoke bits of food flew out of his mouth and onto the table in front of him. It was sickening. "And you," he said, nodding toward Lord Bolton. He held up his glass, "The Warden of the North!" Lenora flinched, that title was Robb's. Bolton had stolen it from him when he took his life.

 _So that's what Bolton got for betraying his King,_ she thought.

"No more Starks to bow and scrape to," Lord Walder continued. "Must have been torture, following that young boy through the country."

Lord Bolton nodded, "He ignored my advice at every turn. If he had been a trifle less arrogant."

"He _trusted_ you!" Lenora bit out, shaking her shoulder to force the man to remove his hand. "He trusted you and you betrayed him."

Lord Walder spoke over her, she was little interest to him now that Lord Bolton had made it clear that she would not become his ninth wife. "He called himself _The Young Wolf_. _Heh_. How's that for pomposity?" He grabbed his goblet again and lifted it into the air, " _Here's_ to the Young Wolf!" And then he howled.

Lenora closed her eyes, committing this insult to memory.

"Forever young," Lord Bolton answered Lord Walder's toast.

...

Lenora waited until the two lords had stopped congratulating each other on their shared treason and Lord Bolton had escorted her from the hall before she spoke. When she had been in the hall all of her belongings had been packed and loaded into a wheelhouse. It was waiting in the yard out front. Casterly was waiting behind it.

"Don't get too excited," Lord Bolton warned her as he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned her toward the wheelhouse. "I don't trust you enough to ride yet."

At the steps to the wheelhouse she turned, "You're taking me to King's Landing?" she asked him.

Lord Bolton studied her for a moment before he shook his head. "No," he told her, being honest. "You will go to Winterfell."

"But Winterfell's a ruin," she reminded him.

"A ruin that my bastard is starting to rebuild," he told her.

Lenora watched him, her eyes narrowed. "And what will happen to me at Winterfell?"

Lord Bolton smiled at her, there was something wicked and dangerous about his smile, Lenora recoiled from it. "If all goes according to plan, my Lady, you will still be the future Lady of Winterfell."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Joffrey_

His grandfather had thought it his place to call him to the Tower of the Hand. He was beginning to regret naming his grandfather Hand of the King. His mother had made him do it. She said that he owed it to the old man for saving King's Landing.

 _He_ owed it to the man.

A King should never owe a man anything. His father had never owed anyone anything, except maybe Ned Stark, but look how that had turned out. Eddard Stark had betrayed his father, he had spread vicious lies about Joffrey, about his mother and uncle. And he had tried to say that Joffrey was not the true king.

No, a King should never owe anyone anything.

He should have named a lesser man the Hand of the King. Any other man besides his grandfather would have seen the honor in the position. They would have known that they owed their position and power to Joffrey. Instead of owing his grandfather, it would have been Joffrey who was owed something.

Any other man would have come to find Joffrey, not sent for him as if he were not the king of Westeros. His grandfather took too many liberties and it was time that Joffrey put him in his place. He would do it today. He would go to the Tower of the Hand and he would put his grandfather in his place. And Lord Tywin Lannister would never presume to order Joffrey to do anything, or go anywhere, ever again.

He would make sure of it.

But when he arrived at the Tower of the Hand he was surprised to see that he was not alone. His grandfather was there, as well as his mother, Varys, and Grand Maester Pycelle. Joffrey looked around at the majority of his Small Council. "Why am I here?" he asked, hoping he sounded like a powerful and busy king instead of the insolent child he knew his grandfather saw him as. "Grandfather? Mother? I have many things to do, I have a kingdom to run. I cannot waste my time walking to and fro between the Tower of the Hand and my chambers."

He did not miss it when his grandfather rolled his eyes. "We are well aware of that, Your Grace," he said though, very polite. "We would not have requested your presence unless it was of dire importance."

His mother nodded, reaching out for him, "We have a gift for you, sweetling," she promised him. "Very good news."

"Don't call me that, Mother," Joffrey ordered, pulling his hand free from her grasp. "Do you take me for a child? If you want to call someone _sweetling_ go find Tommen, he's always crying for you anyway." He moved away from her and took the empty seat to his grandfather's right, next to the Grand Maester. "Well, what is it?" he asked, looking around the table. "What is this news? I await it _eagerly_."

His mother and Grand Maester Pycelle were grinning, as if whatever news they had to share was a gift for them as well. His grandfather was a bit quieter in his joy, but even he looked quite proud of himself as he handed over a roll of parchment to him. Only Varys seemed to have a straight face. In fact, the Spider almost looked sorry for whatever news the parchment held.

"I've taken the liberty to reach out to two Houses in the North on your behalf, Your Grace," Tywin told him as he unrolled the parchment. "They previously served House Stark, but now I believe they are ours. And they will remain ours for all of your days."

Joffrey raised his eyebrows at that, that was a large promise, one that his grandfather might find hard to keep. "And how do you know that they are truly _ours_?" he asked, wanting to seem involved. "How do you know that they are not _still_ loyal to the Starks and only pretending to be loyal to me? I've been reading up on the history of Westeros. It has happened before that way."

"It has, Your Grace," Grand Maester Pycelle spoke up, "but not this time, I'm sure. They are loyal to you and you alone. They no longer serve the Starks."

"But how do you _know_?" Joffrey asked again.

"It's all in the letter," his grandfather told him, nodding to the parchment in his hands. "Shall I read it to you, Your Grace?"

"I am quite capable of reading, Grandfather," Joffrey snapped at him. Though truth be told he had always had trouble reading. When he stared at a word the letters got mixed up. He had never told his mother. And he had threatened any tutor who may have wanted to. He stared at the parchment in his hands for a long time, trying to make sense of it.

It was a losing battle, even if the letters hadn't been all mixed up it seemed to be in a code and it made very little sense to him. It seemed as though Lord Walder Frey at the Twins had sent a raven to King's Landing to tell them what his daughter had eaten at her wedding feast and her favorite gift had been. He scoffed, he would do a lot better than _trout_ at his wedding. That was for sure.

He looked up from the parchment at his grandfather and raised his eyebrows. "I suppose this should make sense to me?" he drawled out. "I do wish you wouldn't waste my time and you would simply tell me what I should be so happy about."

"Don't you see it?" Tywin asked him. "We know these two Houses will be loyal to you instead of the Starks because there are no Starks left. Robb Stark and his mother died at the Twins no more than a week past. The North is yours, Your Grace."

"Truly?" Joffrey asked, looking between his grandfather and his mother. He could feel a grin spreading across his lips as he stood up from her chair. "Truly?" he asked again when no one answered him.

Cersei smiled at him, "Truly, my dove," she told him and for once he did not mind the pet name. It did not matter what his mother called him. Robb Stark was dead. Joffrey had killed him. He was King in the North as well as the other six kingdoms. "Your sister is free of the Stark boy and on her way home to us, even now."

Even the news that Lenora was coming back to King's Landing could not dampen Joffrey's good mood. He was no longer angry at his grandfather for summoning him to the Tower of the Hand. He did not begrudge all the steps he'd had to climb. He was not even angry when his uncle Tyrion walked into the chamber.

He grinned at his uncle as he waddled into the room. Tyrion paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows at Joffrey before he began to take his seat, "Killed a few puppies today?" he asked.

Normally Joffrey would have threatened his uncle's tongue for that comment, especially after that farce of a wedding when Tyrion threatened to cut off his manhood. But today he was too happy, too happy to even glare at his monster of an uncle. "Look!" he commanded to his uncle walking around the table so that he could drop the parchment in front of him. "Look at that!" He moved away back toward his mother as his uncle read the note out loud.

" _Roslin caught a fine fat trout. Her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding. I am sending you your black lion pet now, though I would have liked to keep it. Signed Walder Frey._ " He glanced up from the letter, his eyes landing on Joffrey. "Is that bad poetry or is it supposed to mean something?" he asked.

Joffrey's grin widened, he was not the only one who had missed the meaning of the letter the first time he had read it. His uncle thought he was so smart, but he could be stupid. "Robb Stark is dead," he told his uncle, giggling excitedly. "And his bitch mother." He expected his own joy to be mirrored on his uncle's face but all he saw was horror and what looked like disappointment. He turned to Grand Maester Pycelle, the older man smiled at him. _That's better_ , he thought.

"Write back to Lord Frey," he commanded. "Thank him for his service and ask him to send Robb Stark's head." He glanced at his mother, "I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my wedding feast."

"Your Grace," Varys spoke up, Joffrey turned to look at the eunuch, missing the look his mother and grandfather exchanged. "Lady Sansa is your aunt by marriage." The Spider disapproved.

"A joke," his mother assured the man, "Joffrey did not mean it."

 _Who_ was _she_ to speak for him? He was the king, she was only the queen regent, and not for much longer. Once he married Margaery his mother would only be the dowager queen. Nothing more. She had no right to speak for him. "Yes, I did," he told her, glaring at her. "I'm going to serve it to Sansa at my feast."

" _No!_ " his uncle spoke up from the end of the table. "She is no longer yours to torment."

Joffrey turned his glare on Tyrion, " _Everyone_ is mine to torment," he growled, walking over so that he could stand over his uncle, glaring down at him. "But if you are so worried about Sansa's _delicate_ sensibilities ... fine, I won't serve it to her." Everyone around the table seemed to relax, he thought he heard his mother sigh in relief. He stood straight, turning to grin at them, "I'll serve it to Lenora instead. She'll be here in time for the feast and he was her husband after all. Don't you agree that she'd want to see him, _one last time_."

"That is enough," he heard Tywin thunder from the end of the table. "You will serve Robb Stark's head to no one, least of all your sister. I shared this news with you because I believed it important. I believed that you could hear it and handle it as a King should. With grace and humility. I see now that I was wrong."

Joffrey bristled, squaring his shoulders and glaring at his grandfather, "I am the _king_!" he hissed at the old man. "And if I want Robb Stark's head I shall have it! No one would deny me. I. Am. The. King!" He was so angry that he made every word of his last statement its own distinct statement. How dare his grandfather scold him in front of his Small Council? How were these men going to respect him after they had seen an old man scold him like a small child? All goodwill towards his grandfather was quickly disappearing.

"Any man who must say _I am the King_ is no true king," Tywin told him, his green eyes hard as he stared Joffrey down. "I'll make sure you understand that once I've won your war for you."

Joffrey turned on his grandfather, furious, "My father won the _real_ war!" he yelled at the old man. "He killed Prince Rhaegar! He took the crown! While you hid under Casterly Rock!" The unsaid word _coward_ hung between them, thick and heavy as his grandfather's glare hardened even more.

He glanced down at his mother and even she was glaring at him. She took Tywin's side as well. Joffrey had no one. They were all loyal to Tywin. They all listened to Tywin. _He_ was the king, but Tywin ruled the Seven Kingdoms. In that moment he hated his grandfather, more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

Tywin regarded him coldly and then he did the cruelest thing he could have ever done. He dismissed him. "The king is tired," Tywin announced, never taking his eyes off Joffrey. "See him to his chambers."

Joffrey shook his head. He was not tired. And he would not be dismissed like that. He would leave only when he was ready. But his mother was standing from her seat and reaching for his hand, ready to pull him from the chamber. "I am not tired!" he yelled, but even now he could tell no one would listen to him.

He was the king, but he had no true power.

* * *

Author's Note:

Anybody still here? Do I still have readers? I hope so!  
So it's another depressing chapter, made all the more depressing by the fact that my Cavs got their asses handed to them last night. It was depressing as hell. So I decided to depress all of you as well.  
Just kidding this was already planned, even before last night's game.  
But don't worry ... the Cavs will get their shit together on Sunday night (and so will this story!)  
As always ... I would love to hear what you guys thought of this chapter! There's this wonderful empty box down there waiting to hear from you. Drop it a note!  
HUGE amounts of gratitude to those who reviewed on yesterday's chapter. You are wonderful!

 _EternalKnight219:_ Haha. I would have updated all of them yesterday, but they weren't all edited. Still not. One chapter a day, every other week. That's my method!

 _writingNOOB_ : I'm not going to say anything. I'm not going to say anything. I'm keeping my mouth shut. But no, the story wouldn't be the same without the two of them. You are right.

 _TheHuntresss_ : Three chapters ... now two. Thank you for giving me the chance!

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : You'll just have to wait and see! I don't want to give too much away!

 _Vandal_ : Hey! Thank you, I'm glad that you liked the chapter! Unfortunately even though Lenora didn't see it ... Catelyn is dead. I love her, but she's gone.

 _sltsky96:_ Two reviews! I love it! And I love that the first one was entirely about Les Mis because you weren't ready to talk about the chapter yet. That really made me happy.  
I mean looking back, I'm completely happy with who I got to play. Fantine was hard because she's completely motivated by this intense love she has for her daughter and as a 16 year old, I didn't necessarily understand that. And I was most excited to perform _Pretty Ladies_ with her, but the descent into prostitution isn't exactly something the school board was down with so the most interesting and complex part of her story I didn't even get to touch on. But Enjolras, I could understand him. He so desperately and purely wanted to change the world that he didn't even care if he was there to see it when it was over. I could get behind that.  
And then when Aaron Tveit played him in 2012 ... well I could get behind that. (He's on my list of five ... the people I'm allowed to cheat on my husband with. Husband approved. And he's a Cavs fan ... so extra points for that.)  
Anyways ... the story: honestly killing Dacey and Smalljon was harder than killing Robb. I didn't mention Dacey very much because she wasn't going to play a huge role, but I love her as a character. I love all the Mormont women they're so tough and wonderful and I adore them. So it was hard to kill her. And I just like Umbers so those were hard deaths.  
I will say this, if Robb survives, his _lonely_ soul will be very haunted. And hopefully it will be amazing!

 _darkwolf76:_ Don't worry about missing any chapters ... you're back! That's all that matters. You are so sweet! It's an honest delight to hear that the last chapter was was one of the best chapters I've written so far. That's fantastic news. Seriously and truly. Thank you.  
WHY DID I HAVE TO DO THAT TO YOU? Because it was important. It had to happen. I tried to do it as painlessly as possible ... actually that's a lie. I was aware it was going to hurt. It hurt me to write it.  
As for how you see it going ... I can't tell you. It'll give too much away. But I've been leaving some hints here and there. But to answer your question ... no I cannot tell you 100% that Robb is dead. But I cant' tell you 100% that he's alive either.  
At least I have one reader that will stick around wherever I take this story! Thank you!

 _janaoliver_ : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed it! I hope this chapter did not disappoint!

 _merlin1989_ : Thank you! Though you should've waited three more chapters.

 _Mattia18_ : Well no matter what happens, there will be drama. I promise you that.

 _DannyBlack70_ : Oh don't hate me! I'm only trying to give you guys the best story I could think of. And you noticed it did you? If anyone else noticed it they did not mention it. :D

That's all I've got my friends.  
See you back here tomorrow!  
Chloe Jane.


	54. Chapter Fifty-Four: Running with Wolves

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Four: Running with Wolves_

 _Cersei_

"Where is she?" Cersei asked her father as she walked into his solar unannounced. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream. But her father would not respond to yells or screams. He would not respond to her tears or her anger. She had learned that many years ago. As angry as she was, her father would only respond to her if she stayed calm. He would only respond if she stayed respectful.

Not that storming into his solar unannounced was particularly calm or respectful. But with Jaime missing her father had at least become accustomed to the behavior. He looked up from the map he had been studying, his eyebrows arched. "Good morning, Cersei," he told her, ignoring her question as he turned back to his map.

Cersei felt a growl rising at the back of her throat, like the lion everyone said she was. She walked further into the room, picking up a dagger from her father's desk as she moved toward the table he was standing at. She slammed the dagger into the map, "Where is my daughter?" she growled at him, looking up at her father with narrowed eyes.

His green eyes landed on the blade sticking out of the map, he did not look amused when he lifted his gaze up to meet her own. "In the North, I would imagine," he told her, his voice flat and almost defeated.

"What is she doing up there?" Cersei hissed at him. " _Still_? Walder Frey sent a raven a fortnight ago. She should be here now, or at the very least have been spotted in the Crown Lands. None of our scouts have seen her. Where is she?"

Her father looked down, as if he was ashamed. And with that one look Cersei had her answer. She snorted, a derisive sound, "You lost her." It wasn't a question. The fact that her father could not meet her eye was enough to tell her the truth of it. Her father had lost Lenora. She shook her head, laughing bitterly. "All your planning! All your scheming! All your secrets and betrayals! I begged you to be let into your plans and you refused. You said I could not help you because I am not half as smart as I think I am. But look at you!" she stepped back from the table, gesturing at him with both hands, "You lost my daughter. Perhaps it is _you_ , Father, who is not half as smart as you think you are."

Tywin did not look amused when he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Their eyes were so similar. The same green, the same golden flakes, the same determined glare. The same disappointment shining heavy in their eyes. She wondered who was more disappointed. The daughter who had finally come to realize that her father did not have all the answers, or the father who now knew that his daughter, his fiercest supporter, had lost her faith in him.

"Walder Frey sent another raven last week. He said that when Roose Bolton loaded Lenora into a wheelhouse they traveled north instead of south."

"And Walder Frey did not think to try to stop him?" Cersei growled at him.

Tywin snorted, "The _Late_ Walder Frey?" he asked her, chuckling darkly as if she had told a joke. "That's what Hoster Tully used to call him. Walder Frey will not do anything unless he is sure that it will be beneficial to him."

"And saving my daughter would not be beneficial?" she asked her father, glaring at the spot on the map where the Twins stood. As if she could make Walder Frey pay for what he had done with her glare.

"He already killed Robb Stark for us," Tywin scolded her. "What more could you ask of him?"

"Loyalty, perhaps," Cersei fired back. "He was rewarded for killing Robb Stark and he would have been rewarded for returning Lenora when it became clear that Roose Bolton had no intentions of doing so. _I_ would have rewarded him, even if you didn't."

"He would not have won against Bolton," Tywin told her with a sigh. "And Walder loves nothing more than his own sagging skin. He would not risk his neck for any reward in the Seven Kingdoms."

Cersei shook her head, "But he has risked his neck," she argued. "Certainly he cannot imagine that we will let this go. That we will forgive him for standing by when Roose Bolton stole our princess. I want him executed. I want his head."

Tywin sighed, no doubt finding her overly dramatic. But for perhaps the first time in her life she did not care what her father thought of her. "And do you mean to take it yourself?" he asked her. "Because I will not waste my time or resources going after a man who is like to die in the near future."

Cersei stared at her father in disbelief, "You would let him have an honorable death after he let your granddaughter fall into an enemy's trap?" she asked him. "You would let him be buried with honor and with his ancestors? You would let him die as the Lord of Riverrun? She is your granddaughter! Your blood! And you will just let this go?"

Tywin looked away from her, as if he was finished with the conversation, "I have other grandchildren," he told her.

Cersei slapped him. She hadn't planned to, if she had thought about it perhaps she would not have lashed out at him. But she didn't think, she acted. She stared at her hand, horrified, after she pulled it away from his cheek. "How could you?" she asked him, feeling something she had never felt before. Even when she was younger and her father had practically sold her to Robert Baratheon she had never felt as though he had betrayed her.

But now, now she felt betrayed. "She is my daughter," she told him, as if she could sway him with her pleas. "My firstborn daughter."

Tywin chuckled, low and dark, "Yes," he sneered at her. "And everyone in our family understands just how much that meant to you when she was first born."

Cersei sighed, looking away from him, "That was a mistake," she told her father. "I have never hurt her since. I _would_ never hurt her. But we don't know what Roose Bolton will do to her. And she's with him now, somewhere in the North. And your army is still here where it can do her no good."

"My army is exactly where it needs to be," Tywin snapped at her, no doubt irritated that she dared to question his tactics. "I mean to use it to win this war. And in doing so I will teach Roose Bolton what it means to steal from a Lannister." He shook his head, "You wouldn't understand this," he started.

"But Jaime would?" Cersei interrupted.

Tywin chuckled, "No," he told her, "Jaime has been wrapped around that girl's finger since the day she was born, since the moment he held her in his arms. He wouldn't understand it. But Lenora would, she would understand."

"Lenora?" Cersei echoed, raising her eyebrows.

Tywin nodded, "She would understand. She would know that she was not as important as the war. If I sent my army after Bolton to reclaim your daughter I might risk losing this war. But if I use my army to put down Stannis Baratheon once and for all, to put an end to any small bands of northerners who still want to fight in the Young Wolf's name, to root out every last Ironborn and send them back to their forsaken islands ... by doing that I can win the Seven Kingdoms for your son _and_ save your daughter."

"But what if it's too late?" Cersei asked him. "What if they do something to Lenora?"

"That is a risk I must take," Tywin told her. His voice had been hard, but he paused now and the next time he spoke his voice was softer, kinder. "Much as I care for your daughter, Cersei, you must think of the family. Of _our_ family. We have a Lannister king on the throne."

"Baratheon," Cersei cut in out of habit.

Tywin rolled his eyes, "Yes, Baratheon. With Lannister blood in his veins. And a stronger loyalty to our House than House Baratheon. Whatever his family name, Joffrey is a _Lannister_ king. One with a tenuous grip on the throne. _He_ must be our first priority. I did not marry you to Robert Baratheon for nothing. I have worked too long and too hard for this. Some northern lord in the middle of nowhere will not take it from me."

"From Joffrey," Cersei corrected him. Though it was not much of a correction. She was finally seeing her father for what he truly was. He did not care about her, or even Jaime. He did not care about Lenora, Joffrey, or any of her other children. Perhaps he did not even care about himself. He cared about the family name. He cared about their House. He cared about _Lannister_ , but gave very little thought to those who bore the name.

When she was younger he had told her about her grandfather Tytos. He had been harsh in his censure of his father. He told her that Tytos Lannister had cared too much for his family, too much for the people who made it up. He was too soft. He would have let House Reyne have their revolt against House Lannister. He would have let them rise above House Lannister even. It was then that Tywin had determined that when he was the head of House Lannister and the Lord of Casterly Rock he would never be soft like his father.

And he had gotten his wish.

But it made him every bit as monstrous as the Mad King.

She narrowed her eyes into a glare. "You better bring her back to me, Father," she hissed at him. "Or even the Mother above will not show you mercy." Then without another word she swept from the chamber.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

She was used to their laughter. It had followed her through the corridors ever since they had executed her father. It had only intensified since she had been forced to marry the Imp. But it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was a wolf. And wolves were brave. She would be brave too.

But _this_ was different. It wasn't laughing. She was being followed by whispers now. Whispers that stopped the moment she approached people. She assumed that it was because she and Tyrion had still not consummated. She knew that her maids checked their sheets every morning. She knew that they whispered to the queen that they were clean every morning.

She assumed that they had whispered to others as well. No doubt the entire castle knew that she was still a maiden. She wondered what they whispered. Were they whispering that she was still untouched because the Imp disgusted her? Or did they assume that it was because she was some how repulsive to the dwarf?

It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. At least a little bit. She couldn't bear to think that people thought _she_ displeased her new husband in any way. Whatever they were, he was lucky to have her.

And perhaps she was lucky to have him as well.

But whatever they were whispering, they weren't going to share it with her. No one. Except for Joffrey. He found her in the garden. "Lady Sansa," he greeted her, smiling almost kindly at her as he approached her.

She wanted to turn around. She wanted to run away from him. But she knew better. Running would only make him follow her. Whatever he wanted to tell her, whatever cruelty he wanted to lay at her feet he would do it. It would only be worse if she made him wait.

She forced a smile onto her lips as she turned to look at him. "Your Grace," she greeted him, sounding happier than she felt. "It's a beautiful afternoon, isn't it?"

Joffrey nodded as he came to stand next to her, "Yes," he agreed, holding out his arm to her so that he could lead her through the gardens. Sansa hesitated for just a moment, he chuckled. "Come now, my Lady," he chided her. "You are married to my uncle. You're family now. We can walk together through the gardens."

She nodded and placed her hand in his. "Of course, Your Grace," she agreed. She did her best not to look at him. He had always liked her _meek_. She had quickly learned that he was harsher with her when she seemed confident and brave.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. And just when Sansa began to think that she was safe Joffrey turned to her. "You must allow me to express my deepest sympathies, my Lady," he told her, letting the smile drop from his lips.

Sansa turned to him her eyebrows raised, "For what, Your Grace?" she asked him.

He looked surprised. His eyes widened, his brows lifted, his lips slightly parted. He was the picture of complete shock. But Sansa knew his face well enough to know that it was all an act. Whatever he was _apologizing_ for he knew that she didn't know about it. He was pretending to be surprised because it was part of his act, part of his game.

It was what he did.

And she was his plaything.

"Surely they would have told you," he mused. "Immediately. I thought that I was remiss that I took too long to speak to you and give you my sympathies. I have known for days."

Sansa shook her head, she wanted to tell him to get on with whatever it was he wanted to tell her. But she couldn't be rude. No matter what she thought of him, not matter who she was married to, no matter how many promises Tyrion could make about keeping her safe from Joffrey ... he was her king. And she was his prisoner. She could not be rude. "Your Grace," she started, still not making eye contact with him. "Please. Whatever news you have for me, I would rather you give it to me right away." It had finally occurred to her that whatever Joffrey was hinting at could be what everyone had been whispering about in the castle. "Please tell me," she begged.

Joffrey sighed, as if he would rather be anywhere than with her. As if he would rather be doing anything than sharing this news with her. But there was a cruel sparkle in his eyes, no matter how much he pretended to be the kind, caring king - he was enjoying it.

"As you wish, my Lady," he told her. He paused for just a moment, "It would seem that you have lost more than you can imagine, my Lady."

Sansa shook her head, uncomprehending. She could not understand what he meant by saying that she had lost more than she could imagine. She had lost Lady, she had lost her father, her sister was missing and probably dead, Bran and Rickon were dead, Winterfell was in ruins. She had already lost so much. Who was this _boy_ to speak to her about _loss_? He didn't know the meaning of the word.

"Your mother and brother," he told her. He looked sympathetic enough, but his lips turned up slightly at the corners. There was that glint in his eyes. He was _enjoying_ this. And in that moment Sansa _knew_ what he had come there to tell her. She _knew_ it. But a small, childish part of her would not believe it, not until she heard it.

She just wished that she didn't need to hear it from Joffrey.

"What about my mother and brother?" she asked him, her voice flat and cold. She was too busy building up a wall so that she could hide behind it when he gave her the news that she did not call him _Your Grace_. Normally that would have made him angry with her, but today it seemed to make him smirk. As if he knew why she had forgotten the courtesy.

"Well, they're dead," he told her with no preamble. "They've been dead almost a fortnight."

She had promised herself that she would be ready for whatever it was he wanted to tell her. She had promised herself that she would not cry. But with the casual way he had told her ... it broke her.

She felt tears spring to her eyes as she turned to look at Joffrey, her steps faltering. Her mouth fell open and she stared at him as he smiled serenely down at her. "They're dead?" she echoed, wishing she could do anything other than parrot his words back to him. She shook her head, "No," she told him, as if her denial could change the news he was sharing. "No, they can't be."

Joffrey nodded at her, his smiling widening. "I am sorry, my Lady," he told her. _He doesn't look sorry at all,_ she thought to herself.

"How?" she asked him. She didn't want to hear it, but she needed to. She was a wolf, she was the _last_ wolf. She needed to hear what had happened to her family.

Joffrey's smile widened, "Lord Walder Frey betrayed them," he told her. "When they went to the Twins for your uncle Edmure's wedding. There was a massacre, the Freys and the Boltons attacked your brother's men. They killed them in the hall and outside at the camp. They killed your brother. Your mother slashed Lady Frey's throat, but one of Lord Walder's sons got their revenge. Only Lenora survived. She should be on her way here now." He paused, looking down on her. "I apologize, my Lady," he told her once again. She wondered if he was tired of apologizing to her. "I am being cruel. You do not want to hear this."

She did not, but once again she reminded herself that even if she did not want to hear it, she _needed_ to. She shook her head, blinking her tears back. "Who killed my brother?" she asked.

Joffrey smiled, he was pleased that she wanted to hear more. "Some unknown crossbow men started the deed," he told her. "But my grandfather tells me that the final blow came from Lord Bolton, a knife to the stomach."

Lord Bolton had been Robb's bannerman. It was against the laws of Gods and man to betray your liege lord. Her father would have executed him for his crimes. But her father was dead. And it was unlikely that the Lannisters would do anything to the Boltons, especially because he had served them.

Not too many months ago it had been a battle of five kings, but now they were down to two. Joffrey and Stannis. First Renly had died, than the King of the Iron Islands, and now her brother. She took a deep shuddering breath, "And what did Lord Bolton get in exchange for killing his king?" she asked, trying to keep the pain out of her voice.

Robb was a traitor, after all, her mother too. She could not be seen mourning them. No matter how much she wanted to. Joffrey smiled, "Winterfell," he told her. Her gaze lifted quickly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out if he was lying to her or not. She could not bear the thought of her brother's murderer living in Winterfell.

Joffrey shrugged, "He's been named Warden of the North, at least until you have a son."

Sansa nodded. Joffrey watched her, his eyes flashing cruelly in the sunlight. Sansa looked away from him, unable to look him in the eyes. But she couldn't look at the gardens surrounding them either. She could barely remember earlier that morning when she had started her stroll and she had thought that it was a beautiful day.

Joffrey had stolen the beauty of the day. Just as he had stolen the beauty of King's Landing. Just as he had stolen all the beauty and joy from her life.

She forced herself to turn back to Joffrey, "Will you please excuse me, Your Grace?" she asked him. She knew that he would not want to let her go, he would want to keep her with him to hurt her. He would only let her go if he thought someone else would humiliate her. She swallowed thickly, "I must attend on my husband."

...

She did not attend on Tyrion. In fact she did not see much of Tyrion for a few days. He must have known that she knew what had happened. He must have seen the red rimming her eyes. And he had given her space. She would be forever grateful for that. She would not have been able to hold it together if the Imp had tried to talk to her about her family.

He stopped giving her space after three days. Three days of not eating, three days of not sleeping, three days of barely leaving their chambers. That was all he gave her. On the third day he approached her, she was sitting out on their balcony with Shae as her handmaiden tried to force her to eat something.

"Pigeon pie," Shae suggested, placing a pie in front of Sansa. Her sweet handmaiden had been trying to get her to eat since she had returned to the chambers sobbing about what Joffrey had told her. But she had no success.

"No thank you," Sansa told her without even looking at her friend.

"Lemon cakes?" she asked, trading out the pie for the sweet cakes that Sansa used to love.

"No thank you," Sansa told her again. She couldn't look at the food, she couldn't look at Shae. She glared at the table top in front of her.

"You love lemon cakes!"

Sansa's gaze flitted to the girl for a brief moment, narrowing into a glare, " _No thank you_."

"Tell her she needs to eat," Shae ordered, causing Sansa to truly look up for the first time. She hadn't noticed Tyrion walk out onto the balcony.

Her husband sighed, "My Lady," he said, his voice soft and gentle as if he was afraid that speaking too loudly would scare her off. "You do need to eat."

"I don't _want_ to eat," she told him. She could not understand how nobody understood that. She couldn't eat, she didn't want to eat. The thought of eating, of surviving when her entire family was dead was impossible for her to comprehend.

He sent her handmaidens away and took a seat beside her, reaching for her hand. "I can't let you starve," he told her, his voice still gentle. "I swore to protect you."

 _Protect me?_ Sansa thought, almost scoffing as she pulled her hand out of his grasp. How could he protect her when every day his family seemed to profit from the death and destruction of her own? How could he protect her when she couldn't even let him touch her? How could he protect her when he was a Lannister and she was a Stark?

He sighed, he did not like that she had pulled away from him, but he did not yell at her as Joffrey would have done. He was kind, gentle even. "My Lady," he continued, still being formal. She wondered if he was doing that for her. "I am your husband, let me help you."

There was no helping her. Especially him. "How can you help me?" she asked him, curious to how he planned to do so.

"I don't know," he admitted to her. She could tell that he did not like being this helpless. Tyrion Lannister was not used to being at a loss. "But I can try."

She gave a curt shake of her head, "I lie awake at night thinking about them," she admitted to him. "Thinking about how they died. Staring at the canopy, seeing them."

"I could get you essence of nightshade to help you sleep," Tyrion suggested.

She didn't want to sleep. "Do you know what they did to my brother?" she asked him instead. "How they sewed his direwolf's head onto his body? And my mother, they say they cut her throat to the bone and threw her in the river."

Tyrion sighed again, his small hand lifted, as if he would reach for her again, but she quickly moved her hand off the table. He dropped his hand. "What happened to your family was a terrible crime," he told her. She wanted to laugh at him, it was a terrible crime that his family had profited from. "I did not know your brother, but he seemed like a good man," he continued. "An honest man, an honorable one. But I _did_ know your mother. I admired her. She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her. She was a strong woman. And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children."

She could feel tears filling her eyes as she listened to him. She knew the truth of every word he said. "Sansa," he started, using her name for the first time since she had learned the news. "Your mother would have wanted you to carry on. You know it's true."

Sansa sniffed back some of her tears, she couldn't hear this anymore. She would never know what her mother wanted anymore because she wasn't there. She was dead. All so that Cersei could have her precious daughter back and Joffrey could feel more secure on his ugly throne. She had liked Lenora when she first met her. But now, after what had happened to her family. She wanted the girl to suffer, just as her brother had.

She excused herself stating that she wanted to go to the Godswood. Tyrion had nodded, excusing her. He told her that she should go, that perhaps the prayer would help. But she didn't pray anymore. The Gods didn't listen to her prayers now, perhaps they never had. She didn't go to the Godswood to pray, she went there so that people would leave her alone.

In the Godswood there were no whispers. There were no apologetic looks. There was no one trying to force her to eat.

She was alone there.

As she always would be now.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was losing weight. She could feel it in the way her dresses hung on her. She could see it in the way Roose Bolton watched her carefully, as if he was worried that she would disappear before his very eyes. She would have found his concern kind if she hadn't been so afraid of him. If she hadn't been so angry with him.

He was not patent with her, not as he would have been if she were still his queen. He didn't yell, she wondered if the quiet, deadly man was capable of yelling. But when he led her from one place to another his grip was not gentle, each morning he would practically shove her into the wheelhouse. He brought her food every morning to break her fast and supper every evening.

He did not trust her enough to unchain her hands, but at least after the first week he had agreed to allow her hands to be chained in front of her, instead of twisted behind her back. The food was already cut before he arrived, he would not allow knives or blades near her.

The first few days he had force fed her the food. He had left it for her the first evening once they had left the Twins. But when it became clear to him that she was not eating in some sort of protest. Then he had started forcing her to eat.

For days Lenora had allowed him to force feed her. She was never hungry, she chewed mechanically, she swallowed when she was done. She opened her mouth for another bite of food that she couldn't taste. And then it hit her, this food was keeping her alive. She _didn't_ want to be alive. But whenever Lord Bolton fed her he fed her an entire plate.

So one day she picked up her fork on her own and fed herself a bite. The man had looked surprised, his hand still reaching out as if he thought that she would not continue eating. But she brought another bite to her mouth. And another. And another. After a few bites she laid her fork down. She could not force any more down on her own. If Roose Bolton wanted her to eat more he would have to feed it to her.

But it seemed the man was pleased with her feeding herself. He did not force anything else on her.

So each day she continued to feed herself, though never very much. She wondered if Lord Bolton would eventually start feeding her again, when he realized that she never intended to finish the plate. When he realized that she was eating _just_ enough to soothe his worries, but not enough to sustain life for very long.

She had given up on life. That much was clear to Lenora, though perhaps not to those around her. All the fire from the first night, all her promises to her Frey chaperone that she would get her revenge, it was all gone. She couldn't think of revenge. She couldn't think of her hatred. She couldn't think of her anger. All she could think of was how _empty_ she felt.

Robb had once promised her that if something happened to him she would know how to keep living, even without him. He had promised her that she would be stronger without him. But he had been wrong. She didn't know how to live without him. She was not stronger. She was a ghost of herself. She didn't care about what was going on around her, she did not care where Lord Bolton planned to take her. She didn't care about anything, she wasn't capable of caring about anything.

Robb had also promised her that he would never leave her.

He had been wrong about that too.

He had lied about that.

He had left her alone, surrounded by enemies. If Lenora could have felt anger she would have been angry at him for leaving her. She would have been angry with their enemies for saving her life. She would have been angry at her grandfather for giving them the option of keeping her alive. She would have hated them at all.

But she was too tired for all that. She was too cold for all that. She was too broken for all that. She was too full of pain. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to sleep. She didn't want to live.

But all that changed one morning as they got closer to Moat Cailin. If she had cared enough she might have asked Lord Bolton how he planned to get passed the Moat and into the North. But she didn't care. He still had her trapped in the wheelhouse. So she sat by the window, ignoring Fat Walda Frey, ignoring her Bolton guard. Her forehead was pressed against the glass, her eyes looked out at the landscape, but she was not seeing much of anything.

Fat Walda was speaking, her voice surprisingly high pitched for such a large woman. It hurt Lenora's head to listen to the woman. She sighed, closing her eyes and pressing her forehead closer to the glass, as if she could somehow escape the woman. The wheelhouse bumped and she opened her eyes for just a moment and she saw it.

A flash of grey moving through the trees.

"What is it, my Lady?" Lady Walda asked her, watching Lenora in concern when the girl sat up straight, her neck craning as she she pressed her cheek against the glass in an attempt to get a better view out the window. "Did you see something?"

"I thought," Lenora started, but she let her voice drift away. She couldn't have seen what she thought she saw, there was no possible way. She did not want to admit her stupidity, even to someone as stupid as Walda Frey. She didn't know Walda Frey, but she assumed the woman was a dolt. How else could she think being married to Lord Bolton was a good thing.

"You thought what, my Lady?" she pressed, not about to let it go. "What did you see?"

"A wolf," Lenora told her, her voice little more than a quiet whisper. "I saw a wolf."

"Well, that's nothing to be alarmed at," Lady Walda told her, settling back into her seat. "There are wolves all over the North. You know that, you've spent enough time here to know that."

She was right, Lenora knew that there were wolves in the North. She had spent enough time running with them to know that. It was this particular wolf that was alarming. "It was grey," she murmured.

"What, my Lady?" Lady Walda asked, she hadn't caught Lenora's whispered statement.

Lenora glanced away from the window for just a moment to level Lady Walda with a narrow-eyed glare. "Nothing," she told her before she turned back to the window. It had been so fast, the animal moved too quickly. But it had looked grey. And she swore that it had turned a golden eyed glance her way.

But it wasn't possible.

Lord Bolton had kept her from seeing it, but she had heard his soldiers talking about what they had done to Robb's body. She had heard them whispering that they had beheaded Grey Wind and sewed the wolf's head on to Robb's shoulders. They had paraded his body around the castle, chanting and celebrating.

She had heard them whispering about it.

So it was not possible that Grey Wind was still alive, that he was running through the woods, keeping pace with Lord Bolton's men.

It wasn't possible.

But the wolf had been so much bigger than a usual wolf. It's head larger. She had spent enough time with direwolves to know the shape of their head.

She was sure that the wolf was a direwolf.

But that wasn't possible either.

And yet, it was enough to give her hope. She wasn't sure what she was hoping for. But she was hoping for something. That evening when Lord Bolton brought her supper she ate every bite. He glanced at her, smirking a bit in pride.

But it wasn't for him, that she ate her food. And it wasn't even for her. It was for the hope of it. It was for the direwolf that she was still sure that she had seen running through the woods.

It was for the hope that perhaps one day she would learn how to survive. That she would be the woman that Robb had described to her not that long ago. If Grey Wind had somehow managed to survive then so could Lenora. And together they could get their revenge.

The next day she ate every bite of food he gave her in the morning and every bite of food he gave her in the evening.

And the next day.

And the next day.

And with every bite of food and every day she grew stronger.

With this strength her anger and her fire slowly began to return.

She would get her revenge.

She knew it now.

* * *

Author's Note:

Short chapter today, but I hope it was a good one.  
What did you guys think? Did you enjoy it? I hope so! You should let me know by popping down to that lovely box down there and writing a review! I love reviews!  
They make me happy!  
Huge thank you to all of you who have added this story to their alerts or favorites lists (of both!). But an even bigger thanks to those who review.  
You're the ones who keep this story going.  
I hope you know that!

sltsky96: Two reviews again! I love it! I really do. Now let's get down to business (to defeat the Huns...) First of all I am super jealous of you ... and of course he goes to church with his family when he visits ... because he's like the sweetest man in the world.  
ANYWAYS the story! I'm sorry it's hurting you my friend. I'd say it was never my intention, but it was always my intention to hurt you guys (just a bit) I'm of the school where emotional pain is a good thing. It makes happy(ish) endings sweeter in the end. And I'm glad that the story I've written so far is "too good to give up now" that makes my heart happy.  
Whatever happens, don't worry ... Lenora will have a satisfyingly (probably) bloody end for her story.  
And yes, as for your second review ... I can fully confirm Roose is being a scheming little shit like he always is. I both love him and hate him for the predictability of his complete lack of loyalty.

 _Alice Williams_ : Holding out hope are you? That's okay. You are more than welcome to do that, though I won't make any promises about what happens until tomorrow. You're thoughts on Grey Wind are very interesting ... did this chapter help confirm them for you? Or deny them? She will get revenge, I will promise you that. As for the Boltons ...

 _Mattia18:_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one too. As for your doubt about Roose Bolton ... there's a conversation a couple chapters in the future that will explain his thought process, but I'll give you a bit to think about. Roose is banking that the North will regain control of Moat Cailin. There has never been an army (except one with dragons) that successfully attacked the moat from the south. All of the Lannister men are in the south. So even if he makes Tywin an enemy ... there's very little Tywin will be able to do.

 _Lauren220820:_ Thank you for giving me the chance! I promise you won't regret it! I pinky swear (and I hold those things dear!). I'm glad you've enjoyed the story as a whole so far and I hope that you continue to enjoy it!

 _DannyBlack70_ : I'm glad you don't hate me! I would love to write you guys a story where Robb's fuck ups don't lead to his death. But the lovable, honorable dumb ass just makes too many mistakes. I've laid a lot of hints about what I'm doing, so I bet you probably do know. You'll have to tell me after tomorrow's chapter. As for the part with Arya, you've got to keep in mind: it's dark, it's chaotic, she's just come back from being knocked unconscious ... so she could be confused ...

 _WritingNOOB_ : Another two reviews club member! I adore it! I like that the second one is like _Oh my god! I have another thought!_ Anyway ... Keep reading, I know it's hard. But you might be happy you did come tomorrow. Or not ... depends on what you may be rooting for.  
I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter, even though I did not officially confirm anything. And I didn't do it again in this one. Grey Wind might be a hint.  
Lord Tywin won't remarry her, I promise. And whatever happens, despite how broken and lost she was in this chapter, she's found her will again. She'll fight. And when her uncles come back into her life ... they'll help.  
As for your second review, see the point above. :D

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you! Here's your new chapter! I hope you enjoy!

 _HPuni101:_ And the roller coaster just keeps going up and down. I won't make any promises about Robb (yet, possibly not ever) but as for Lenora and the Boltons ... you'll have to wait and see. I think I dropped hints about this way back in one of the 20-29ish chapters.

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : As of this point she will not be raped by the Boltons. I'm not a fan of writing rapes. _But_ I'm also not a fan of sending a fourteen year old Sansa Stark back home and letting her be tortured by Ramsay either. Lenora's better equipped to handle herself I think. As for Winterfell ... you will have to wait and see for why they're bringing her there. It'll be revealed in a couple chapters. Promise.

 _Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967_ : I'm glad! Hope you loved this chapter too!

 _DannyRangerPhantom_ : I am currently sitting on my front porch with a glass of wine cackling at the thought that anyone would think I'm as evil as GRRM. I think I scared the mailman. Don't worry, GRRM has a way of killing every character that has more good qualities than bad. I'm not that bad. I like stories that end as happily as possible, where the bad guys get their dues, and where handsome princes get their asses saved by beautiful princesses. Sooooo, basically I like fairytales because none of those things happen in real life.  
Anyway as for the Boltons ... I can't make any promises, except that whatever happens to Lenora she will get her revenge. She may not be full Lannister, but she's part. And Lannisters always pay their debts, and Lenora will pay them back double. I'm glad you love her though! It's hard to make fandoms love OCs especially when there's so many lovable and familiar characters already.

 _janaoliver:_ You're welcome! I hope you're just as excited to read this update as well!

 _BrittStar1199_ : You know you're the first person to tell me they're glad I went through with the Red Wedding. Thank you for that! Everyone was all worried about it, but I think it was one of my best chapters so far.

 _Guest1995:_ Yes! Sunday is the day you guys are all waiting for. Sunday I may keep a lot of readers or lose them. We'll see tomorrow! She was supposed to go back to King's Landing, that was what Tywin planned. But Roose had other plans. You'll learn why in a couple of chapters.

 _SWAG12_ : I'm glad it's getting good! I hope it stays good! Thank you for your review! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well. (There was a lot of hoping in this response... I should find a new word!)

 _darkwolf76_ : Good, I like you, but I'm glad it broke your heart. If there's a GoT story that doesn't break your heart a few times... it's not trying hard enough. As for Grey Wind ... hmmm you will just have to wait and see. I might not be telling you guys something.  
As for Lenora and the Boltons, everyone is super worried about that. Which I take as a compliment to my ability to create a very engaging OC. But with the self congratulations aside ... it's time to start to bring Jon back into the story. And I promised you guys a Battle of the Bastards. I'm not going to let him fight that fight alone. So Lenora's got to get her ass up north.  
Tywin has a lot affection for Lenora, and I hope in this chapter I was able to at least display a bit of his regret and disappointed that he had been outplotted by Bolton. But at the same time he is still a man trying to keep his family in control of the Seven Kingdoms. He can't do that if he sends his men after Bolton and Lenora right away. At the moment Bolton is safe.  
I'm glad you liked the Joffrey scene! It's such a horrible scene and I thought about telling it from Tyrion's point of view. And letting you guys see the complete and utter disgust he has for his nephew. But at the same time I wanted to give you guys a bit of an emotional breather. The last couple chapters have been pretty intense ... so I went with Joffrey's point of view instead. Still a horrible scene, just made a bit easier by being told through the words of an insolent little teenage bitch.

Damn guys! (Excuse the language, but ...) DAMN. You spend all this time telling me not to kill Robb and then I do and seventeen of you review on one chapter!  
I should kill characters more often ... just kidding.  
(Or am I?)  
Anyway, that's all I've got for today my dears. Time to get back to my annual reading of Les Miserables. We're coming up on June 5 & 6 and musical nerds and french history buffs know what that means: June Rebellion time!  
TO THE BARRICADES! (of freedom!)  
Chloe Jane.


	55. Chapter Fifty-Five: The Wolf Smiled

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you ... the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Here we go, Sunday. Game day. And my deadline. For those of you who trusted me and gave me three chapters to decide if you were going to stick around after the Red Wedding. I thank you, and hope you'll still be here at the end of this chapter.

...

Don't you dare peek!

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Five: The Wolf Smiled_

 _Jaime_

His return to King's Landing was anticlimactic to tell it true. He had assumed that his father would have Lannister scouts roaming around the Crown Lands looking for him, but if Tywin _had_ done that, none of the men would have looked at him twice. He was intelligent enough to know that.

If anyone was looking for him they were looking for a tall, golden haired knight in either white or gold plate. A sword in his hand. Any man looking for Jaime Lannister would not have given a second thought about _this_ man. This stooped, dirty creature with a wild, desperate look in his eyes and dulled yellow hair matted with dirt and sweat. This man with a sling on his right arm, keeping his stump elevated, and only one hand to his name.

His useless left hand.

Now that Brienne was dressed as a man again they would more likely think that _she_ was Jaime Lannister than the wretched man who rode beside her.

When they reached the city walls Jaime was vague about who he was. The guards of the City Watch did not need to know his name and he did not need the humiliation he would feel when they looked at his stump and realized that _the_ Jamie Lannister was about as useless in a fight now as Brienne's wooden sword had been against her bear.

When it came out that Jaime Lannister had lost his sword hand he wondered what new name the people would call him. Would they still call him _Kingslayer_ even though he would never be able to kill a man again? Would it be worse than Kingslayer? Jaime could not imagine a worse name than that, but he was sure that if given enough time the smallfolk would come up with one.

He scoffed to himself, shaking his head. There was nothing worse than Kingslayer. Let the people call him whatever they wanted. It would never be worse, never be more shameful than what they were already calling him.

Brienne turned to look at him, her eyebrows raised. She was concerned about him, worried about him. She had been kinder to him since they left Harrenhal. He didn't know whether it was because he had told her the story behind Aerys' death or if it was because he had saved her. He hoped that it was because he had saved her. He didn't want her gratitude, but he would rather that than her sympathy.

He met her gaze and shrugged his shoulders, a soft, quiet gesture to let her know that he was alright. That he wasn't going mad or anything like that. Her blue eyes narrowed and she continued to study him. He sighed and looked away, she could look at him all she wanted, he did not have to look at her though.

Instead he studied the city around them. The signs and scars of the battle with Stannis were everywhere. Parts of the city walls were still black from Tyrion's wildfire. Three catapults still stood in one of the squares. Houses and buildings were destroyed. There were poor, hungry people everywhere.

Jaime supposed that it should not have surprised him. There were always poor, starving people in King's Landing. But the war had driven more in than usual. He wondered if Joffrey was doing anything to alleviate their suffering. He suspected not, the boy had always been a selfish, spoiled child. He doubted putting a crown on his head had solved that problem.

Brienne stared, turning her wide-eyed gaze away from Jaime so that she could look at the streets they were riding up. _She's never seen King's Landing_ , Jaime realized with a start. He looked at the street with more open eyes, imagining what they looked like to a newcomer. It was a depressing sight. But that was never new. King's Landing had always been a disappointment.

It was the largest city in the Seven Kingdoms. If one had never been to King's Landing all you would know were the stories. People talked about the beauty of the capitol city all the time. They were usually speaking about the Great Sept of Baelor or the Red Keep and its gardens.

The rest of King's Landing was a crowded dirty place. Its stench could be smelled from miles away. There was nothing beautiful or wonderful about it.

They had come in through the King's Gate on the south eastern side of the city. Bolton's men had wanted to enter through the Dragon Gate at the North end of the city but Jaime had quickly ridden around it. Riding to the King's Gate would add at least another hour to their ride, but Jaime was happy to add it if it meant avoiding Flea Bottom.

"Flea Bottom is where the poorest of the poor live," he told Brienne as they rode through the streets. To avoid talking about himself he would tell her about the city. "There's not much to eat there, perhaps less now than ever as the war has driven more people inside the walls. I have heard that most of the people there survive off of _bowls of brown_."

Brienne raised her eyebrows, "What's a bowl of brown?" she asked him.

Jaime shrugged his left shoulder, "A stew that will include whatever the maker can find. Cats, rats, murder victims."

"That's horrible," Brienne gasped out. Her disgust showed clearly on her face. Her skin was so pale that the freckles stood out more than ever.

Jaime shrugged his shoulders again and looked out over the road they were riding. He had chosen the King's Gate because they could ride River Row all the way to the Red Keep. Being on the outer edge of the city and nearest to the Blackwater Rush it was the best smelling street in the capitol. "That's the truth of living in King's Landing," he told her. "They forget about Flea Bottom in the songs and stories though."

Brienne did not answer so Jaime continued, "There are seven gates into the city," he told her. "The Dragon Gate, the Iron Gate, the Old Gate, the Gate of the Gods, the River Gate, the Lion Gate, and the King's Gate."

Brienne snorted, "Of course there's a _Lion's Gate_ ," she teased him.

Jaime smiled, he much preferred when she was teasing him than when she was looking at him with sympathy shining in her pale blue eyes. "It leads to the Gold Road," he told her, though he was sure that he didn't need to give the explanation. "It was named long before my family had any power here in the capitol."

She smiled at him, "I'm sure it was," she told him. "I was only teasing."

Jaime was about to assure her that he knew she was teasing but she gasped. He turned to look at her, worried that something was wrong, but when he turned he saw that her gaze was turned forward, in front of them. _The Red Keep_. It was a beautiful castle, he could admit that. Breathtaking even, especially the first time one saw it. He smiled softly at her and turned away, he would not interrupt her awe.

The Red Guard at the gate to the Red Keep were harder to pass than the City Watch. He had to give these guards his name. And they did not believe him. They laughed at him even. It took him and his escorts almost an hour to persuade them that he was who he said he was. And even then they only agreed to let them enter the Red Keep if they escorted him to his father. They would only leave him when Tywin Lannister confirmed that he was, in fact, Jaime Lannister.

Word must have gone ahead of them that a man claiming to be Jaime Lannister had entered the city because by the time Jaime reached his father's solar in the Tower of the Hand his sister and brother had joined Lord Tywin as well. Jaime had not wanted that. He was not ready for that. He was sure that he was not even prepared to face his father, but that was an evil he had to face. Now with his sister and brother there as well it would be even more difficult.

Brienne and his escort gave him space, they did not follow him into the Tower of the Hand, not that he was sure that they would have been allowed to in the first place.

And so, he entered the solar and faced his family on his own.

Disgust. Disappointment. Sympathy. That was what met him when he entered the chamber.

When she first saw him his sister stepped forward eagerly, ready to embrace him. It had been a year since he had seen his family. A hard year of imprisonment. He might have even allowed his sister to embrace him, something he had not permitted since Lenora was born. But he was not given the chance to make up his mind.

She looked at him and her green-eyed gaze dropped to his right arm. To his stump. She recoiled quickly as if he would burn her if she touched him.

Tywin studied him, his shrewd eyes narrowed before his gaze flicked to the guard standing behind him. Without looking at his son he nodded to the guard, silently affirming that Jaime was his son. When the guard left Tywin looked at him again, and Jaime wondered why Tywin had even bothered to claim him. The look the man was giving him was full of disappointment and a cold, hatred. He was ashamed to call _this_ man his son. Jaime swallowed and looked down at his feet, unable to meet his father's eyes.

Only Tyrion was kind, though Jaime hated the sympathy that shone in his brother's eyes. All his life he had watched over Tyrion, taken care of him, protected him. _He_ was the one who was supposed to feel sympathy for Tyrion, not the other way around.

Tyrion sighed and moved closer to Jaime, reaching up for his older brother's left hand. "You look horrible," he told his brother, forcing his lips to turn up into a smile, though the sympathy in his eyes did not lessen.

Jaime snorted in spite of himself, "I still look better than you," he joked, happy to fall into their usual exchange of jokes and insults.

Tyrion chuckled, "That is not hard to do, brother," he told him as he practically pushed Jaime into a seat. He moved around the table in front of Jaime, pouring him some wine before he sat down too. He took the seat next to Jaime and shot a pointed glare at both his father and his sister, disappointed that they were not treating Jaime better.

Jaime did not care how they treated him. He smiled at his younger brother, grateful for his kindness. Out of habit he reached his right arm out for the glass of wine, almost knocking it over. Tyrion reached out without saying a word and steadied the glass before it could spill.

Jaime smiled at him sheepishly as he reached out his left hand.

Tywin watched his blunder with narrowed, stormy eyes.

Cersei looked away.

After a moment of silence Tywin finally spoke, "How did you escape?" he asked, getting straight to business. "We have heard such varying tales."

"I did not escape," Jaime admitted. He was embarrassed by that fact and would much rather tell his family that he had escaped Riverrun all on his own. But he had given Lady Catelyn his word and he meant to keep it. "Lady Stark released me."

Cersei snorted, "The woman was a fool," she muttered.

Jaime felt his left fist clench. The muscles in his right arm tightened, pain shooting though his arm. He had tried to clench his right fist as well, but it no longer existed. He thought that Lady Catelyn was a fool as well, but he could not blame her for her hope. He would not allow his sister to blame her either.

"She hoped that in returning me to my family I would be able to return her daughters to her. I know that the little one has not been seen in many months. But Sansa is here." He turned his glare from his sister and softened it before he looked at his father. "I mean to return Sansa Stark to her mother and brother," he informed his father, watching him beseechingly.

Tywin studied him for a long minute. His eyes narrowed again and if possible he looked even more disappointed in his son. He had not raised Jaime to be so soft. He was ashamed that his son was asking to return their only Stark hostage for nothing. Finally he shook his head, "Impossible," he told Jaime, his voice hard and flat.

"It's not," Jaime argued. "Father," he told him. "The northmen will not end this war. Whether you hold Sansa Stark or not. They will not give up their fight. Return her to her family."

"No," Tywin told him, shaking his head.

"I swore to her," Jaime tried, hoping to touch on his father's pride. "In order for my release I had to promise her that I would return her daughters to her. Without that promise, without that Lady, I would still be in Riverrun. I owe her a _debt_."

He left it unspoken, but he knew that his father heard the silent words _And a Lannister always pays his debt_.

When Tywin spoke his voice was even harder than before, "The girl was not yours to promise," he told his son. Jaime squared his shoulders, prepared to continue fighting. His father sighed as if he could read his son's stubbornness on his face. "It matters not," he told him. "There is no one to repay the debt to. You are safe."

"I don't understand," Jaime told him, shaking hiss head as he looked toward Tyrion for an explanation.

Oddly enough Tyrion would not meet his gaze. It was Cersei that spoke up. "You must be tired," she told him, her voice soft and gentle though her disgust still shone in her eyes. "We have much to discuss. But I am sure you would appreciate a bath, a meal, and sleep before we do."

"I would much rather discuss it now," Jaime told her, his gaze never leaving his father.

"You need rest," Cersei told him again, ignoring him as she stood from her chair and moved toward the door, calling for a guard to show Jaime to his chambers.

Jaime sighed as he looked between his father and Tyrion. Neither of them spoke out against Cersei. It wouldn't matter how hard he fought, he would get no more from any of them until he had rested.

"This is not over," he warned them as he finally stood from his chair. "I _will_ send the girl back to her mother."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Davos_

They were still at Dragonstone when the maester received the raven from the Wall. He had read it passively, as most maesters read letters from the Wall. Ravens from the Wall always came with the same plea. _Send us men_. The maester was relatively new to Dragonstone, but even he knew that Stannis would not give them any men. Stannis had so few men to himself and he could not send any away.

Even prisoners.

But this letter was different. There was something in it that the maester had never read before. Surely it was a mistake, or a story meant to frighten the Great Lords of Westeros into complying with the usual request of men. But it was enough for the maester to bring the letter to his king.

Stannis did not read the letter. He had much more pressing matters to deal with. Mainly Davos and his betrayal. He held the letter clenched in his fist, still unread as he sent for his old friend.

Davos was taking his role as Hand to the King very seriously, though he was sure that he was currently living in his last moments as Stannis' Hand. Regardless of how little time he had left, as soon as he received his summons he went to the King's solar. There he found only two people.

Stannis and the Red Woman.

Stannis glared at him as he entered and Davos had the shame to look down. He could not meet his king's gaze. Though he was sure that setting the boy free had been the right thing to do he could not forgive himself for acting behind the king's back.

Stannis had imprisoned his previous Hand for just as much. Davos could already see his cell, probably darker and deeper than his previous one. He supposed that was why Stannis had sent for him now, to punish him.

He could not look at his king, but his gaze darted to the Red Woman. He hoped that Stannis would behead him. He did not want to be a sacrifice on the Red Woman's fiery alter. He _would_ not.

Stannis did not waste time with greeting Davos. They both knew why the old smuggler was there. "You let him go," Stannis accused his friend, staring at him with hard eyes. Davos nodded but did not say a word. He had no defense. Stannis sighed, "You do not deny it?" he asked, his voice was rueful as if he wished that Davos had.

"No, Your Grace," Davos finally said, shaking his head. "It was the right thing to do."

The Red Woman was glaring at him, her dark eyes shining. "You saved one life," she told him, it almost could have been a congratulations if she were not advancing on him with a glare. "Your mercy saved the boy. But how many thousands will die for it?"

Davos shrugged his shoulders, it was stupid but he was unable to hold his tongue, "I suppose you should look in your flames, my Lady." he suggested, nodding toward the brazier that was burning despite the afternoon heat. "Perhaps they will tell you."

The Red Woman looked insulted, furious. But Stannis snorted. It seemed that even when he was a believer in the Lord of Light, a _true_ believer, he still found delight in Davos' simple, truthful words.

"Very well," Stannis sighed, his voice was hard, though his eyes were filled with sorrow. No matter how angry he was with Davos, the man was still his friend. It still pained him to do this. "Davos Seaworth, I, Stannis Baratheon sentence you to death."

Davos squared his shoulders, he had been prepared for this. It still stung, but he must be brave. He nodded to Stannis, "Very well," he told his king. "But as you still have not unnamed me Hand of the King it is my duty to strongly advise you against this decision."

Stannis seemed torn between laughing and complete shock at Davos' words. "And why do you advise against it?" he asked Davos, his words slow and measured. As if this conversation was trying on his patience.

"When you named me you Hand, Your Grace, you said it was because I was the only man you trusted to give you honest and just council. Execute me now and your new Hand will not be able to do that. I set the boy free because I _knew_ it was right. I knew that _you_ know, deep in your heart that it is right. But you would not listen to me." He took a step forward, Stannis did not move away. "You brought me to see the boy because you knew that whatever the Lady Melisandre had planned for him it would not be kind, it would not be gentle. It would not be right. Without asking for it you begged me for my council. Well, here it is. You are the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms and I believe with every fiber of my being that you will sit on the Iron Throne. But _this_ is not the way. Blood magic is not the way. The rightful king should win the throne the rightful way. The honorable way. Not by killing an innocent boy."

He stepped back, away from the king, he had said his peace and now he would wait for Stannis' final judgement.

Stannis watched him, a frown playing at his lips, his eyes filled with grief and disappointment. One of his fists clenched and in the silent room even Davos was able to hear the crinkle of parchment in his hand. Davos looked down as if he were surprised, and unfolded his hand to find the letter that he had forgotten in his anger. He sighed and walked away from Davos, unrolling the parchment so that he could read the letter.

He was sure it wasn't important, it was from the Wall. They would only be asking for more men. But it was a way to stall. It was a way to make up his mind about Davos Seaworth without looking in the knight's eyes, without seeing the disapproval in Melisandre's.

The letter was from the old maester of the Night's Watch. But it was not the same story Stannis was used to reading from Castle Black. Their Lord Commander was dead. He had taken a large ranging party north of the wall and had never returned. Only one man returned, a steward who swore that he had seen an army of White Walkers moving toward the wall. Maester Aemon begged for assistance. In the name of the Old Gods, the New Gods, and even the Fire God - he begged. There were so few members of the Night's Watch now, even fewer after the ranging party had traveled north to die.

What the living steward had seen would come for them. And if the Night's Watch could not stop it. It would come for them all.

"Take him away," Melisandre ordered, but Stannis held up his hands to still the guards before they could grab Davos. He handed the Red Woman the letter so that she could read it with her own eyes.

"Why didn't your flames mention that?" he asked her, somewhat bitterly when she had finished reading.

The woman did not answer him right away. She threw the letter into the fire and stared deep into its flames. "They did, my King," she told him after a moment. " _You_ saw it yourself, though we did not yet know what it meant." She shook her head, still staring. "This war of Five Kings means nothing. The true war lies to the North. _Death_ marches on the wall." She moved closer to the fire, her eyes narrowing before she stopped.

She turned to Davos, her eyes wide, "And you have a part to play in the war to come, Ser Davos," she told him, the surprise in her voice echoing the complete shock in her eyes.

Stannis laughed, not bitterly, if Davos was speaking true he would have described his king's laugh as one of relief. "You tried to kill her once," he told Davos, "I have not forgotten. But you see, Ser Davos, the Lady Melisandre and her Fire God that you love to mock so much. They've saved your life."

Davos nodded and looked down, "Be that as it may, my King, I would much prefer to say that _you_ saved my life."

Stannis chuckled again, "Say whatever you like, Ser Davos, but you're in _His_ army now."

He looked between the Red Woman and Davos, "We will leave the battle of King's Landing for a different time. We will leave Davos' _rescued_ boy for now. We will go north.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Thoros of Myr_

They found the body half drowned in the river, at least a day's ride from the Twins. At first glance there was no telling how long it had been there. But when Lord Beric climbed into the river to pull the wretched thing out they were able to get a better look at the skin. It was not yet grey with death. Despite the mud and blood that covered the face it was clear to see that the body was still relatively fresh.

"A guest at the Frey wedding?" Lem asked, his voice heavy with regret as he stared down at the body in front of them.

Beric studied the corpse, "Perhaps," he told his men. "Though they survived the wedding, I'd wager it was the river that ultimately did them in."

"And not that?" Anguy asked, pointing toward the large wound they could all clearly see.

Beric shook his head, "No," he told them. "I don't believe so."

They all stood around the corpse for a few silent minutes, "Lions or wolves?" one of the men asked, glancing around at his companions. "Who is to blame for this one?"

"They're the same," Beric told them as he knelt beside the body and using the edge of his purple cloak he began to wipe the mud and blood off of the face below him. "They're both at fault," he paused as more of the face was revealed to him. He tilted his head to the side, studying the face for a moment before he turned to glance at Thoros, his eyebrows knitted together.

 _Lions then_ , Thoros thought to himself as he recognized the body. Lions and wolves might be the same, but it was the lions who had done this one in.

"Should we bury it?" Lem asked, staring down at the ground just to the left of the body, as if looking at it sickened him.

"Yes," Thoros started.

But Beric shook his head, "No," he commanded, still looking down at the body, his eyebrows still furrowed. "We'll leave it," he told his men, finally turning away from the corpse to look at his men. "We've got more important matters."

"There's been no sign of Sandor Clegane," Anguy told him, answering to the more important matters. "Everyone we've asked says the same thing. They have not seen him. Wherever he took the Stark girl. She's lost to us now."

Beric looked around the group, his gaze landing on each of them. "We will continue to look," he told them as he stood from the riverbank and led the men away. Leaving the body still laying on the bank.

...

Thoros approached him after their supper. The two sat quietly, side by side on a log near the fire. Lord Beric commanded Tom Sevenstrings to sing them as many songs as he knew.

"That's a dangerous command, my Lord," Tom had told him, grinning cheekily. "I know a lot of songs!"

"Sing them all then," Beric commanded again.

Only once Tom was deep into his second song and several of the men were singing with him did he turn to Thoros. "How many times?" Beric asked him, his voice so quiet that even if one of his other men was sitting on his right, they would not have been able to hear him.

Thoros sighed, this was not the first time they had had this discussion. And it would not be the last. Every time he brought Beric back less of his friend returned. He started to forget things.

The first time he forgot that he had died. He forgot his name. He forgot the name of the woman he was betrothed to. The amnesia had only lasted a matter of days. With some patience and some guidance Thoros had been able to help him remember.

The second time he forgot all the same things, but he also forgot who Thoros was. Again Thoros helped him remember. And it worked, of a sort. No matter how hard he tried, he could not help Lord Beric remember his childhood home.

The third time Lord Beric forgot things, as usual. But more frighteningly he stopped eating. Thoros watched him carefully, waiting for the day when his friend would starve to death. But it never came, it seemed that Beric simply did not _need_ to eat anymore. From that time on he would never remember the name of the woman he was supposed to marry.

The fourth time it took him longer to remember what little he could anymore. It seemed that he could only remember five things from his previous life: his name, his purpose, Thoros, a flaming sword, how many times he had died.

The fifth time: his name, his purpose, Thoros, and how many times he had died.

The sixth time in the cave: his name, his purpose, and Thoros.

When Thoros did not answer right away Beric asked again. "How many times, my friend," he persisted.

"Six," Thoros told him as reluctantly as ever. "And as always, each time is harder."

Beric nodded, "For me too," he admitted. "I've been standing one foot in the grave since the first time you saved me. The more times you brought me back, the more of me I left behind."

Thoros nodded, "Then why do you continue to put yourself in those situations, Beric? Do you want to die that badly?"

Beric shook his head, almost sadly. "I don't have wants anymore, my friend," he admitted to Thoros. "I haven't since, I don't remember when."

"The fourth time I brought you back," Thoros supplied. "Perhaps the third when you stopped eating. Eating and wants often go hand in hand."

Beric nodded, watching his friend's face carefully. "What is it, Thoros?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he watched the priest's face.

Thoros shrugged his shoulders, "You lead the men from the front," he told Lord Beric. "And they love you for it. But it has gotten you killed six times. If it is so hard to come back you do not need to court death so. Lord Tywin leads from the rear. Lord Stannis as well. You would be wise to do the same. A seventh death might mean the end of both of us."

Beric studied his friend carefully. "The Young Wolf led from the front."

Thoros smiled ruefully, "And Ned Stark as well," he reminded his lord. "And look how it turned out for both of them."

Beric fell silent. And for almost an hour Thoros thought their conversation was finished. And then, quietly Beric began to mutter to himself. Thoros watched the Lightning Lord carefully. "What are you saying, my Lord?" he asked, his voice quiet under Tom Sevenstrings' continued singing.

"How many times?" Beric asked again.

Thoros sighed, "Six," he told the lord again.

"Six," Beric repeated with a slow nod.

"What are you saying?" Thoros asked, watching his friend with wide eyes. He watched as the lord's eyes darted toward the path that led to the river. And the body that lay beside it. He thought he knew what his friend was saying, but he hoped that he was wrong.

"Nothing that I have not said before," Beric told him. He shook his head, "Six times, Thoros? Six times is too many."

...

He woke him up in the middle of the night. When the rest of their men, save the scout, were sleeping. He didn't say a word, he didn't have to. Thoros knew that he would regret this, but he followed his lord and friend as he always did.

They moved quietly so as not to wake up the men. They crept past the scout. And moved silently down the path to the river. There in the near darkness, lit by only the sliver of the crescent moon above them, Lord Beric knelt in the mud beside the corpse.

"We must save them," he told Thoros, glancing up at his friend.

Thoros shook his head, much as he hated to deny his friend, he had to. He had not been lying or being dramatic when he told his friend that he feared a seventh resurrection would kill them both. He _knew_ it would. Every time he brought Beric back to life involved a transfer of some of his own life force, his own fire, to Beric's dead body. He did not have enough to share anymore. One more resurrection would kill him whether it was Beric or this body by the river.

Beric was still looking at him, waiting for a verbal answer. Thoros sighed, "I'm sorry, my friend. You know I would never deny you anything I had the power to give. But I must deny you this."

Beric looked at him, still thinking. Thoros looked into his eyes, expecting to see disappointment, expecting that Beric blamed him for being a coward. But it was not disappointment or anger that shone in his lord's eyes. But rather a steely determination.

"Lord Beric no!" Thoros called out, moving closer to the Lightning Lord, reaching out for him so that the could stop him. In that one moment he knew what his old friend meant to do. And he meant to stop him.

But Beric was too fast for him, too strong-willed for him. Before Thoros could get to him he had bent over the corpse on the bank and pressed his lips against the cold, dead ones. Pouring every bit of life and fire and soul into the dead body.

Thoros watched wide-eyed and afraid as he watched the flame of life pass from his friend to the corpse. It happened both slowly and quickly and all at once.

Beric barely had time to straighten, to move away from the body before he fell. His eyes remained open, but he no longer breathed. He no longer saw. He was dead, and Thoros knew that this time he would stay dead.

The body took a bit longer, it had been dead for much longer than Thoros had ever let Beric lie still. Just as Thoros was wondering if his friend had given his life for nothing it happened.

The body began to rise.

...

The men did not find Sandor Clegane the next morning, _but_ they did catch themselves a Frey. As they were running low on gold Thoros agreed to send a raven to the Twins, ransoming the lad for one hundred gold dragons. They were a leisurely day's ride from the Freys, but they would only give the ransom until sundown before they hung the lad.

The Freys were still celebrating their successful wedding, but one of Lord Walder's many sons was sent out to meet them with the ransom. He was a haughty sort, one who thought that now that his father was named Lord of Riverrun that made him above the other men.

He rode into their camp and demanded to see his nephew. He would not give them the ransom until he saw that the boy was alive. That was his first mistake. Prisoners did not make demands of the Brotherhood Without Banners.

They took his money and grabbed him by the arms before they dragged him into the woods so that they could show him his nephew. The boy was hanging from a tree, swinging lightly in the wind. He had been swinging since the moment they had sent the raven to the Twins.

The boy never stood a chance.

And neither did his uncle.

He protested, yelling and threatening as they slipped the noose around his neck and through the free end of their thick rope over the tree branch, preparing to hang him next to his kin.

"You had no right!" the Frey knight yelled.

"We had a rope," Lem told him as if that made everything right. And perhaps after what they had done at the wedding, it did.

Tom Sevenstrings grinned at the man as he got more desperate, "Here now," he told the man, his voice soft. "Don't soil yourself. All you need to do is answer me a question, and I'll tell them to let you go."

The Frey nodded enthusiastically, "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice desperate. "I will tell you whatever you want to know!"

"Well, as it happens, we're looking for a dog that ran away."

"A dog?" the soon-to-be dead man answered.

"Answer to the name Sandor Clegane," Thoros told him. "He was making for the Twins. We found a ferryman who took him across the Trident, and a poor sod he robbed on the kingsroad. Did you see him at the wedding, per chance?"

The dead Frey shook his head, "The Red Wedding?" he asked to clarify. "No. I didn't see him. I don't think so. And anyone else would have said something if they had. He was not there."

Tom nodded, "No? Ah, that's a pity. Well, up you go."

"No!" The Frey yelled. "No, _don't!_ I gave you your answer you said you would let me go!"

"He said that he would tell them to let you go," Anguy corrected.

"Aye," Tom agreed. "That I did. Lem, let him go!"

"Bugger off!" Lem yelled as he began to tug on the rope.

"Please!" The Frey tried again. "I have more money! I will pay you! Whatever you want!" When he didn't touch on their greed he tried to touch on their sympathies. "I am a father! I have children!"

"The Young Wolf never will," Anguy told him.

If the man was confused as to why they brought up Robb Stark he did not say so. "He shamed the North!" he told them. "The entire realm was laughing. He would never have won the war. We had to restore honor to the North."

That had the men laughing. "Maybe so," Lem told the man. "What do a bunch of blood peasants know about honor?" He grinned wickedly, "We know some about murder though."

"Murder?" the man echoed. "I murdered no one! All I did was drink! _They_ murdered, not me! My father! My brothers! But not me! I am innocent!" And then, as if the word _innocent_ reminded him of something he began to yell. "I demand a trial! I am innocent and you have no witnesses!"

"As it happens, you're wrong there," Tom told him. All the men, Thoros included, turned to look further into the woods. The Frey turned quickly, Thoros could not see his face, but he would wager that the man's eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

He had new clothes, and several new scars, and there was a cold look in his blue eyes that did not look as though it were a familiar look in the normally friendly eyes. But there was no mistaking the Tully blue eyes or the auburn hair. It was the Young Wolf.

The man shook his head, "We killed him," he breathed.

"It's _we_ now?" Lem asked, chuckling. "I thought it was _them_."

Thoros watched as Robb's eyes narrowed as he stared at the Frey. After a long moment the young man dragged his gaze away from the man in front of him and lifted it to meet Thoros' eyes. He gave a curt, silent nod. Thoros nodded back. "He doesn't remember much at the moment," he informed the Frey. "That will change soon enough. But, it seems, he remembers _you_."

The Frey opened his mouth to plead, but the noose chocked off his words. His feet left the ground, the rope cutting deep into the soft flesh beneath his chin. Up in the air he jerked, kicking and twisting, up and up and up.

And below on the ground, Robb Stark smiled.

* * *

Author's Note:

BOOM! I'm not very good at giving hints. Sometimes I'm too vague to even consider my ramblings hints and other times I'm too obvious.  
This time I think I was too obvious.  
Who saw it coming? Raise your hands! (Or you know ... put it in a review!)  
Regardless of whether it was a complete surprise or you saw it coming a mile away I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! If you did, you should review! I love reviews! They make me happy. Especially when I'm staring down a seven day work week that begins at 6:30 tomorrow morning.  
Reviews make me ridiculously happy under these circumstances.  
So I will simply say thank you! Thank you for your past reviews. And thank you in advance for the wonderful reviews you're about to leave me!

 _Vulcran_ : I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! And hopefully after this chapter you're still hooked! Thank you for your review!

 _writingNOOB_ : I feel bad for Sansa, I will admit that. Sure she's a bit annoying (not as annoying as _WHERE ARE MY DRAGONS?! Daenerys_ ) but pretty annoying. But she's like thirteen and no one's super likable or levelheaded at thirteen so I can't blame her. Eventually she'll see the truth and once she sees how unhappy Robb's _death_ (I can put that in italics now!) made Lenora she'll drop any anger she still carries. I promise.  
As for Sansa and Ramsay ... I can't do that to her, she's a child. Even I'm not that cruel. But I'm also one who doesn't like writing rape scenes. So unless I completely change my mind at the last minute you guys won't have to read that about Lenora though.  
And whatever happens to Lenora ... she won't be playing a damsel much longer!

 _Arianna Le Fay_ : No guarantees about what the Boltons will do to Lenora. You will just have to wait and see. The one promise is no rape. I had to bring them in though, I love the Boltons and I have wanted to play with Ramsay since he was introduced. This is my chance. Do you still want someone else to be Lenora's love interest? Even now when Robb is alive again?

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you my friend! I hope you liked this chapter! And I think after reading it, everyone knows ... Robb and Lenora will be reunited. Though they've got a long road ahead of them before it happens.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : Thank you friend! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _sltsky96:_ I love your reviews! They're so long and they make me so happy! So thank you for that! Don't worry, I'm super extra about revenge too. I mean I just brought back Robb Stark so that he could get his own revenge on everyone who betrayed him without help from his little sister. So revenge is kind of my jam.  
I'm also ridiculously thrilled that I'm making you feel bad for Cersei. I'm not going to lie that was a side goal of this story. (First, I wanted to give Robb his revenge. Second, to give him a wife that was actually interesting. Third, I wanted to give Jaime his redemption ... the show was taking too long. And Fourth, I wanted to give a more human element to her.) So this is really exciting.  
I'm sorry I'm killing you with Sansa. I have a love/hate relationship with her. Sometimes I adore her and other times I'm like, _shut up Sansa ... no one likes you_. You are right though, I do have a replacement lined up for Ramsay. It's nice how it works out like that. And I think Lenora might be a more interesting counter to Ramsay than Sansa was.  
It wasn't just a glimmer! I hate killing direwolves so that wasn't going to happen! And I hated when they killed Robb! So that didn't happen either. Fanfiction is a wonderful place where all wrongs can be righted.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, dear!

 _janaoliver_ : Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! You should be worried ... very worried. Though perhaps more for Ramsay than Lenora.

 _DannyBlack70_ : I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! And I hope you enjoyed this one too. You are the one who I am most sure you saw this coming. So what did you think?

 _Guest:_ I'm glad that you're loving it so far! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _queen ares:_ Jesus! Two days! I wrote the story! I know it all. I don't even think I could skim it over in two days! That's some dedication. Thank you! And I'm extremely touched that this is one of your favorite GoT/OC fics. Thank you for telling me! I love to hear it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've for now friends! Thank you so much for reading, for your reviews, for your support! Without it this story would never have gotten this far. (And we've still got a while to go.)  
See you next week,  
Chloe Jane.


	56. Chapter Fifty-Six: A Fine Little Blade

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and I'm a bitch. Not really. But I do have to apologize to you guys. This update is like weeks late, but life got in the way.  
For starters I have been suffering from writer's block recently (at least as far as GoT stories go, but more on that later ...) so I broke my rules and I published all of my reserve chapters and I had to write this one before I published it.  
Secondly I wasn't super excited about this chapter, it's a bit of a filler chapter really, setting things up for excitement in the future without really exciting me (please don't let that color how your read it though!) so I didn't jump at the chance to write it.  
Third I went on vacation, and then I had two separate groups of friends visit me on my off weeks. Didn't have much time for writing while I was hanging out with them. So there you have it.  
Then every year during the first week of June in celebration of Barricade Day I read Les Mis. During that time I fell WAY DOWN the Les Mis fanfiction rabbit hole. And I now have four Les Mis stories started and saved on my computer. FOUR. I'm super excited about those and writing them while I can (though I don't want to post them until I've finished) and neglecting GoT.  
That being said, I'm SUPER exited about the new season so I'm more motivated to finish this story now. And I'm going to try to keep going. Though while I build up my reserve again ... the updates might not be coming as frequently.  
Just know ... I haven't abandoned you.

Also, hey! I first published this story on June 11, 2016 ... so it's a month late, but happy anniversary guys! It's been a year since some of you first met Lenora. That's exciting.

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Six: A Fine Little Blade_

 _Jaime_

His father waited until he had been fitted with his golden hand before he sent for him again. He tried not to let it bother him that his father, who had once cared so much for his wellbeing, could not even look at him now that he had lost his hand. He tried not to let it bother him that his father thought him useless now.

He _tried_. But when his father's steward showed him into the solar his jaw clenched, his left hand fisted, his eyes narrowed. "Father," he greeted Lord Tywin, his voice hard and cruel.

His father glanced up from his desk, his green eyes darting toward Jaime's new golden hand before he glanced away, dismissive. Though he was not sure why he felt ashamed he did, Jaime tucked his right hand behind his back so that his father would not be offended by the sight. "You wished to see me," he continued when his father did not say anything in response to his greeting.

"Yes," Tywin told him, standing up from his desk and moving around it toward the table in front of the fire. "I wished to speak with you," his father told him.

"I assumed as much," Jaime told him, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone. He wished his father would get on with whatever it was that he wanted to discuss. His father had never been one for smalltalk and Jaime doubted it had changed now. But unless Lord Tywin wished to discuss releasing Sansa Stark and sending her back to her mother he did not want to hear a word from his father.

"But first I wish to give you something," Lord Tywin told him, surprising Jaime as he began to open a chest that was sitting on the table in front of the fire.

"An explanation for why you will not send the Stark girl home, I hope?"

Lord Tywin seemed to smirk at that request, "I'm afraid that you're very behind on the times, Jaime," he told him, chuckling almost as he spoke. "I don't doubt that you will soon be caught up. Rest assured though, Lady Catelyn Stark will not be holding you accountable to not returning her daughter." He turned toward the chest again and lifted something out of it.

Oilcloth.

Jaime's eyebrows lifted as he watched his father unwrap the oilcloth to reveal a sword. Not just any sword, a beautiful one. The likes of which Jaime had never seen before. The steel was black with red ripples running through it. The pommel was a gold lion's head with ruby eyes glittering in the firelight.

"Go on," his father commanded him, nodding toward the sword. "It is yours."

Jaime stared at the sword, transfixed for another moment before he reached out to take the sword in his hand. He made a mistake, he reached for the sword with his right hand, his golden hand, the hand that could not grasp the sword.

His father looked away, once again pretending that he did not notice Jaime's mistake, just as he had the night that Jaime had returned and almost spilled his wine. Jaime smirked, a dark chuckle escaping his lips, "A fine gift this is," he told his father. "A sword for a man without a sword hand." He glanced at the older man, "I assume you had this forged before I returned. You would not have wasted such steel on me had you known about this." He held his golden hand up, forcing his father to look at it.

"I had it forged for my son," Lord Tywin told him, his voice forceful. "Are you not my son, Jaime?" he asked.

Jaime smirked again, bitter and hurt. "Perhaps you should give it to Tyrion then," he suggested. "He is your son as well, and from what I hear tell of the Battle of the Blackwater he is quite the warrior."

"I had it forged for my son and _heir_ ," Tywin told him, adding an extra word to his statement. One little word that made it clear to Jaime that Tyrion would never get the sword, even if Jaime did turn down the sword. His father nodded toward the sword, "Take it," he told him, his voice stern. "With your left hand."

Jaime could have done without the cold reminder to use his left hand, but he did as he was bid. He lifted the sword with his left hand. It was lighter than he had imagined it would be, but it felt powerful. He lifted the sword from the oilcloth and gave it a clumsy, unpracticed swing. Even in his clumsy hand the blade sang as it moved through the air.

"Valyrian steel," he murmured more to himself than to his father. He glanced up, his eyebrows furrowed, "At last House Lannister has a Valyrian sword. How did that come about, Father?"

"House Lannister now has two Valyrian swords," Lord Tywin told him. "This one, and its brother that shall be given to the king on his wedding day." His eyes darted toward the blade, "As for how it came about, there was a longsword, the House it belonged to no longer had a need of it."

"Stolen then," Jaime murmured as he set the sword down on the oilcloth again. "It's a beautiful sword, Father," he told the older man. "But I cannot accept it. You say that it was forged for your heir. I am a member of the King's Guard, I cannot inherit lands or father sons. I am not your heir."

Lord Tywin stared at him. "You cannot mean to continue as a member of the King's Guard," he murmured, he looked surprised by Jaime's statement, though he should not have been. Jaime had gotten his stubbornness from his father, Lord Tywin should have recognized it. "What, with your -" his voice dropped off at the end of his statement, as if he were at a loss of how to end it. As if he did not want to end his statement.

"What with my hand?" Jaime asked, he was not afraid to talk about his missing hand, not anymore. Not now that he saw how uncomfortable it made his father. He shrugged his shoulders, "Men were given two hands for a reason," he told his father, his voice harsh. He sounded as if he believed it, even though he was not sure if he did. "I have lost my right hand, I shall learn to fight with my left."

"And you expect the king to wait until you learn?" Lord Tywin asked him, his eyebrows raised, skeptical.

"I was the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms," Jaime told him. "It will not take me long." He looked up at his father, "I made an oath when I joined the Kingsguard," he told his father. "One for life. I do not mean to break it now because some fool in the woods thought to cut off my hand."

Lord Tywin sighed, he was disappointed, Jaime could see that, and he did not care. "Be that as it may, the sword is yours."

...

Tyrion was waiting for him when he returned to his chambers, already half way through a glass of wine. Jaime chuckled when he saw his little brother. "By all means, little brother, help yourself."

"Should I have waited for you to pour it?" Tyrion asked without turning to look at him. "Something tells me that your left hand would have made a bit of a mess of it."

Jaime chuckled, surprised at how little it bothered him when his brother made light of his missing hand. "No doubt," he agreed as he moved around Tyrion's seat to take the empty one beside him. "Though I am sure you will manage quite well," he grabbed a glass of his own in his left hand and held it out toward Tyrion, waiting while his brother poured him some wine.

"Well, let's see it, then," Tyrion commanded him once he had poured the wine. For a moment Jaime thought that his brother meant the sword, though he was not sure how he would have known about it. "Your hand," Tyrion specified, gesturing toward Jaime's new hand. "I heard that it was made of gold in case someone forgot that you are a Lannister."

Jaime chuckled and held his hand up so that Tyrion could inspect it, the gold glittered prettily in the light. "When I was in the field, being dragged to Lord Bolton I promised myself that once I was returned to King's Landing, whenever that was, I would have a golden hand and that I would use it to kill the man who cut off my sword hand."

"I mean no offense," Tyrion told him. "But I've seen how clumsy your left hand is. Perhaps you should use your golden hand to _fuck_ the man and let someone else kill him for you."

Jaime shook his head, taking a pensive sip of his wine, "Lannisters always pay their debts," he told his brother, as if he needed reminding. As if anyone in the Seven Kingdoms needed reminding. "And this debt is mine."

Tyrion nodded, "Then you will have to learn how to fight with your left hand," he told his brother. "As it were, I had a feeling that you would need to do that. I have a man who can teach you."

Jaime shook his head, "I will not be made a fool of," he told his brother. "I will not have men watch me fail, not I who was once the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms."

Tyrion shook his head, "This man is _my_ man," he assured his brother. "I trust him completely. And if I trust him with my life, _you_ can certainly trust him with your pride."

Jaime thought about it for a moment before he nodded, "Very well," he told his brother. "You will set it up?"

Tyrion smiled at him, smug and happy. "I already have, brother."

Jaime looked away, once again uncomfortable with the fact that it was _Tyrion_ taking care of him, providing for him, protecting him when it should have been the other way around. He drank a long sip of wine, and then cleared his throat as he turned toward his brother. "Well, Tyrion," he commanded, "tell me the news! What has happened since I disappeared?"

Tyrion chuckled, finishing his wine and reaching out for the decanter so that he could pour himself some more. "How much time do you have?" he asked Jaime. "You've missed quite a bit."

"Just the highlights then," Jaime suggested with a bitter twist of his lips. He did not need to be reminded that he had been gone for so long. He knew exactly how long he had been prisoner. "Start with the most important and work your way back."

"We beat Stannis at the Battle of the Blackwater," Tyrion told him. "With the help of Highgarden and our father's forces. Stannis has retreated back to Dragonstone, like a whipped dog. It will not do him well to take up arms against us again. Stannis is no fool."

Jaime rolled his eyes, this was news he was already aware of, and it was not the most important news. "And do the people support Joffrey?" he asked. "Do Stannis' bannermen support Joffrey as their king?"

"They say that they do," Tyrion told him. "Though I imagine that it was more difficult for them to swallow than they had anticipated." He drank another long sip of wine, "To tell it true, I imagine that they would gladly back any other claimant to the throne over Joff," he told him. "Though it is treason to say it aloud."

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "I imagine far more treasonous views are being shared in the streets," he assured his brother. "I saw a little of King's Landing's poor as I rode into the city. It's worse than I have ever seen it, even under Aerys. They cannot love him in the streets."

"They do not," Tyrion agreed with him. "But they love Lady Margaery Tyrell. _She_ softens him in their eyes. She feeds them, clothes them, loves them and does it all in his name. They do not love him, but they have come to believe that _she_ will force him to treat them well."

Jaime nodded, "Lady Margaery," he murmured, sipping his wine. "And how did that come about? Last I knew Joff was set to marry Sansa Stark. Why did he set her aside?"

Tyrion would not meet his eyes. He took a sip of wine, a long one. "He did not see it fit to marry the daughter of a known traitor," he told Jaime, his voice strained. "He set aside Lady Sansa in favor of honoring Highgarden and winning them to the Lannister cause forever."

"And so, Lady Sansa is set aside just like that?" Jaime asked.

"I wouldn't call her set aside," Tyrion muttered, glancing down at the wine in his glass. "Though I am sure that _she_ wishes that were the case."

"How can she wish to have been set aside?" Jaime asked his brother. "The girl I saw at Winterfell wanted nothing more than to be married. What have they done to her?"

Tyrion sighed, still not meeting his eyes, "She was married," he told his older brother. "To a man far older than her, and not worth her youth and beauty."

"And this is why she cannot be returned to her mother?" Jaime asked. "Because she has been married off to some Lannister man?" he shook his head, he wasn't surprised by the fact, it did not shock him. It was just what his father would do. "Wedded and bedded, was she?"

Tyrion shrugged, "Wedded," he told his brother. "Though not bedded, that's for sure."

"And how do you know that?" Jaime asked, glancing over at his brother with furrowed brows.

Tyrion chuckled, low and dark, "Come now, brother," he told him, finally looking up to meet Jaime's gaze. "You've been in the Red Keep for at least a week. Surely you've heard the whispers. The beautiful Lady Sansa Stark forced to marry the Imp of Lannister."

Jaime stared at his brother, uncomprehending for almost a full minute before he started to laugh. Tyrion stared at him, as if surprised, but a moment later he began to laugh as well. "You could be kind, brother," he told Jaime, "and not laugh at my misfortune of having a beautiful wife who cannot stand me."

"But don't you see?" Jaime asked, "she is your wife, your wife that you have not yet bedded. You can set her aside and send her back to her mother."

"I cannot," Tyrion told him, his voice full of regret. "Surely you have heard those whispers as well?"

Jaime shook his head, "I have heard no whispers," he told his brother. "Save the ones about my golden hand."

"Her mother is no longer among the living."

Jaime glanced up, his gaze sharp and surprised. "I don't understand," he said, his voice soft with the shock of it. "How did you not lead with _this_? This is the important news."

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders, looking down again. "I wasn't sure how to tell you," he told him. "It was not done honorably."

"What?" Jaime asked, still not understanding. "What was not done honorably?"

"Lady Catelyn and Robb Stark were murdered, Jaime," Tyrion told him. "At the wedding of Lord Edmure Tully to Lady Roslyn Frey."

"A wedding?" Jaime asked. "Where they were guests?"

Tyrion nodded, "They're calling it the Red Wedding," he told his brother, finishing his glass of wine and reaching to fill it up for a third time. "All the Stark men were either killed, imprisoned, or scattered. There is no more Northern army."

"Lenora," Jaime breathed out, barely a whisper. "She would have been at the wedding too. As Edmure's queen, she would have been there. All the Stark men? What of Lenny?"

Tyrion smiled ruefully, "No harm came to Len during the wedding," he assured Jaime. "The attackers were careful with her, gentle with her. Though I fear she is heartbroken. Varys' spies claim that her husband was killed in front of her."

Jaime took a deep breath, he had not expected that. Even in his wildest, darkest thoughts he had not believed that anyone would be so cruel as to murder a woman's husband in front of her eyes. "And what is to happen to Len now?" he asked, his voice hard.

"She was to be sent back to King's Landing," Tyrion told him. "She was to be returned to us."

"And will she be?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion would not meet his gaze, "I do not know," he finally admitted. "She has not been sent home, no one has seen sight of her on the roads towards King's Landing. We fear that she has been taken and dragged north."

"And what is to be done about that?" Jaime asked. "Who will get her? Does Father have a plan?"

"He has a plan," Tyrion assured him. "To win the war. Once he has done that he will rescue Lenora." He paused for a moment as if he knew that what he was going to say next was going to hurt Jaime. "But not before. He requires victory before he risks Lannister soldiers to reclaim her."

Jaime felt his left hand clench into a fist, "She needs to be rescued," he told Tyrion.

Tyrion chuckled, "When has Lenora ever needed to be rescued?" he asked him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Arya_

Her mother was dead. Her brother was dead. Grey Wind was dead. Everyone was dying. All the Starks. Arya wondered if she would be the next one to go. The Hound's presence was reassurance enough that if she was the next Stark to die, it would not be under his watch. She hated the Hound, he was still on her list, but she was a little bit grateful that he was watching over her. Not that she would ever tell him that.

"I wonder what happened to Princess Lenora," she murmured on day three as they rode together. The Hound sitting behind her in the saddle of his giant black charger, Stranger.

The Hound was quiet for such a long moment that Arya wasn't sure if he had heard her. She was about to ask him again when she heard his low growl rumbling against her back. "The Little Princess will be fine," he growled. Arya couldn't be sure, but it sounded like the large man was trying to convince himself that Lenora would be alright.

"But how do you _know_?" she asked him, pressing him for more information.

"Did you not see what was happening back at the Twins, girl?" the Hound asked her.

"I didn't _see_ much," she told him. " _You_ knocked me unconscious so that I couldn't. _Remember_?"

"Before that," the Hound told her. "Your eyes were open, but you didn't _see_."

"I _saw_ Bolton and Frey men attacking my brother's men!" Arya told him.

"And do you think they would have done that on their own?" the Hound asked. "Do you think they would have planned that on their own? Acted without some reassurance that they would be safe? Some sort of reward for betraying their king?"

Arya wasn't listening to him. She was thinking about what she had seen. "It was Bolton and Freys," she whispered. "Lenora wouldn't be safe with them. Robb was what kept Lenora safe in the North. With him gone, she's not safe."

"You're not paying attention, girl," the Hound growled.

She turned to look at him, her brows furrowed. "I can hear your voice just fine," she told him.

He sighed, "Then you're not _hearing_."

"First I'm not seeing, and now I'm not hearing," she muttered, mocking him. "Very well, what did I not hear?"

The Hound repeated his questions, "Do you think the Freys and Boltons would have acted on their own? Planned that massacre on their own? Without a reassurance that they would be safe? Without a reward for murdering their king."

Arya thought about his questions, "No," she finally decided, shaking her head. "Especially not the Freys. The Boltons might, the Dreadfort is far enough North and the Ironborn still have Moat Cailin. They would be safe. But the Frey's would be in danger. Even with their bridge."

"Keep going," the Hound pushed her. She sighed, he wasn't just going to give her the answer, that much was obvious. "You're close," he encouraged her.

"The only person who could guarantee that the Freys would be safe after that _wedding_ would be -" Arya stopped speaking for a moment. What the Hound was trying to tell her had finally dawned on her.

"Say it," the Hound ordered. "Come on girl."

"The Lannisters," Arya whispered.

The Hound nodded, "The little princess will be safe from everyone but her brother. The Lannisters killed two birds with that wedding. Get rid of the Northern King and get their girl back."

Arya turned in the saddle to look at him, "Do you think that Lenora played a part in it?" she asked him. "That she planned for my brother to die?"

The Hound shook his head, "I couldn't say for sure," he told her. "I have not talked to the little princess about whether she wished to murder her husband."

"But you were in the capitol, close to the king," Arya pressed. "They must have spoken about Lenora and Robb around you."

"They said she loved him," the Hound told her.

Arya was quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had told her. She shook her head, "She didn't plan it," she murmured, more to herself than to the man behind her. "She didn't want him dead."

"That would be my guess," the Hound told her.

"And you think they're bringing her back to King's Landing?" she asked.

"What would be the point of killing her husband and his men and then leaving her in the North?" the Hound asked her. He shook his head. "I'd wager that she's already back in King's Landing now."

"In three days?" Arya asked, surprised. "They'd have to ride through the nights to do that."

"Would you murder your supposed king, his mother, his men, and kidnap his wife and then stick around to see the aftermath?" the Hound asked her, a dark chuckle rising from deep in his throat.

"No," Arya told him, shaking her head. "I would ride like hell to get as far away as possible."

She felt the Hound nod behind her. "As I said, probably in King's Landing by now"

...

On day six she asked for a horse.

She could almost hear the laughter in the Hound's voice when he asked her, "Does the little lady want a _pony_?"

"The _little lady_ wants away from your stench," she growled at him.

"Horses aren't easy to come by," he told her. "And even if they were do you think that I'm going to put you on your own horse? I'd be watching the only thing of value I have in the world ride away."

"Why don't you have any money?" Arya asked him, her brow furrowed. The Hound had told her that he was going to bring her to her aunt, her mother's sister in the Eyrie. He meant to ransom her off, as he had meant to do with her brother and mother at the Twins. As the Brotherhood had meant to do before him. "Didn't you take anything from Joffrey before you left?"

"No," the Hound growled behind her.

"You're not very smart are you?" she asked him.

"I'm not a thief," he told her.

She scoffed at that, thinking about the butcher's boy. "You're fine with murdering little boys, but thieving is beneath you?" she asked him, incredulous.

The Hound was quiet for a moment, "A man's gotta have a code," he finally told her.

...

That evening they stood in the woods, hiding in the trees outside an inn, deciding whether or not they should go in. They were hungry, it had been almost four days since they had had a proper meal. Arya could not speak for the Hound, but she was starving.

The man was more cautious than she was though. She was ready to walk straight into the inn, but the Hound had his hand on her shoulder, holding her still. "Five horses," he muttered, counting the horses tied up outside the inn. "Five men. More than I feel like killing on an empty stomach."

"Who says you'll have to kill any of them?" Arya asked him.

The Hound glanced at her silently, his eyebrows raised. He thought she was an idiot. She could see that. She was about to tell him that they should go then. That it was cruel to have her stand outside the inn, so close to food and not let her have any, when two men exited the inn from one of the side doors. The second man, the taller of the two, was a complete stranger. But the first one, she recognized him.

"I know him!" she told the Hound, standing up a little straighter to get a good look at him. He was the man who had taken Needle from her. She watched the men as they pissed in the bushes. "His name is Polliver. He's the one who captured us and took us to Harrenhal. He killed Lommy."

"What the fuck's a _Lommy_?" the Hound asked her.

"He was my friend."

She watched him walk back into the inn and before the Hound knew what was happening she had wrenched herself from under his hand and strode off toward the door. He would have no choice but to follow her.

He was not happy about it, she could tell. He might even punish her for it later. But he followed her into the inn. He led her to a table in the back, away from the group of soldiers. Arya smiled to herself, if everything went well she would get revenge for Lommy, she would get Needle back, and she would get a real meal. All in one evening.

It was lucky that they had found this inn.

They had recognized the Hound. But not her. The man thought that the Hound was traveling with her so that he could fuck her. She was disgusted. But the Hound played it off, he was smarter than her. He told the man that she was _alright_. If he had been too protective of her Polliver would have been suspicious. But with one sentence from the Hound the man did not give her a second glance.

He invited the Hound to travel south with them, to King's Landing. Arya took a deep breath and glanced at the Hound with wide eyes. He had run away from Joffrey during the Battle of the Blackwater. King's Landing was no longer safe for him, but she was sure that they both knew that if he rode into King's Landing with Arya Stark in his saddle he would have been welcomed back in a heartbeat.

She was also sure that they both knew that Cersei would pay him more for Arya than her aunt ever would.

She held her breath, waiting for his answer. And sighed in relief when he told the torturer that he was not going to ever go back to King's Landing.

Arya watched, her eyes wide as the two men sized each other up. The Hound demanded a chicken, Polliver refused. The Hound demanded again, and Polliver glanced at her, proposing a trade. The Hound demanded a third time, and Polliver told him that he didn't understand the way of things.

"I understand that if anymore words come out of your cunt mouth I'm going to have to eat every chicken in this room," the Hound countered.

It was quiet and still for a long moment. And then Polliver stood up. The Hound moved faster than Arya would have imagined. Before Polliver could even reach for his sword the larger man had thrown the table at him, pinning him to the ground before he moved toward the other men, his sword drawn.

Arya had seen her brothers fight before. She had seen knights in a melee. But they were _nothing_ like the Hound. He was fierce. He was fast. There was a certain grace about him, that she never would have imagined. He was by no means _graceful_ , but as he fought taking down one man then the next, facing three at once, she was sure that she had never seen someone fight as easily as him.

He had killed all the men, save two. These two would be Arya's.

The first one, she bashed his face with a helm and then used his own sword to cut open his stomach.

Then she turned on Polliver. She knocked him to the ground, cutting him with his dead friend's sword. And then she took Needle from him. "Is something wrong with your leg boy?" she asked him, standing over him and repeating what Polliver had asked Lommy the day he killed him. "Am I going to have to carry you?"

"Carry me?" Polliver asked, confused. He didn't recognize her yet.

She lifted Needle in the air, watching the way the light played off the steel. "Fine little blade," she murmured. "Maybe I'll pick my teeth with it."

She saw the recognition in his eyes now.

She smiled down at him before she slid the tiny sword into his throat. She didn't turn away as she watched him choke on his own blood.

...

A little while later they rode away from the inn.

The Hound had his chicken.

And Arya had her own horse.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

They had ridden northeast from the Twins to the coast. They could not ride all the way north to the Dreadfort because the Ironborn still held Moat Cailin. So they rode to a small harbor town, across the Bite from White Harbor. There they boarded a boat and sailed across the harbor to White Harbor. Once there Lenora was back in the wheel house, they would now ride the rest of the way north to the Dreadfort. He still would not give her a horse. She was still left alone each day in the wheelhouse with his large, foolish wife. But every evening he would allow her to leave the wheelhouse and they would dine together.

It was on one such evening when Lenora finally started to speak to him. "I am surprised at you, Lord Bolton," she told him, taking a small bite of her mutton. He glanced up at her, just as surprised as she professed to be. She had not spoken to him since they had left the Twins. And her tone was polite and respectful.

She smiled at him, taking a sip of her wine before she spoke again. "As we left the Twins you told me that you meant for me to still be the Lady of Winterfell. And yet, you're taking me to the Dreadfort." She shook her head. "I can hardly be the Lady of Winterfell if I am held hostage at the Dreadfort."

He chuckled, low and dark. "Trust me, Princess. You will not be at the Dreadfort for long."

"Why am I going at all?" she asked him.

He almost looked disappointed in her. "The Ironborn still hold Moat Cailin," he told her. "The squids are not meant to live so far from the sea. And it's a small group. Even with the moat's defenses the Lannister army might be able to overcome the Ironborn, either by fighting skill, or by negotiation."

"You're worried that my brother's army will make it north to rescue me?" she asked him, laughing a bit to herself. Her brother would never waste his time or his soldier's lives. She was sure that even her grandfather would not be so foolish.

"It's a possibility, Princess," Bolton told her. "I was supposed to return you to King's Landing after the wedding," he told her.

"Clearly you didn't," Lenora supplied, a rueful smile twisting its way onto her lips. She was angry at her family, disgusted with them. But she would have much rathered been with them, than captured by Roose Bolton, a man who would kill his king without a single regret.

"Clearly," Bolton told her with a smirk. "But while I can trust my own people at the Dreadfort not to spread rumors about a southern princess, I cannot trust those at Winterfell. I would much prefer to have control over Moat Cailin before your mother learns your exact location."

And there it was.

Roose Bolton was an intelligent man. He knew that Joffrey would not waste the manpower to go after his sister, _the one true Baratheon heir_ if her uncle Stannis was to be believed. He knew that Tywin would not waste the manpower when there was still a war to fight, there was still one more king in the field of battle. But he also knew that Cersei would do anything to protect her children. And that _Cersei_ , of all the Lannisters, would send an entire army north to bring Lenora home.

She hated him, but she could admit that he was clever.

"So once you've taken Moat Cailin we will travel south from the Dreadfort and you will return me to Winterfell?" she asked him. He nodded. "And then what will you do with me?" she asked him. She was sure that she wouldn't like it, but it was better to be prepared.

Roose just smiled.

...

She dreamt of Robb that night.

It started out as a pleasant enough dream. One she welcomed as it was all she had left of Robb. They were lying in a bed together, their arms wrapped around each other. She was running her hand s through his auburn hair. His eyes were closed.

She leaned in closer to him so that she could press a kiss against his lips. She felt the corners of his lips turn up in a smile. She pulled away, she wanted to see his eyes. She _needed_ to see his eyes. "Robb," she whispered, trying to get his attention.

He opened his eyes.

Her smile began to widen, but quickly dropped off her lips.

She wasn't looking into Robb's eyes.

They were the same shape. They were the same color. But _these_ were not her husband's eyes. These were not the love of her life's eyes.

They were hard. They were distant. There was a coldness to them that she had never seen before.

They looked dead.

"Robb?" she whispered, her chest tight with fear. "Robb, talk to me."

He didn't speak. One of his hands lifted from her hip, it gently glided up her arm, over her shoulder to her throat. It rested there for a moment, as if taking her pulse. And then it started to tighten.

"Robb!" Lenora gasped, her hands coming up to grapple with his hand. It was hard to breathe. His grip continued to tighten. She kicked her legs, thrashing from side to side, trying to throw him off of her. But he was too strong.

He was going to kill her.

Just as she started to loose consciousness in her dream she woke up, sitting up straight in her bed, her hands at her throat, a scream echoing in the wheelhouse.

Under the scream there was another sound though, one coming from outside the wheelhouse.

The howl of a wolf.

* * *

Author's Note:

I will say this. Filler chapter or not, it feels WONDERFUL to be back. I've missed posting. And I've missed reading your reviews. And I've missed answering them! (And I hope that you guys have missed reading this story and missed hearing from me! Have you? Hmm? Have you?)  
Anyway, a big thank you for stopping by and reading this chapter.  
A larger thank you to those of you who have added this story to their alerts, favorites, or communities.  
And the HUGEST thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter. There were 33 reviews on chapter fifty-five! THIRTY-THREE! That's AMAZING! Thank you. I mean it.

 _RHatch89_ : Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _DJDRagon1_ : The first time I read your review I thought you were angry with me! But then I realized that you weren't! I'm super happy about that. I'm sorry for messing with your emotions, but I had to throw a wrench in. And I also had to separate Robb and Lenora and it isn't like they were going to allow themselves to be willingly separated. So this served that purpose. You are welcome though, I'm glad you're happy I saved Robb.

 _TheHuntresss_ : I agree. It would be terrible to insert someone else in. There's only one man for Lenora and that's Robb Stark. Don't worry, she knows that too! It's going to take a while for Robb's memories to come back completely, but ... it'll be good when they do. I promise.

 _ZabuzasGirl_ : I am on a roll! Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!

 _queen ares_ : I'm glad you enjoyed it! It was a bit of a risk, but I couldn't kill Robb. I love him too much.

 _runawaycherry93:_ Robb is alive! I can't believe the number of people who actually though I could kill him off. I wouldn't have been able to do that to him. Or to you guys! (Or to me!) The reunion will be good, though a bit of a long time coming. Lenora needs to find herself on her own first.

 _Vulcran_ : Yeah, the Grey Wolf is not going to be good for his enemies. And he's a little more put together than Lady Stoneheart. The Freys, Boltons, and Lannisters might need to be afraid.

 _Arianna Le Fay_ :I'm glad I shocked you guys. I seriously expected that most of you would have seen it coming. I'm super happy I was actually able to surprise you! You'll just have to wait and see what happens in the North. As for Lenora and future marriages. She knows that Robb is the only man she could love so she will not marry willingly, if she marries at all.

 _DannyBlack70:_ Yay! I thought about having him just escape. But I have plans for Lenora. She's really going to find out what she's made of and how strong she is in the second half of the story and I thought it would be harder for her to do that if she knew that Robb was out there alive somewhere. She _needed_ to see him die, no matter how traumatic that was for her (and some readers) but I couldn't keep him dead for long. And I love Lady Stoneheart ... I love the idea of her, that is, but I wanted Robb to be the one looking for revenge.

 _janaoliver:_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the plot twist. I thought I had dropped enough hints that people knew he was going to live (apparently I hadn't) but I wanted to make sure the _how_ of how he survived was a twist. It would definitely be one for people who only watch the show since Lady Stoneheart's not in the show. And I hoped it would be one for those who had read the book just because I had done very little with the Brotherhood except how it related to Arya. (Though ... there was a reason I had a few chapters on focusing on Arya and the Brotherhood.)

 _Barryium:_ Thank you! I hope you enjoyed the other fifty chapters as well!

 _EternalKnight219:_ You are the first person to have suspected my plan. Congratulations. You deserve a prize!

 _WritingNOOB:_ You have no idea how much I love reading your reviews! Seriously, they make my day! And I love the almost stream of consciousness going on in the first half. I'm glad that you've never seen this twist before. When I'm writing fanfiction I try not to read stories that could have similar plots so that there is no bleedover into whatever I'm writing. So I have no idea if this is a plot twist others have used before me. But judging by the responses, it isn't (at least not often) which is wonderful!  
You are right. It is going to be a while before Robb and Lenora reunite. But Grey Wind will be watching her. She'll reunite with Grey Wind before she sees Robb again if I'm being honest.  
Jamie's got some work to do before he can run after Lenora. But once he's comfortable with his left hand and his new sword I'd say it's safe to imagine that he'll be heading north. Along with some of my other favorites.

 _sltsky96:_ DAMN. I. DID. THAT. And damn ... I love your review! It makes me ridiculously happy. I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too. Even though it wasn't as epic as the last one. I can't follow up epic chapters with equally as epic chapters. I've got to give you guys (and the characters) a rest.  
As for your hope! Of course Lenora is going to give Ramsay hell. She's not as meek and mild as Sansa. And whatever Ramsay attempts to do to Lenora, he's going to regret it. I hope you survived the busy weekend... I was one of those crazy Wonder Woman fans ... I've already seen the movie three times. (Don't tell any of my Marvel guys ... It's like I'm cheating on them!)

 _darkwolf76:_ Two reviews for two chapters! I love it! I feel your pain about Lenora. It was hard to write her at rock bottom. She had so much fight so to just have her lose it all was hard. But ... she had just seen her husband murdered in front of her, so it's expected and understandable. If you've noticed there's a bit of a trend, she came to Winterfell with fight. She lost it around the time she married Robb. He helped her find it again. She lost it when he died. This time when her fight comes back ... it's going to be hers. And no one else's.  
As far as rock bottom goes ... she's got some shit to face. Some real shit. BUT she's not going to lay down and take it (hint intended) she's going to fight. With everything she's got.  
Tywin is a bastard. And I love him for it. Lenora is his favorite grandchild, but even for her he's unable to look past protecting the Lannister _name_ over protecting the Lannister _people_. And there's something utterly heartbreaking about that.  
As for chapter fifty-five ... Jaime deserves all the hugs. I love him. I adore him. I squeal a little bit every time he is on screen. And his redemption arc is taking way too long. So yes, he is most definitely starting to see that he's fighting on the wrong side. Even more so in the next chapter. As for helping Lenora, what has he always promised her? They will never be enemies. He's not going to break that promise.  
He's alive! HE'S ALIVE! I couldn't kill him. There was no way. As far as the changes ... for a while he's going to be a much darker, much angrier, much more volatile character. So it's probably a good thing that he and Lenora won't be reuniting any time soon. He's going to have a bit of a hard time getting his memories back. Physically not much is going to change. He did not get his throat "cut to the bone" like Catelyn and I hope I explained well enough that he had been living when he made it to the river, he was a new(ish) corpse when the brotherhood found him so he's not going to be all rotted and moldy.  
On a scale of Lady Stoneheart to season 6 Jon he's going to be closer to Jon. Haunted, darker, but still capable of being a human.  
Damn I wrote you a book ... I suppose I should go now.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _Guest(1):_ I'm so glad you didn't see that coming! That was my intention!

 _redhouseclan:_ I adore your review! Yes Robb and Jaime are back. And Lenora is determined to be a badass. Those poor Boltons.

 _Guest(2):_ Lenora _is_ going to meet Cersei again. Though it might be a while. But when she does see Cersei again she's going to have a lot to say and I'm not sure if a slap is going to be enough for her. She might need more than that.

 _Kimberley:_ Hello new reader! Thank you! I'm so glad that not only did you find this story but you read (and loved) the whole thing so far. And thank you for saying that I'm a good writer. I'm fairly confident in my writing skills, but it's always nice to hear (or read!). I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _SynthesisSurge:_ I would say that I am sorry that I tricked you into reading a story with more points of view than you prefer, but ... I'm not. I'm so glad you're hooked. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Guest 2.0:_ It's going to be a while before she makes it back to King's Landing. That's the climax of the story, so think around chapter 80(ish).

 _GraceConnorReese:_ Oh my god! There are so many of you that found this story and practically ate it up! I'm so happy you did! I'm so glad you enjoyed it enough to spend almost twelve hours reading it all the way through! You are wonderful!

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ I'm glad you were surprised. Hopefully there are a few more plot twist and surprising moments coming up for you guys in the future of this story!

 _BrittStar1199:_ It's not necessarily bad that you wanted Robb to stay dead. I toyed around with it. As for Lenora's journey ... it's going to be without him for a very long time. So you'll get that wish. But I like happy endings. And Robb is the only man for Lenora, so I couldn't just throw a new love interest at her. Robb needed to be alive for my happy(ish) ending.

 _Guest1995:_ Damn. I didn't get to surprise you! But I'm glad that you're happy he's still alive! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!  
As for the AU stories you suggested. I am still considering writing them. And if the writer's block continues I will definitely be writing some of them just to get the GoT juices flowing again.

 _Guest(3):_ It had been ages. And I'm so sorry about that. As mentioned in the note at the beginning of the chapter ... life and writer's block got in the way. But hopefully things will be flowing a bit easier now.

 _Saadhana:_ Damn! In one go! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it! You're welcome for keeping Robb alive. I couldn't kill him, but I didn't need you guys to know that! (Laughs evilly.) I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _xxPeppermintxx109:_ You have no idea how happy your review made me. I really love winning people over and I'm so glad I won you over. To tell it true, the reason this story came to be is because of all the many poorly written "True Born Baratheon" stories. I was looking for one to read, and I couldn't find one that I wasn't editing or rewriting in my head. So I wrote my own. This story started because I wanted a good one. And I'm just happy you guys think it's good too.  
I'm glad you love Lenora. Every fanfiction I have ever written has centered around an OC. And I'm always terrified that I'm going to fuck it up. But I love Lenora (I'm pretty sure you guys can tell that) and I'm thrilled that you guys love her too.  
You're not crazy. There is a reason why Lenora and Jon spoke before Lenora spoke to Robb. They're going to be friends, good friends, but they're too much alike. The way I explained it to a friend of mine is Jon and Lenora would fit together like two people holding hands, palm to palm, fingers wrapped around the back of each other's hands. Lenora and _Robb_ are like interlaced fingers, filling in what the other is missing. Lenora and Jon could work, but not after she had been with Robb.  
I'm sorry I made you cry when Robb died! If it makes you feel any better I was crying when I wrote it. Crying and grinning because I knew what was coming.  
Thank you so much for your review! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well.

 _darkhairedgirl21:_ I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! And I'm so glad that you like Lenora! And I think you are one of the few people who are willing to admit that they're happy I kept the Red Wedding. Most people were very angry at me. I'm so glad you like the other points of view too. I could've written this as straight Lenora (and maybe Robb) POV, but the GoT world is so intense and so intertwined, a seemingly unimportant conversation between two characters can become VERY important weeks later. So I couldn't do it justice without weaving it all together.

 _Kathiena:_ I'm glad you love the story! I hope you're still around to read this chapter as well!

 _LokiLova:_ I don't know how you did it either! You binge readers amaze me! I'm so glad you're enjoying the chapter so far!

 _Vgc:_ Thank you so much for your review! Here's your update, dear!

 _TheDragonSinger:_ Fuck yes, Robb Stark!

That's all I've got friends! Thank you so much for all your review love and support. You are amazing. And I adore each and every one of you!  
I'll be back some time soon (this week, I promise!)  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	57. Chapter Fifty-Seven: Revenge

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

So this chapter took a turn I wasn't expecting, particularly in the Lenora department. According to my outline a certain interaction in her point of view was supposed to turn out vastly different. But even though the character in question is a little shit (especially at this point of the story) I love him. And so as my brain was running a hundred miles per hour and my fingers were typing faster than my eyes could keep up and I look up and this was completely not what I had intended to write.  
And surprisingly ... I liked it better than what I had planned.  
I hope you guys do too.

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Seven: Revenge_

 _Lenora_

Lenora did not like the Dreadfort. It took them almost a week to ride from White Harbor to the Dreadfort, and the entire time Roose Bolton had kept Lenora hidden away in her wheelhouse, out of sight of any northern small folk who may have reported her location to either her mother or the small bands of Robb's supporters who were still roaming the land.

He only let her out of the wheelhouse twice a day, always during the night, to stretch her legs and relieve herself. Always heavily guarded.

Roose Bolton was less kind than Robb had been, even on his best days. Where Robb had always allowed her the illusion of freedom, Bolton made sure that she knew that she had nothing that even resembled the word. The new Warden of the North dictated everything about her life while they traveled north. What she ate, when she ate, who she spoke to, what she wore, when she was allowed out, who guarded her. Everything.

For a moment, just before their arrival at the Dreadfort she had thought that perhaps she might like living in a stronghold again. That perhaps she would be given some small amount of freedom. She had looked forward to it, in fact.

But with her first glance at the Dreadfort she knew that she was wrong. No amount of freedom, illusion or otherwise, would make her comfortable in this place. Nothing could make her like it. As the wheelhouse came to a stop and the door opened she knew that she had been a fool for thinking that she might feel anything but distrust and unease for this place.

"My Lady," Roose called out in his soft, silky voice, catching her attention. He was standing outside the wheelhouse, his hand extended to her, waiting to hand her out of the carriage.

She glanced at Lady Walda, wondering if the larger woman would take her husband's hand. She was, after all, Lady Dreadfort. The woman, not much older than Lenora herself, smiled kindly at her, "After you, Princess," she told her kindly, reminding Lenora in three words of her place. It did not matter that Walda Frey was Lady Dreadfort, Lenora was a princess of the realm, she would always be handed out of the wheelhouse first.

She misliked the sweet tone to Lady Walda's voice. The girl was a fool to be happy here.

But perhaps she was as much a fool to keep Lord Bolton waiting. She was entirely at his disposal after all. He had murdered her husband, acted against her family's wishes, and kidnapped her to bring her here. No one knew where she was, though she was sure they might be able to guess, if someone wanted to rescue her they would have to cross through hundreds of leagues of war torn land. Roose Bolton could do whatever he wanted with her and no one would stop him.

No one but her.

And while Lenora believed that she could protect herself, she did not necessarily see the need to provoke her traitor of a guardian unless she absolutely must.

So quickly she stood from her seat and placed her left hand in Roose's allowing him to hand her down from the carriage. She had gathered her skirts in her right hand so as not to trip on the steps. But as her eyes caught sight of the castle in front of her she must have dropped some because as she stared in wide-eyed wonder at the castle in front of her she stepped on the hem of her skirts and started to fall toward the ground.

Roose's hand moved from holding her left hand to grasping her left elbow. Another set of hands touched her on the right, grasping her right elbow and a hand on her low back to help guide her off the step and onto the ground.

"Careful, Princess," she heard a voice on her right. "We wouldn't want to scratch up your beautiful face."

The voice sent chills up and down her spine. It had the same soft, quiet quality of Roose Bolton's, but it was more nasal, more of a sneer than a whisper. She turned her head toward the voice and was met with a mess of dark brown curls sitting above a pair of eyes just as pale as his father's, pale skin, smooth cheeks, a playful smirk resting on his thin lips.

 _This_ was Ramsay Snow, Roose Bolton's bastard son.

A bastard who thought highly enough of himself to touch a princess without her permission. She had never seen a man so brazen or stupid in her life.

She could hear the smirk in Roose's voice as he spoke from her left, "This is my son, Ramsay," he told her, making the introduction.

Ramsay's hand slid from her elbow to her hand as he lifted it to his lips so that he could press a kiss against the back of her hand. Lenora tried not to shudder at the contact. But she did quickly pull her hand out of his grasp. And with a quick step forward she managed to rid herself from being touched by either Bolton man.

She turned then, holding her hands out to her sides as her eyes landed on Roose, "Very well, Lord Bolton." she told him. "You have me here, what now?"

Roose smiled at her, almost kindly, "What now, my Lady?" he asked her. He shook his head, "Nothing for now. You will have free reign of the castle," he gestured to the fortress in front of her. "You will be given your own chambers and will be allowed to wander the grounds and the Godswood. Your only boundary will be the castle walls. _This_ will be your home for the foreseeable future. I wish it to feel like one."

Lenora raised her eyebrows at his speech as she glanced at the castle in front of her. She couldn't imagine ever feeling at home in this place. It was too dark, too foreboding. Lord Bolton turned away from her now so as to hand his wife from the wheelhouse, allowing her a moment alone to take in her new surroundings.

First she turned toward the walls that were to be her boundary markers, they were tall, thick, strong. They were topped with triangular merlons that looked to her like sharp teeth, waiting to snag and tear at anyone who tried to make an escape. The walls of the fortress itself were just as thick, just as strong; they were made of a dark stone that almost made them look black.

Ramsay moved through the snowy courtyard so quietly that she did not hear him. She did not notice him until she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision. "Shall I show you to your chambers, Princess?" he asked her in his silky, sneering voice.

She would have rathered be shown to her chambers by anyone else, but she was not yet ready to anger her captors that much. It was better to pretend to be meek, and mild, and well mannered. She might not be able to fool Roose Bolton, but perhaps she could fool his son. She dropped her gaze from his pale face and nodded, silently agreeing to his offer.

The man grinned at her and held out his arm to her. He meant, not simply to show her to her chambers, but to parade her through the fortress. She did not want to touch him anymore than she had wanted him touching her when she first exited the wheelhouse, but she did not want to test his patience either.

At least not yet.

So, with a deep shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and placed her hand on his arm so that he could lead her into the castle.

He led her through the great hall. It was a massive room, with high vaulted ceilings. She glanced up at them, this place was not nearly as clean nor well cared for as Winterfell. The wooden rafters looked black from the smoke. The room was poorly lit, and smokey. The only light came from rows of torches that lined the walls. As if he could sense her gaze on the torches, Ramsay brought her down the side of the great hall, rather than the middle aisle, he walked her right past the torches.

When she saw what held them up she gasped and took a step back, away from the wall. Ramsay chuckled, low and dark, in his throat. The torches seemed to be held by skeletal human hands. Ramsay led her closer to the torches though that was the last thing she wanted. "Holdovers," he told her. "From the old Red Kings. They used to dip the hands of their enemies in silver once they had died. They used them to hang their torches. We still do."

Lenora was reminded of a rumor she had heard once. Whispers that the Boltons kept torture chambers underneath their castle, that there was a special room where they hung the flayed skin of their enemies. It was said that even some of the old Kings of Winter had been tortured there.

She shivered, wondering whose hands she was looking at now.

Ramsay seemed to enjoy her fear, to feed off of it, even. She would not give him the satisfaction. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, "I would like to see my chambers now," she told him, her gaze dropping from the morbid sconce on the wall to the rush covered floor beneath her feet. She did not say please. It was not a request, but an order.

Ramsay bowed his head, "Of course, Princess," he told her, quickly leading her away. "And once you're settled in, I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" Lenora asked, arching one of her eyebrows. She was not sure that she was going to enjoy this surprise.

Ramsay smirked at her and nodded, "Yes," he told her. "You're not our only guest here, we have another staying with us. Someone you might recognize."

She wondered, her breath catching in her throat, if they had Jaime.

...

He let her wait for almost two hours before he came to get her and escort her into the great hall so that she could see his surprise.

He gave her a place of honor on the dais in front of the fire. And then he clapped his hands and from the end of the great hall a shadow moved, a man slowly walking up the center aisle, coming when called.

It wasn't Jaime, that much she could tell. The man was too small, too short. But besides the discovery that the Boltons did not have her uncle Jaime she did not know anything else of the man slowly walking toward her.

She did not know him. She watched him through narrowed eyes, she could not imagine a world where she would even pretend to know this shaking, dirty, smelly, pathetic man before her.

The man came to a stop, his eyes darting up to her face. She did not know him, but she had the feeling that he knew her, it was all in the quick drop of his gaze the moment he saw her face. Ramsay glanced between the two of them, his pale eyes sparkling, a smirk on his face. "Don't you know him, Princess?" he asked her, his tone teasing. "Don't you recognize him?"

She stared at Ramsay, wondering why he got so much joy out of this dirty creature. She silently shook her head. She did not know him. She was sure of it.

Ramsay smirked at her a moment longer before he turned to the man in front of them, "Reek," he ordered, addressing the man. Lenora's head snapped up at the name, she could not imagine a man so cruel who would make a man answer to that name. "Reek," Ramsay said again, smirking around the name. "Tell the princess Lenora who you were, before you came to the Dreadfort with me."

The man whimpered and shook his head. He did not open his mouth, his gaze darted toward Ramsay, silently pleading with him not to make him tell Lenora who he was.

"Now Reek," Ramsay chided him, his tone was light, still playful, but there was the hint of something darker underneath, a threat that Lenora did not yet understand. "Where are your manners?" Ramsay scolded him. "You know the Lady, and the Lady knows you, but she is at a distinct disadvantage. _You_ know how the two of you know each other, _she_ does not recognize you. It's unfair. Tell her who you used to be."

The man whimpered again, but this time he did not shake his head. His gaze turned from Ramsay to his own feet, he would not look Lenora in the eye. "I used to be called Theon Greyjoy," he stuttered out, swallowing thickly in between his words, coming to a halt before saying his name, as if it was hard for him to say it. "I was the only son and heir of Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands."

Standing beside her Ramsay laughed, a dark glee coloring his tone. "And who are you now?" he asked.

The man whimpered, "No one," he told them. "Nothing. I am Reek. I am son to no one. Heir to no one. I belong to House Bolton." He glanced up at Ramsay, as if to see if his answer had pleased the bastard. Ramsay smirked at him and nodded. Theon's whimpers quickly subsided into silence.

Lenora felt bile and disgust rising in her throat. She had spent so many months hating Theon Greyjoy for his betrayal. Hating him for what he had done to Robb, what he had done to the boys. She had spent weeks thinking of what she would do to him if she ever saw him again.

But now, with this poor creature standing before her, so clearly broken, so clearly afraid. She couldn't hate him. She could feel nothing but pity. The bile that she tried to swallow down, the disgust in her throat was for Ramsay, who seemed to take such joy in what he had turned the once proud, lively man into.

She rose from her chair without thinking, "What did you do to him?" she gasped as she rushed down from the dais, to get a closer look at the man who had once been her husband's closest friend. Ramsay laughed in answer. Theon whimpered and tried to step away from her, but he had not been ordered to leave the hall yet, he was more afraid of Ramsay's anger than he was of Lenora's disdain. In a few steps she was standing in front of him, her hands reaching up to cup his cheeks, holding his face still even as he tried to pull out of her grasp. "Theon," she whispered, ducking her head and trying to make eye contact with him. "Theon, what did he do to you?"

" _No_!" the man yelled out, he tried to jerk away from her, but she held strong. He dropped to the ground, whimpering and shaking his head, pulling her down to her knees with him. "I am Reek!" he yelled. "I am Reek! I am Reek! I am Reek! I am Reek!" He continued to repeat that, over and over again - first yelling, then whimpering, then finally whispering the words. "I am Reek! I am Reek! I am Reek!"

She was still holding his cheeks. She could feel his jaw clench underneath her fingers. She could see the tears sliding down his cheeks, leaving clean streaks through the dirt that covered his face before coming to land on the back of her hands. She did not drop her hands as she turned to level a glare in Ramsay's direction, "What did you do to him?" she asked again, her teeth clenched.

"I trained him," Ramsay told her, his voice full of pride. "He was a slow learner, but he learned."

Lenora turned back toward Theon, her gaze landing momentarily on one of the Bolton banners hanging from the walls. "You flayed him," she whispered, sure that at any moment she was going to vomit.

There was no shame in Ramsay's voice when he answered her, "I peeled a few bits," he told her. "I removed a few others."

"That's against the law," Lenora told him, turning away from Theon who was still whispering _I am Reek_ to glare at Ramsay again. "Robb forbade the torture of prisoners!"

"And Robb Stark is dead," Ramsay told her, his pale gaze flitting over toward Theon and glinting with glee. Theon tensed underneath her hands. "Oh Reek," he chuckled. "That's right. Robb Stark is dead. Sorry, I know that he was like a brother to you, but my father put a knife through his heart." He paused, his gaze darting toward Lenora, "How do you feel about that?"

Theon was quiet for a moment, whimpering. Then he shook his head and dropped his gaze. It was Lenora who spoke up against Ramsay, "Look at you," she growled, standing up and turning toward Ramsay, using her skirts to shield Theon from his view. "You should be in chains. You should be beheaded."

Ramsay shook his head, "Surely you know that it was for you, Princess," he told her. "And for King Robb, and for the boys. Revenge for what he had done to Winterfell, revenge for killing Bran and Rickon," Theon whimpered behind her. "Revenge for betraying his king."

Lenora arched an eyebrow at him, "Revenge?" she asked, echoing him. "And what will happen to you and your father for what you have done?" she asked him. "You're a Snow, Ramsay, you're from the north. Surely you know that the north remembers. You think they will forgive and forget this?"

Ramsay's pale eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. He did not like being reminded of his bastard status. "Reek," he growled. Lenora did not need to look to know that Theon had stood up behind her. She could hear him scramble to his feet. "It seems that you are distasteful to the princess. It seems that your presence disgusts her. So you will be her escort while she is here at the Dreadfort. You will go with her everywhere." He paused, smirking at Lenora. "Now, bring her back to her chambers. I imagine, the princess is tired. She's had a long journey after all."

Theon whimpered and she felt a soft tug on her sleeve, "Come, my Lady," he requested. "I must bring you back to your chambers now."

Lenora cast one last glare at Ramsay before she allowed Theon to guide her from the hall. There would be revenge for this, she knew it. There would be revenge for what the Boltons had done to Robb.

She would get it herself if she had to.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

They met on an abandoned pavilion by the sea, at the bottom of a cliff. It was not a sheer overhang like many of the cliffs around the Red Keep. When Jaime looked up from where he stood all he could see was a rocky protrusion, an overhang that would block them from view from anyone at the top of the cliff. The crashing of the ocean waves beside him would do well to cover any noise from their practice. Jaime did not know Tyrion's man, Bronn, but he had chosen the place well.

It was heartening.

The last thing he needed was for people to witness his shame.

The man was late. The old Jaime would have minded, he would have been impatient, he would have left. But Jaime was not the same man he had been the last time he was in King's Landing. He hadn't only lost his hand. He had also lost much of his pride. And his drive. As he stood, looking out at the sea he realized that his motivation for fighting had changed.

When he was a young boy he had wanted to learn to be the best because he was proud.

Once Joffrey had named him Commander of the Kingsguard it had been to protect his son.

But now he wanted, he _needed_ , to be the best so that he could travel north and bring Lenora back where she belonged.

His father would not do a thing to help Lenora until the war was officially won. But Jaime worried. He worried about what might happen to her while she was under Roose Bolton's care. He worried that waiting until the end of the war might be too long. He worried that by the time she was rescued there would be nothing left to save.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps. He turned to see a strong, wild looking man making his way down the narrow, broken steps toward him. The man was covered in scars, that was a good sign, to be that scarred and still alive meant that he had been in many battles and won them all.

"My brother tells me that you can keep your mouth shut," Jaime announced by way of greeting. "That's an unusual talent for a sellsword."

"He tells me that you shit gold," the sellsword countered back. "Just like your father."

Jaime's jaw clenched at that. He wished to be nothing like his father. He glanced around their location as he reached into the pocket of his doublet, "Is this place safe?" he asked as he threw a bag of gold at the sellsword, payment for the lesson. _Will anyone see us? Will anyone know that I'm a failure?_ was what he meant to ask.

Opening the back to inspect the contents the sellsword leaned back, squinting up at the sky, "There's this knight," he drawled out. "Can't think of his name, he's got thunderbolts on his shield?"

Jaime nodded, he knew the knight the man was speaking of. One from a lesser House. Jaime had never bothered to speak to him, let alone learn his name. It seemed that Bronn the sellsword felt the same way about the man. "Yeah?" he asked.

Bronn nodded, "Right here is where I fuck his wife," he informed Jaime, no shame what-so-ever. "She's a screamer, that one. If they don't hear her, they won't hear us."

Jaime was both disgusted and heartened by this response. He turned around and lifted his sword from where he had left it, leaning against a rock. It felt awkward in his left hand, clumsy, but the Valyrian steel was lighter than normal steel, he was able to hold it. Behind him Bronn let out a low, impressed whistle.

"I've never seen Valyrian steel up close before," he told Jaime. He nodded toward the sword in his hand. "She's a beauty." He glanced away, out toward the ocean as he said the next words, as if he knew that Jaime would not want him watching his face when he said them. "There's just one problem. If _you_ fight with an edged blade then I'll have to. And if _I_ fight with an edged blade then I'll have no one left to pay me."

He unwrapped the bundle he had carried down the stairs with him and pulled out two dulled blades. Holding one in his right hand he dropped the one in his left on the ground, leaving it there for Jaime to pick up.

Jaime glared at the sword as he walked over toward it, "I haven't used a sparring sword since I was nine," he grumbled. All the same, he left his sword on the oil cloth and bent down to pick up the dull sword that Bronn had left for him. He was caught by surprise a moment later when the flat side of Bronn's sword smacked down on the back of his left hand, causing him to drop the sword before he had even gotten a good grip on the thing. He turned, glaring at the sellsword.

"Bold warrior you are," he scoffed to hide his embarrassment, he picked up the sword again. "Attacking a man when his guard's down."

"Best time to attack a man," Bronn answered, swinging his sword up before bringing it down toward Jaime. Jaime threw the sword up to block the swing, it felt awkward in his left hand, but got the job done. He took a step away from Bronn, a slight retreat. "Besides," Bronn added, advancing on him again, "your guard should never be down."

The instruction was so similar to something that Jaime had once told Lenora while they were practicing together that it floored him. He realized, for the first time, that he needed a sparring sword, he was like a child. As much as he hated to admit it, he probably had the skill with a blade that his niece had had when she was five years old.

Bronn used his distraction to swing again.

The sword wobbled through the air as he swung at Bronn's blade, knocking it away from him. He did not want to be pinned against the rocks, he spun so that he was facing Bronn's back, a moment later the sellsword spun too, mimicking his movements. Bronn advanced again, once again Jaime was on the retreat, but at least he had the entire length of the stone pavilion.

The swords clashed together, Jaime's grip had been wrong, the force of Bronn's strike traveled up the blade and to his left arm. It hurt. Jaime could not remember the last time his arm had been sore from a sword fight.

"Watch yourself," Bronn warned. Jaime turned to ensure that he was not going to trip over any rocks. There was nothing near him. Before he could look up Bronn had rushed forward and shoved his left shoulder, sending him spiraling toward the the rocky wall of the cliff.

Jaime threw out his golden right hand to stop the fall and pushed himself off the wall so that he could turn to glare at the sellsword, "If I still had my right hand," he growled.

"Plan on growing it back?" Bronn asked, teasing, before he lunged forward.

Their blades met again and again and again as they moved the length of the pavilion. Jaime was always on the retreat. For a moment he was pleased that he was able to meet each of the sellsword's strikes, but then he realized that Bronn was probably going easy on him, moving slower than he usually would. Jaime wondered if Lenora had ever felt as insulted as he did now while they practiced together. At least he had never mocked her the way Bronn was doing now.

On their next run across the pavilion Bronn did not give him a warning before he shoved him, this time toward the ocean. Jaime stumbled one, two, three steps before he was able to brace himself against a small rock to stop him from falling head first into the water.

That was the last thing he needed; to be beaten, embarrassed, and wet.

He turned to face Bronn again, "Come on then," he growled, this time he advanced, swinging first.

They fought like this for almost an hour. By the time Bronn finally lowered his sword Jaime's left arm was shaking and he was covered with sweat. He did not want to be the first to give up though, so he waited until Bronn lowered his sword before he dropped his to the ground.

"No," Bronn told him, shaking his head, "you're not done yet, pick it back up."

"Are we going to keep sparring?" Jaime asked, he didn't want to admit how sore he was. How much he just wanted to rest.

"No," Bronn told him. "You're going to run through your guards. You're a knight, you should know them all, this should be easy for you."

Jaime shook his head, still breathing unevenly. He was faced with a dilemma: admit to being tired and sore, or admit that he did not want to run the drill because he knew his guards would be sloppy, incorrect, and weak with his left hand. One was an embarrassment, the other a failure. "I can't," he settled on.

"Can't?" Bronn echoed. "Or won't?"

"I'm tired," Jaime told him. "We'll run guards next time." _After I've gotten a chance to practice on my own,_ he thought.

"You'll run guards now," Bronn told him, not letting him off the hook.

Jaime sighed, but he did not try to fight again. He bent, picked up his sword, and then slowly, clumsily, unsteadily ran through all the guards just as he had once made Lenora do every day at Casterly Rock.

 _Guard of the woman, boar's tooth, window guard, half iron gate, front guard, left short guard, tail guard, left guard of the woman, full iron gate, left two horn, long point, left window, short guard, left front guard, two horn guard, left long guard._

If he had thought his arm was shaking after sparring with Bronn he had been wrong. It was nothing compared to now. His arm was shaking so much now that the blade was visibly shaking. Bronn watched him for a moment and then he nodded, "Again."

"Again?" Jaime asked, surprised. He had barely made it through the drill without dropping his sword and Bronn wanted him to do it again.

The sellsword nodded, "You can hold a sword," he told him, "that much is obvious. But your left arm is weak and your instincts are backward. You need to run it again. And again. And again. Build up strength in your left arm, forget the way you've fought your entire life. Learn new instincts, _left_ handed instincts." He paused for a moment and then he nodded, "Again."

Jaime sighed, but did as ordered.

At the end of the drill Bronn nodded, a wicked smirk on his lips, "Again."

...

He did not wait to be announced. He did not want to give his father warning, he did not want to give him a chance to come up with a lie or an explanation. And to be honest he was too angry to wait. _Angry_ wasn't even the right word. He was _furious_.

His father looked up from the book he had been reading when Jaime slammed his way into the solar. The elder Lannister raised his eyebrows, surprised. Of the three children he had in King's Landing _Jaime_ was no doubt the least likely to come storming into his chambers unannounced. And yet, here he was.

"Jaime," he greeted, closing his book. "I must say that I am -"

"Surprised?" Jaime cut in, he didn't want to hear his father's voice any more than he had to. But at the same time, he _needed_ to hear his father admit to what he had done. "Trust me, Father, you are no more surprised than I was when I learned that Robb Stark and his mother were murdered at a wedding." He paused, waiting for Tywin to say something, the older man said nothing, so he continued. "Apparently the Freys and the Boltons took it upon themselves to murder their own _king_."

Tywin did not look ashamed. He shrugged his shoulders, "The boy may have had a crown, but he was no king. He was fool enough to think that the crown on his head made him safe. That it made him powerful."

Jaime shook his head, as much as he had hated the boy when he was his prisoner, Jaime could not listen to his father gloat about his death now. "You never met him, _I_ did. That _man_ was no fool. He knew the crown didn't make him safe. He wore it a lot more wearily than Joffrey does now. He thought that his army and his men made him safe. He had never lost a battle, and yet for some reason his men turned on him anyway."

Tywin still did not react.

" _You_ defeated him," Jaime added, finally admitting that he knew. He and Tyrion had gotten drunk during their midday meal and Tyrion had finally told him everything. The entire truth of Robb Stark's messy end. He laughed when he noticed his father raise his eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise. "You think I would believe that Walder Frey was brave enough to act on his own?" he asked. "You're a bigger fool than you thought Robb Stark if you think that." He shook his head, "Robb Stark had never lost a battle. _You_ were afraid. You weren't sure if you could beat him on the field. And so you beat him in a wedding hall." He shook his head, "In front of Len."

If the mention of Lenora did anything to make Tywin feel some sort of shame the old man did not let on. His eyebrows dropped, his jaw twitched, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Jaime. "You disapprove." It was not a question. Tywin Lannister was not an oblivious man, Jaime had made it quite clear that he disapproved of his father's actions.

"I understand that you must win by any means," Jaime told him. "But to slaughter the man at a wedding. In front of -"

"Explain to me," Tywin interrupted, his voice hard, "why it is more _noble_ to kill ten thousand men in battle than a dozen at dinner."

Jaime laughed, a sound full of bitterness and disdain, "So that's why you did it?" he asked. "To _save_ lives?"

"I did it to bring an end to this war," his father answered. "I did it for our family."

Jaime chuckled again and shook his head, "Our family?" he asked. "Who exactly, Father? For your daughter who had her own husband killed? For your eldest son, a cripple and an embarrassment? For your youngest son, who you barely look at though all he does is beg for your approval? For your grandson who wanted to serve a dead rival's head to the man's sister or his own sister? For your two youngest grandchildren, who you barely look at? Or was it for Lenora, who thanks to _you_ got to stand in the hall and watch while her husband was killed by his own men?" He took a deep breath, "Really, I can see how much this has helped our family."

Tywin stood up from his seat, his fists resting on the table in front of him, for the first time in his life Jaime learned what it was to be on the receiving end of one of Tywin Lannister's glares. "I did it for the Lannister name," Tywin told him. "For our legacy. _Your_ legacy." The look he leveled Jaime with was one full of disdain, "If you want to write a song for the dead Starks, go ahead, write one. When we get Lenora back, comfort her and swear you had nothing to do with this. But I am on this earth for a little while longer and I will do everything I can to protect the Lannister name."

Jaime shook his head, "The North will never forget," he warned his father.

"Good," Tywin told him with a nod. "Let them remember what happens when they march on the south."

Jaime glared at him and shook his head, "I see," he agreed. Then without another word, without another glance he turned on his heel and stormed out of the chamber.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

She would never understand. He knew that much, knew it in the very core of his being. She had been angry when he had married Sansa, but she had allowed herself to hope that first morning when she had changed the bedding and realized that he had not slept with Sansa. And every morning after that, every morning the sheets were still clean she hoped some more.

Shae loved Sansa, and she had been grateful to him for taking care of the girl. For watching over her without forcing himself on her. Her anger had soon faded. From time to time her jealousy appeared, when she watched Tyrion and Sansa in public in a way that she and Tyrion could never be. But she still loved him, she still came to his bed.

She still believed that they would be together forever.

And now, he was going to catch her completely off guard and send her away. She would not understand. She would not go willingly. She would never understand that he was doing this for her own wellbeing, that he was trying to protect her. That he was trying to keep her safe.

As much as it would hurt him to hurt her, he couldn't be gentle with her. If he was gentle she would believe him still in love with her and she would refuse to go. He would have to be cruel.

She hadn't even entered his chambers yet and he already hated himself.

She didn't knock when she entered, she never did. He was going to miss that about her. He did not turn from the window when she walked in, he didn't want to look at her. He knew that one look at her happy, smiling face and he might second guess himself, he might decide that he could keep her in King's Landing, that he could keep her safe. "Don't," he ordered, turning only slightly so that he could make sure she stopped walking toward him.

Her smile faltered, only for a moment, but then it was back in full force as she sat down on his desk, "You want me on the desk?" she asked, her voice brimming with confidence. He still didn't look at her as he walked away from the desk, trying to put as much space as possible between them. He heard the rustle of her skirts as she stood up, he could picture her brows furrowed in confusion and worry as she watched him. "What is wrong, my lion?" she asked him, for the first time her voice didn't sound confident.

She was afraid.

"Don't!" Tyrion ordered as she took a step toward him. He turned, finally looking in her direction, though his gaze was trained on her feet rather than her face. "Don't call me that."

"What should I call you?" she asked, still unsure of herself, still worried.

"I'm afraid our friendship can't continue," he told her. There was no use avoiding it or drawing the conversation out. He was going to hurt her no matter what. There was no avoiding that. He shouldn't stall.

Her brows smoothed out, the worry was gone. She was no longer concerned, if he looked up he would have been able to see a light pink blush tinting her tanned cheeks. She was starting to become angry. " _Our friendship_?" she echoed.

He turned away from her, toward the window. He couldn't even look at her shoes, they were too tempting. "There's a ship out in the harbor bound for Pentos," he told her, speaking to his curtains. "You'll have your own cabin, of course. And across the Narrow Sea, a house, servants."

Her voice cracked, "What is this?" she asked.

"I'm a married man," he told his dresser. "My wife has suffered a great deal." This time when he turned to look at her his gaze found her face, to drive home his point, "As _you_ well know." He looked away again. That look had been necessary, to remind Shae of how much Sansa Stark meant to her, but it had been dangerous. She looked as if she were about to cry and all Tyrion wanted to do was run across the chamber to her, hold her, tell her he was an idiot and that he would love her forever. But he couldn't do that. Shae must be kept safe. "I don't want her to suffer any more on my account. I _must_ uphold my vows."

The almost tears were gone from Shae's eyes as she walked forward. She was smiling at him again. They had had this conversation quite a few times, she thought she would win again. She underestimated his resolve to keep her safe. She moved closer to him. "She doesn't want you," she told him, not apologizing for how much that might hurt Tyrion. " _You_ don't want her _._ "

"I have to do right by her," Tyrion cut in, speaking over her. "By our children." He hoped that his mention of children would make Shae realize that he was serious. That it would make her realize that at some point he would have to bed Sansa, that she would bear him children with the Lannister name while Shae would never be able to do that for him.

She studied him for a moment, her head cocked to the side. "What are you so afraid of?" she asked him.

"I'm not afraid of anything," Tyrion countered.

"You are," she argued.

He shook his head, he was afraid. He was terrified of losing her, he was terrified of his father or his sister using her against him. He still could not look at her as she gave voice to all of his fears, as she assured him that they would face anything that came at them together and that they would win. She was not going to go easily, he realized. He had not hurt her enough. He was going to have to hurt her even more.

She reached out for his shoulders, trying to touch him, "It's like you said," she begged him to remember, "I am yours and you are mine."

"You're a _whore_!" he yelled, the word tearing out of his throat, ripping his heart out with it. He had never called her that before, he had refused to let her call herself that. He lifted his gaze to her face, if he was going to take back everything he had ever told her he should look her in the eye while he did it. She was staring at him, her dark eyes filled with pain. The hands that had been reaching for his shoulders stilled, hanging in the air between them for a moment before they dropped to her sides. He swallowed the apology he wanted to give her, he couldn't take his words back. And truthfully he didn't want to. _This_ was the only way to make her leave.

"Sansa is fit to bear my children and _you_ are not. I can't have children with a _whore_. I can't be in love with a _whore_. How many men have you been with? Five hundred? Five thousand?" He shook his head and looked away from her. He couldn't take the pain and anger swirling together in her dark eyes.

"And how many whores have you been with?" she bit out.

Tyrion did not answer, "I have enjoyed my time with all of them. And I have enjoyed my time with you most of all," he addressed the belt tied around her waist, it was the closest he could come to looking her in the eye. "But now that time is over."

He marched past her, ignoring the impulse to grab her hand. He opened the door to his chamber and nodded to Bronn who entered. Then he marched back toward his desk, the very desk she had offered to fuck him on only a few minutes previously. She was crying, he could hear it. Her back was turned to him, so he was able to look at her. Her shoulders shook with her sobs. He looked down at his hands, he shouldn't have looked. He could feel his resolve crumbling.

"You will have a comfortable life in Pentos," he told his desk. "Bronn will escort you to the ship."

The loyal sellsword moved forward and placed a gentle hand on Shae's shoulder, meaning to escort her from the chamber. She wailed as she threw his hand away from her with one hand and slapped Bronn's cheek with the other. And then, without a single last look at Tyrion she fled from the room.

When Tyrion looked up Bronn was staring at him, his left cheek was red, his eyes were sympathetic. Tyrion shrugged his shoulders, unsure of what to say. Bronn nodded, the shorter man did not need to say anything. "I'll see her safely on the ship," he assured him. " _You_ have a wedding to prepare for."

* * *

Author's Note:

So I'm not going to lie. Given what we know Shae did to Tyrion, I have never felt bad for her in that scene. But my heart has _always_ broken for Tyrion. So Tyrion's part was really hard for me to write.  
And the only thing I could do to keep it even somewhat bearable was to add some humor to it. Which is why for most of the difficult conversation Tyrion is addressing various pieces of bedroom furniture.  
Anyway, it amused me. And I hope that it amused some of you as well.  
Thank you for coming by and reading. Thank you in advance for the wonderful reviews you're about to leave me. And as always, the BIGGEST thank you to those of you who reviewed the last chapter.  
You're heroes. And rockstars. And wonderful human beings.  
And this update is for you.

 _magclot23:_ Yay! I'm happy I'm back too! I'm sorry I had you waiting so long. That had never, EVER been my intention. But I am so glad that you stuck around. Unfortunately ... it's going to be a while before Robb and Lenora are reunited. But it'll be good when it happens. I promise you that.

 _BrittStar1199:_ Your feeling is 100% right, my friend. I had to save Sansa from that fate. I couldn't do that to her. She's just a baby!

 _HPuni101:_ You're so welcome for updating! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you loved this update as well!

 _Melmela:_ Oh sweet friend! I'm so glad that I have you (mentally) jumping for joy! I'm so sorry you were tired, hopefully you're more awake for this chapter! And I am happy to write for you guys again!

 _LokiLova:_ You honestly have no idea how happy I was to update again (and this one too!) Hopefully the writer's block is gone (knock on wood) this chapter came a bit easier than the last. I'm glad you're happy about Robb.  
As for your question ... will Lenora hear of his return before she sees him again ... probably not. Half the kingdom wants him dead right now, the other half doesn't even know where Lenora is so there'd be no way to reach her with the news. And unfortunately for Freys ... anyone who sees him turns up dead.  
So it's going to be a pretty well kept secret ... for now.

 _janaoliver:_ I'm so glad that you're happy I'm back! I'm happy to be back! And hopefully I will not leave you guys alone for this long again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As for Robb and Lenora, it won't be toooo long before the reunite again, you know ... just thirty or so chapters ... bahahaha (not going to tell you if that's the truth of it or not!)

 _Guest1995:_ It was hard. Because I wanted to write, but nothing was flowing right (at least not for the GoT universe. I had plenty of words for Les Mis). And then pair that with knowing that you guys were waiting for me and I was disappointing all of you. And Lenora was without Robb all alone with the Boltons and if I didn't come back that's where she would be stuck. Forever. It was a pain in the ass. And the more days that went by the more of a pain in the ass it became and the more of a pain it was the less I wanted to write. And it was this whole repeating, chicken and egg scenario that sucked.  
But I think I'm back! And there will definitely be more GoT fan-fic goodness on the way (hopefully as evidenced by this chapter). Thank you so much for your review! And your encouragement.

 _DannyBlack70:_ I've missed this story. And I've missed you! (In a totally non-creepy, internet stranger kind of way ...) Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. As for Grey Wind, of course he's with Lenora. Robb before he spent some time dead, would have wanted it that way. And I imagine in a few chapters or so there might be a flashback or memory where Robb remembers sending Grey Wind after her (hint hint).  
As for Jaime, of course he's going North. Poor Myrcella gets no love from me. Mostly because with the exception of giving us Bronn's rendition of _The Dornishman's Wife_ that trip to Dorne was a complete waste of time. And I refuse to acknowledge it.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you dear! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _darkhairedgirl121:_ Yay! I'm glad I updated then! And I'm super glad that I didn't make you wait as long for this update. Enjoy.

 _12D3 Gorillaz:_ It is Lord Stoneheart. Though ... his heart's not going to be as stoney because the person he loves most in the world is still out there somewhere. So he's not going to be a completely stone cold mother f*cker. At least not forever.  
As for Len and Ramsay ... you'll just have to wait and see.  
But we all know what Roose seems to want.  
Regardless of what happens between Ramsay and Lenora ... I promise there will be no rape. I will never write a rape scene. Can't do it. Dub-con ... maybe? But never rape. And I find it very unbelievable that Lenora would ever give dubious consent to the likes of Ramsay Bolton.

 _darkwolf76:_ Damn it Tyrion is right! Lenora does need help. As for Cersei doing something stupid, there are plenty of stupid things she does in the future. Though, taking a glance at my outline you might not be grateful for it when it happens. As it is, if you can't tell by the last sentence of this chapter ... she's going to be a little distracted soon. What with how weddings always seem to end up in murder in this universe. I am glad my writing makes you care though, I won't apologize for it, it's good to hear that.  
I love Jaime and Tyrion bonding scenes. They're honestly my favorite. They're brothers and they love each other more than like almost anything in the world. And they don't get enough screen time together (or page time) and I hate it. So I'm trying to remedy it here. As for your hope for them both going North together with Bronn ... They'll both end up in the North, perhaps not together, the North is kind of big after all.  
You're welcome for the Hound and Arya. I love the two of them together, I do a happy dance every time I think about them. So of course there's going to be quite a bit of it in this story (especially knowing that they're going to meet up again this season and that he's no longer on her list).  
You've guessed it ... Roose wants to marry Lenora to Ramsay. And unfortunately for Lenora, things are going to get a bit worse before they even start to look like they might get better. (You'll see in the next chapter ... I wrote it this morning). And don't worry, somewhere down the line, she's going to kick some Bolton ass, perhaps with the help of a northern bastard that I actually like. (read: love.)  
Thank you! It's good to be back. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last.  
And don't worry about the language... as long as it's praise I don't mind cuss words. My own mother says that I cuss like a sailor, though I don't know how she would know that because she has never been around sailors and I try not to cuss in from of her...

That's all I've got for this afternoon!  
Thank you guys so much for sticking with me! You're beautiful!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	58. Chapter Fifty-Eight: Taken

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Eight: Taken_

 _Sansa_

Sansa was becoming accustomed to living in hell. And each time she got used to her current circumstances, each time she thought that they could not get worse, they did.

She thought King's Landing after her father had been imprisoned had been hell, but then Joffrey murdered him.

She had thought that being Joffrey's betrothed and play thing had been hell, but then he set her aside.

She thought being set aside had been hell, but then she was given to Tyrion.

She had thought being married to the Imp had been hell, but then Joffrey had told her how her family had been murdered.

She thought being the last Stark in the Seven Kingdoms was hell, but then she was forced to sit through Joffrey's wedding ceremony.

Margaery looked beautiful, and if she had been marrying any other man Sansa would have been so happy for her. But she was marrying Joffrey and Sansa could not celebrate that. She could not celebrate that her kind, sweet, dear friend was going to be forced to be with that monster for the rest of her life.

Joffrey looked handsome as well. Tall, strong, chivalrous. He was everything a king should be. And for one moment Sansa found herself thinking back to when her mother and brother were still alive, to when her father was still alive and they were traveling to King's Landing. Back when she had thought Joffrey was a kind prince, when she had delighted in his attention, back when she had begged her mother to allow her to marry him.

She swallowed the lump of jealousy that seemed to rise in her throat. She would have every reason to be jealous of Margaery if Joffrey had turned out to be the prince that Sansa had once believed him to be. But he wasn't. He wasn't brave. He was not kind. He was not strong. He did not have a chivalrous bone in his body. He was a monster who did not care for the people of his country, who enjoyed torturing and humiliating helpless girls for the sins of their family. He was cruel. He was harsh. He was terrible.

And no amount of fancy clothes or pretty words would be able to hide that for long. She hoped someone would kill him, slowly and painfully. She prayed that she would be there the day it happened.

And she glanced at the little man beside her. Tyrion Lannister, her husband. And she realized for the first time that she was grateful for him. For everything that he had done for her. For everything he continued to do for her. They were not a _true_ husband and wife, not as they were expected to be. But he was her friend. One of the few she had left.

After Margaery and Joffrey kissed, putting a seal on their marriage, the onlookers clapped. Sansa managed three sarcastic claps of her hands. Tyrion did not clap once. He glanced up at her, his eyes full of sympathy, "I know you once thought it would be you up there," he whispered to her.

She stared at him, suddenly realizing with a flash of surprise that he thought her lack of enthusiasm was because she was jealous that it had not been _she_ who married Joffrey. She shook her head, her gaze darting away from him toward Cersei, one row in front of them. "We have a new queen now," she murmured, knowing in her heart that at least Margaery would be a kinder queen than Cersei had been.

Tyrion's voice was soft, but full of warmth and care when he whispered, "Better her than you."

...

She had watched him through the entire beginning of the feast. He had always been kind to her, even the first time they met. He had always been gentle with her, always been warm. But his gaze had always been distant, he had always held her away from him, even when he was trying to take care of her or comfort her. There had always been walls between them.

But not today. Not now.

Whatever walls he had built around himself had come down. For the first time, looking in his green Lannister eyes, she saw _real_ emotion in them. And it broke her heart. He was sad. She didn't know why, she couldn't imagine what could upset Tyrion Lannister this much, but she saw it. Every time his gaze landed on the ocean, every time he turned toward the harbor, there was a sadness in his eyes.

Whenever he smiled, his eyes remained sad.

He was still distant, but it was a different sort of distance. He was there with her, attending to her needs, holding her hand when it was expected, whispering comforting words to her when he thought she needed to hear them. But she could tell that he wanted to be anywhere else.

She wondered what was down at the harbor that had so much of his attention.

As the uncle and aunt of the king and his new queen they were required to sit up at the table of honor on the dais. Sansa did not like it, she would have much preferred to be anywhere else, hidden among the crowd, out of Joffrey's reach. But she was terrified of Joffrey, terrified of the queen, terrified of Lord Tywin. She could not make a fuss. She could not appear displeased. She needed to be the perfect courtier. And so, she forced a serene smile onto her face and allowed Tyrion to lead her to their seats.

As always, Tyrion thought of her first. He sat her on the outside edge, as far away from Joffrey as possible. He put himself between her and the rest of his family, a shield. Her smile was not as fake when she looked down on him now, there were times when she was convinced that he was too good to her.

Cersei had planned a large, wonderful feast. There were seventy-seven courses. There were seven singers, each of them performing their version of _The Rains of Castamere_ , there was a trained bear, fools, jugglers, pyromancers, pipers, trained dogs, and sword swallowers. If the feast had not been in honor of such a horrible man Sansa might have delighted in it. She had always dreamed of being able to attend a feast such as this when she was a young girl.

But now, she could barely eat a bite. It was only through Tyrion's whispered encouragement that she managed to swallow enough food to seem polite.

At the end of the seventy-seven courses, before the pigeon pie was brought out, Joffrey stood before his guests, calling for silence. "There's been too much amusement here today," he announced as his guests began to quiet. "A royal wedding is not for amusement. A royal wedding is _history_. The time has come for us to contemplate our history." He paused. "My Lords, my Ladies," Sansa could not be sure, but she thought that he took a moment to look solely at her. It was a quick glance, she would have thought that she had imagined it if Tyrion had not tensed beside her. "I give you King Joffrey!"

Sansa felt her brows furrow, it seemed strange that he was announcing herself, but a moment later a small man came running out of the crowd, a sparring sword held high. It was a dwarf, dressed to look like Joffrey riding a horse.

"Renly Baratheon," Joffrey continued. And out came another dwarf, a brunette this time, riding not a plush horse but a plush man one with curly blonde hair. She closed her eyes, she knew there would be more. Three more to be exact. And one of them would be dressed as her brother. "Stannis Baratheon, Robb Stark, Balon Greyjoy." The king paused for dramatic effect, "The War of the Five Kings!"

Everyone in attendance clapped because it was expected of them. Very few looked excited at the spectacle before them.

As the five dwarves ran around each other, hopping and cheering, striking playfully at each other Sansa kept her eyes trained forward. If Joffrey looked at her it would seem as though she was watching the pretend battle, but instead she was looking over it, at the people in the audience, watching how they took the scene in.

She heard one of the dwarves yell, "I'm the King in the North!" and she tensed. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Tyrion turn toward his right, glaring down the length of the table, first at Tommen for laughing, then at his sister and father for allowing this to continue, and then finally at Joffrey for arranging it all.

She turned slightly to see how the Tyrells were handling it. Sitting beside a laughing and cheering Joffrey Margaery looked horrified, her grandmother looked disgusted, Loras looked as though he might cry.

Though she was not watching the pretend fight, she could not cover her ears. She could still hear it.

The dwarf dressed as Stannis made quick work of _beating_ the pretend Renly. Loras Tyrell quickly stood from the table and stormed away. Sansa wished that she could do that as well.

The pretend Robb knocked the little Balon Greyjoy to the ground and claimed victory.

As the pretend Joffrey turned his attention toward the dwarf Stannis, making a mockery of the Battle of the Blackwater Tyrion signaled to Pod, silently calling the young boy to him. "Pay each of them twenty gold once this is done. I'll have to find another way to thank the king."

"Sansa!" she heard someone calling down the table. She didn't need to look to know it was Joffrey, his voice held the same joy in it that it had the day he had his men strip her chest bare and beat her in front of his court. "Sansa! Are you watching? This is the best part!"

Despite knowing better Sansa allowed her gaze to fall on the two final dwarf kings - the pretend Joffrey and the pretend Robb. She felt tears spring to her eyes as she watched them run at each other as if they were jousting.

Once.

Twice.

On the third run the blonde dwarf used his lance to knock the pretend wolf head off the brunette dwarf's head. Joffrey was cackling as the one pretending to be Robb stumbled and fell to the ground. Some in the crowd cheered out of true enjoyment, some cheered because they did not want to anger their king, but many remained silent and stoney faced.

Sansa looked to those faces, wondering if any of them would ever be brave enough to stand up to Joffrey. Among them were Varys, the Dornish prince Oberyn, and, most surprising of all, Jaime Lannister.

The dwarf version of Joffrey jumped out of his plush horse and spun around in a circle at the center of the floor, claiming himself the victor. Then, as one final insult to Sansa, he picked up the wolf head and spun in a circle, thrusting his hips into the opening and howling three times in each direction, pretending to fuck it.

A tear slipped down Sansa's cheek. Tyrion reached out and silently placed his hand on top of hers, giving her what little comfort he could.

For the first time since their marriage she flipped her hand over while he held hers, allowing their fingers to interlace. She was holding his hand just as tightly as he was holding onto hers.

"Well fought," Joffrey announced, standing up and almost offering the champion's purse to the dwarf version of himself. But then, as an after thought he invited Tyrion to fight the dwarves.

Sansa barely heard a word of Tyrion's mocking speech toward his king. But she felt the drops of wine hit her hand as Joffrey poured his wine goblet over Tyrion's head.

Margaery tried to call Joffrey back, calling him _my love_ , and telling him that it was time for her father's toast. "How does he expect me to toast without wine?" Joffrey asked, mocking. He turned back to Tyrion, "Uncle, you can be my cup bearer, seeing as you are too cowardly to fight."

"Your grace does me a great honor," Tyrion told him.

"It was not meant as an honor," Joffrey snapped back.

Tyrion gave her a look as he let go of her hand and started to stand from his seat. In that moment Sansa found herself wishing that she could save him, as he had saved her many times. But there was nothing she could do except offer to be the cup bearer herself, and she would not do that. No matter how kind Tyrion had been to her.

When Joffrey handed Tyrion his goblet he purposefully dropped it and then kicked it under the table. In front of all of the guests Tyrion would have to crawl under the table to retrieve it, this was one embarrassment that Sansa could save him from. She picked up the goblet and, without looking Tyrion in the eye, she handed it to him.

Tyrion filled the goblet with wine when Joffrey ordered him to. But he would not kneel, no matter how many times Joffrey ordered. Sansa felt her muscles tense in her seat, she was sure that at any moment Joffrey would order that his uncle be beheaded. But Margaery, sweet Margaery broke the tension by standing with a wide smile on her face, "Look!" she called out, pointing, "the pie!"

There was a collective sigh of relief as Joffrey took the goblet from his uncle and allowed Tyrion to return to his seat. Then, after taking a sip he handed the goblet to Margaery so that he could pick up his sword, a beautiful Valyrian steel sword that had been gifted to him that morning, so that he could cut open the pie.

Tyrion smiled ruefully at Sansa's sigh of relief when he sat down beside her again. He reached out for her hand, this time she thought that perhaps it was _he_ who needed comfort, not her. She let him take her hand.

After the pie had been cut she leaned closer to him, "Can we leave now?" she asked him.

He leaned closer to her, "Let's find out."

While Joffrey was distracted by his lovely bride feeding him pie Tyrion and Sansa started to move away. But it was as if, even with his back turned, he was watching for them, because without turning around Joffrey called out to Tyrion, asking him where they were going. Tyrion made some sort of excuse, but Joffrey would not hear a word of it. He ordered his uncle to come back and continue serving his wine. Tyrion whispered to Sansa, asking her to wait where she stood as he moved around the king to grab his goblet from in front of Lady Olenna and hand it to the king.

Joffrey took a sip, and then another. He started coughing. Margaery cried that he was choking. Lady Olenna ordered those in the crowd to help their king. Jaime Lannister came running forward, pushing people out of the way with his golden hand. It was chaos, everyone was yelling, women were screaming. Cersei pushed Margaery out of the way as Joffrey fell to the ground, vomiting, his face was turning purple.

Sansa listened to her husband, he had asked her to wait for him. But as she stood, watching the scene in front of her she remembered her wish from earlier in the day. She had wished that someone would kill Joffrey, and she had prayed that she would be there to see it.

She felt someone standing behind her, she did not need to turn, the moment they spoke she knew who it was. "Come with me," Ser Dontos, the knight turned fool, ordered her. "If you want to leave you _must_ leave _now_."

She turned, without thinking she gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her away from the chaos surrounding the fallen king.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She had been at the Dreadfort for a week now and she had seen nothing but the inside of her chambers. She had not been locked in them, Roose Bolton had been telling her the truth when he told her that she would have free reign of the castle. But every time she left her chambers Theon followed her. Her pity for the man from the first day had quickly subsided to anger. While she did not believe that any man deserved what Ramsay had done to him Theon did not deserve her pity either.

She could not stand having him follow her around like a quiet, whimpering shadow.

So she stayed in her chambers. She took her meals in her chambers. She took no visitors. Lady Walda attempted to visit her for the first few days, but by now, even the foolish Frey girl had stopped trying.

Which is why it surprised her when a knock sounded on her chamber door. She turned toward it, she could only guess who was on the other side of it. She did not tell them to enter. If they wanted to speak to her she would make them feel as intrusive as possible. Whoever was waiting for her on the other side of the door did not enter, they did not call out to her, they knocked again.

She sighed, "Enter," she called out, her voice hard and cold.

No one entered her chamber. They knocked again.

She stood from her seat by the window and moved toward the door, yanking it open. Theon was standing in front of her. She glared at him, "What do you want?" she growled, unable to keep the hatred out of her voice, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it. She wanted her voice to be as cold as ice, and as hard as steel. She didn't want any emotion to bleed through, because even hatred and anger meant that she felt something.

She wanted to be stone.

Theon whimpered, his gaze dropping quickly to her feet, "Master Ramsay wishes for your presence in the Godswood," he announced, gesturing out toward the corridor behind him.

Lenora stared at him for a moment, her right eyebrow arched, before she turned and walked back into her chamber. She left her door open and silently took a seat, making it quietly clear that she did not wish to join Ramsay in the Godswood.

Theon's whimpering noises got louder, "Princess," he entreated her, "please. He wishes to see you."

She scoffed, "And I do not wish to see him," she told Theon. She glanced at him, "Or you for that matter," she added disdainfully.

"He _ordered_ me to escort you," Theon told her.

" _You_ may allow him to order you around. But I will not have him believing that he has the same freedom with me," Lenora defended herself. "You may tell him that if he wishes to speak with me he may come to my chambers himself and speak with me. If not, I have been told that I am allowed to go anywhere in this keep, and I choose to stay _here_."

Theon shook his head quickly, his eyes filling with fear as he took two skittish steps into her chamber. He looked around, timid, as if he was worried that someone would jump out and attack him for entering her chamber. "Please, Princess," he begged her. "He will punish me if you do not come. I was sent to get you, I must get you. We've already taken too long."

Lenora watched him, both eyebrows raised now, "And why does the bastard want to see me?" she asked Theon.

"Don't call him that!" Theon whispered quickly, "He hates it."

"He is one," Lenora told him with a shrug of her shoulders. "Hating it won't change that." She was quiet for a moment, "Now, tell me why he wishes to see me."

"He has news, Princess," Theon whispered. "From King's Landing. He means to share it with you. You must come, please. Hurry."

Lenora leaned further back into her chair, she watched as Theon's shoulders sank, he thought she would say no. Perhaps she still should. She was quiet for a moment, "I'll come," she told him. "If," his eyes shot up toward her face briefly at the word, "you say my name."

He had barely spoken to her since she had arrived at the Dreadfort. He never said her name. He called her _Princess_ , he had rarely called her that when they were at Winterfell together. He was ashamed. Ashamed of what he had done to her husband. Ashamed of what he had done to the boys. Ashamed by any part he had played in what had happened to Robb. By not saying her name he was hiding from his shame. She would allow it no more.

He whimpered and shook his head.

She ducked her head, trying to make eye contact with him, he would not meet her eyes. "Theon," she called out.

" _Reek_ ," he whispered, shaking his head.

" _Theon_ ," she corrected. "What is my name? Say my name and I will go with you. That's all you need to do."

"Reek," Theon whispered, more to himself than to her. He was silent for almost a minute and Lenora was sure that he was going to simply turn and run from her room when he glanced up at her face, for just a moment, "Lenora," he whispered.

His voice cracked, she could hear it even in the whisper. He was broken, that much she could see. So very broken, perhaps even more broken than she was. She saw in him an echo of what she had allowed herself to become in the first few days after Robb had died. But so much worse. Perhaps, even at her worst she had been an echo of Theon's pain, not the other way around. She wondered what sort of pain and humiliation Ramsay had put Theon through to turn him into this. She could feel the pity for the creature coming back. She swallowed it down and thanked the Gods for whatever little bit of fight she had, grateful that she was not as far gone as Theon Greyjoy.

She sighed and stood up from her seat, "Lead the way," she gestured toward the door.

Still whimpering, Theon led her out of her chamber and to the Godswood.

Winterfell had been the first Godswood that Lenora had ever seen. Perhaps stupidly she had believed that every northern Godswood would be as beautiful and wild as the Stark's. The Dreadfort's Godswood was definitely wild, though it was less beautiful and more foreboding. The plants and trees all seemed to be dying.

Lenora felt a chill run up her spine and she wrapped her arms around herself underneath her cloak in an attempt to stave off any more chills.

Ramsay had been sitting on a fallen tree, sharpening his knife, when they approached. He turned toward them and smiled, "Ah! Reek! You were able to bring her? I had thought you would fail. Good job."

Theon seemed to stand up straighter under Ramsay's praise. It made Lenora sick. She glared at Ramsay, "Why am I here, Ramsay?" she asked him. Her voice gave away no hint of emotion. "Theon said that you had news from King's Landing." She did not miss the way Ramsay's pale eyes tightened into a glare when she did not call Theon _Reek_.

"Come, my Lady," Ramsay invited her, forcing his eyes to relax, he gestured toward a spot on the fallen tree beside him. "I believe you'll want to sit for this news."

"Do you?" Lenora asked him. "And why do you believe that?"

"It's best to hear about the death of a beloved family member while sitting down," Ramsay told her. He shrugged his shoulders, "At least that is what I have heard."

 _Jaime_ , Lenora thought, taking a step closer to Ramsay and his dead tree. _Tyrion_ , another step. _Myrcella_ , another step. _Tommen_ , a fourth step. _Mother_.Soon she was standing beside him. He did not say anything, simply gestured toward the empty space next to him.

Careful not to touch him she perched herself on the dead tree beside him. Then she turned to look at him, "I'm sitting," she announced. "What is your news from King's Landing?"

He smiled at her, a wicked, teasing twist of his lips. "First I must congratulate you, Princess," he told her. "You have several new family members, from what I have heard. Sansa Stark has married the Imp and became your aunt. Margaery Tyrell has married your brother and become your new sister."

"That's wonderful," Lenora told him, though she was sure that there was absolutely nothing _wonderful_ about either of those two marriages. No matter how wonderful she thought her uncle Tyrion was, Sansa would not have gone into the marriage willingly. And Margaery, the poor girl would quickly learn what a monster her new husband was.

She was quiet for a moment before she glanced at Ramsay, "You don't need to stall, Ramsay," she told him. "I would like to hear the news from King's Landing. Who," she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Who have I lost now? Who has died now? Why am I here? Why did you send for me?"

"The wine was poisoned at your brother's wedding feast," Ramsay told her, smiling as if this could be good news. Lenora's eyes widened, she wondered how many people died\drinking the poisoned wine. Perhaps she had not only lost one family member, but several. Ramsay reached out and patted her hand, as if he was trying to comfort her. Her fist clenched but she would not allow herself to pull away. "Thankfully it was only the King's wine, it would seem. Someone wanted to, and succeeded at poisoning the king."

Lenora was quiet for a moment. Waiting for the pain to come. Whatever Joffrey had done, no matter how much she wanted him dead. There had been a time when he had been her baby brother. She thought that perhaps when he died she would at least be able to mourn the sweet baby that he had once been. But she felt no pain. She felt no sadness. She felt nothing.

Perhaps she had spent so much time in the North that her blood had turned to ice water.

Perhaps she had already lost so much that she could mourn no more.

"Who?" she finally asked.

"It seems that with his last dying breath your brother managed to point to his killer," Ramsay told her.

" _Who_?" she asked again. He was playing games with her. She didn't have time for it. "Who did he point at, Ramsay?"

"The Imp."

It seemed that she was very capable of still feeling pain. Because the moment Ramsay named Tyrion for Joffrey's killer she felt a tightness in her chest that she had not felt for anyone save Robb since the Twins. Her heartbeat quickened, her breath sped up, she felt tears spring to her eyes. Her mother had never loved Tyrion, she had always treated her younger brother with hatred and disdain. She would take this as a chance to be rid of him.

"They'll kill him for this," she whispered.

"Oh no doubt," Ramsay agreed with her.

She turned to glare at him, "What are you doing here?" she asked him, bitterness creeping into her tone.

He smiled at her, reaching out to pat her hand again, "I'm here to comfort you, Princess," he told her. "You have just lost your husband and your brother. And now you will soon lose your uncle."

She glared at him, she did not want him there. What was more was that she was sure that he knew that she didn't want him there. He could not torture her like he tortured Theon, she was much more valuable to his father. He could not physically hurt her, but he could emotionally hurt her. That's what he was doing now.

"Believe me," she told him. "I have no intention to grieve or mourn. And if I did, I would sooner take comfort from Theon, the man who betrayed my husband, than I would take comfort from you. Bastards do not get to comfort princesses."

Theon had warned her not to call him that. He had told her that Ramsay did not like to be reminded that he was a bastard. But she had, perhaps stupidly, believed that she was safe. That he could not harm her. Which is why she was caught by surprise a moment later when he slapped her across her right cheek.

He moved quick, like a snake. Before she knew he had slapped her he had already pulled his hand away from her face. Her cheek stung. Slowly, as if in a daze, she lifted her hand up to her cheek, she wondered if it would turn red. She stared at him for a moment in a wide-eyed daze, she could not believe that he had dared to touch her.

She stood up quickly from the tree trunk. She was afraid of him, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know that she was afraid of him. So she clenched her jaw and moved closer to him, glaring at him. She waited until she was in his face before she spoke, "I don't now who you think you are," she hissed at him. "All I know is that you are a bastard. And you will _never_ raise your hand to me again."

He was smirking at her, as if she was amusing. The smirk did not reach his eyes though. He leaned closer to her, wrapping his hand around her wrist. "You're not in control here, Lenora," he told her, no longer politely calling her _princess_. "There's no one to save you, no one coming for you. If I wanted to hit you every day I could do it and no one would stop me. You understand?"

Lenora wrenched her wrist out of his grasp. She didn't want him touching her. She did not want him anywhere near her.

He was still smirking. He glanced over her shoulder and nodded, she didn't need to look to know that Theon was lurking in the trees. "The princess needs to be taken to her chamber. See to her face, would you. She's prettier without any marks."

Theon waited until they had left the Godswood before he whispered to her, "I told you not to call him that."

Lenora turned to glare at him. "And you would know, wouldn't you?" she asked him. "Coward."

Theon shook his head, "You would be afraid too," he promised her. "If you knew."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

She could not understand when her life had taken such a terrible turn. She had been blessed as a child, the only daughter of Casterly Rock, the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, married to the king of Westeros. And while being married to Robert Baratheon had not been everything she had hoped that it would be, she had been his queen - the wealthiest, most powerful woman in the world.

Over the years she had given the kingdom four children: two princes and two princesses. And all four had been _beautiful_. They were bright, intelligent, happy children. They had made her happier than she had ever been in her entire life. And perhaps she had been foolish. Even with the girls, especially with the girls. She had always known that her daughters would be married off, but despite the preparations and betrothals, a part of her had refused to accept it. A part of her had always believed that her children would never leave her.

For all of his speeches about protecting the Lannister name, about building a legacy, her father had never understood. Perhaps he never would. Winning this war was not their legacy. Her children were.

And where were they now? What had happened to them?

Dead. Lost in the North. Lost in the South.

Three of her children were gone. And she wasn't sure if she would ever see them again.

They had brought him to the Sept, so that the High Septon and the members of his family could stand vigil for the requisite three days before they buried him. Cersei was only required for a few hours each day, but she stayed, she was there waiting for him when they brought him in, dressed like the king he was and she would be there every minute until they buried him.

Perhaps she would remain in the Sept afterward as well, perhaps she would live there now so that she could always remain close to her son. Her perfect son.

She stood with Tommen beside her, staring down at her son. He wore his crown, his hands folded over the crossbar of his new Valyrian steel sword. He wore a black velvet doublet. His skin looked so pale next to the dark fabric. The Silent Sisters had painted rocks to look like eyes and placed them over her son's real eyes.

She hated those stones. They were the wrong color. They were blue. Her son had green eyes. Lannister eyes. No one in their family had blue eyes. Her fingers twitched with the impulse to take the stones off his eyes, to run her fingers one last time through his golden hair. It was improper though. Instead she clasped her hands in front of her and blinked back tears as she stared down at her son.

It would not do to have the queen crying in the Sept. She must be strong. It was expected.

Tommen fidgeted beside her, her jaw clenched. For a brief second she hated her youngest son. The boy looked sorry enough at Joffrey's death, but she knew that a part of him was happy. With Joffrey dead, Tommen would be king, something that had seemed impossible a few days ago. Her youngest son would be looking forward to his coronation.

She missed her daughters. If Lenora and Myrcella were here they would have mourned Joffrey properly. They would gain nothing from his death and so their sadness would not tainted with excitement. She wanted them there so desperately that it hurt. But they had been stolen from her. First Robert had stolen Lenora when he betrothed her and sent her off to the North. And then Tyrion had stolen Myrcella when he sent her to Dorne.

Joffrey was the second child Tyrion had stolen from her.

And this time, she would make sure that he paid for his crime.

Tommen stirred beside her and she looked up from Joffrey's face, prepared to scold her youngest son for his impatience when she saw her father walking toward them. That was good, her father had not stood vigil for Joffrey yet, it was good that he was there.

But the older man barely looked at her dead son as he came to stand on the other side of him, staring at Tommen across the body. He had not come here for Joffrey, she realized, he was here for Tommen.

"Your brother is dead," he announced, not even bothering to keep his voice quiet in respect for the dead king. "Do you know what that means?" Cersei cast Tommen a sideways glance, silently ordering her only living son to keep his mouth shut. _Here_ and _now_ were not the time or place for this conversation. Her father sighed, no doubt taking Tommen's silence for meekness instead of respect. "I'm not trying to trick you."

Without looking at his mother Tommen spoke now, at least he spoke quietly unlike his grandfather. "It means that I'll become King," he whispered.

"Yes," Tywin told the boy with a nod. "You will become King. What kind of King do you think you will be?"

"A good King?" Tommen asked, unsure of himself.

"Yes, I think so too," Tywin agreed with the boy. Cersei did not miss the proud smile that flashed momentarily across Tommen's face. He was pleased with his grandfather's praise. "You've got the right temperament for it. But what do you think _makes_ a good King?"

Cersei pursed her lips and shook her head, but Tommen did not heed her silent warning. He was no longer afraid of her, he was going to be King after all, and he finally had his grandfather's attention. Cersei had never been blind to her father's blatant favoritism when it came to her children.

Even though she was a girl Tywin had adored Lenora. She was his firstborn grandchild, quick witted and bright, wild, and beautiful. Even though she would do little for the Lannister name he had delighted in her. When she lived at the Rock he had traveled there often to spend time with her, to watch her practice her sword play, to train her, as one would train a son, to lead men and plan battles. Though he never said the word _love_ Cersei had seen it in the way his eyes glinted every time Lenora was near him. It was an unselfish love, there was no ulterior motive in his attention, she would not rule the country, she would bring him no honor but he loved her all the same.

Joffrey he had paid attention to not because he loved the boy or because he found him delightful or entertaining. He had a vested interest in Joffrey because the blonde haired boy would become King after Robert. He had not been as happy to speak to Joffrey, he had not been as willing to spend time with him. Where talking to Lenora had been a delight, talking to Joffrey had been a chore that her father had endured so that when Joffrey became king, Tywin _might_ have his ear and his loyalty. He had not loved Joffrey, he had only loved what Joffrey could do for House Lannister.

As for Myrcella and Tommen, he had barely paid attention to them. They were not his firstborn grandchildren, they were more tame than Lenora, better behaved, less forward and enchanting. And they would not become king. He had no time for them, not interest. They could do nothing for him. In her father's cold, green eyes her two youngest children had been nothing but _spares_.

So of course Tommen would jump at the chance to be the only thing Tywin Lannister looked at. Of course he would be excited at his grandfather's attention and praise. Of course he would set aside the desire to please his mother in favor of the desire to please his grandfather. It still hurt though. Before Joffrey had died Tommen had still been her sweet little boy. Now her father was trying to steal him from her. That was a theft that she could blame on Tyrion as well.

Today, she realized, that she had lost all of her children.

As Tywin led Tommen out of the Sept, without even a backwards glance at her, Cersei glared at him. She would never forgive any of them for this.

A few moments later she felt _him_ standing beside her. She didn't need to look to know who it was, she had heard him approach her. Even after all these years the sound of his footsteps was still _so_ familiar. It was only right that he was here, Joffrey was _his_ son after all. Perhaps the Gods had had a purpose in taking Tommen away, that it was to give Joffrey's parents time to mourn his loss together.

She reached out for his hand and to her surprise he allowed her to hold his hand. This was the first time her brother had willingly allowed her to touch him since Tommen had been born. He must have realized just how broken she was. Without looking up from her son's face she whispered, "He was _our_ son, Jaime. _Ours_."

"I know," Jaime whispered.

"And _he_ took him from us," she continued, she didn't need to say who _he_ was, Jaime would know. "You saw how he pointed. Joff pointed straight at _him_."

"You can't know that's what he meant though," Jaime soothed her, trying to protect his younger brother.

That made Cersei angrier than anything else could have. For the first time since Joffrey had entered the Sept she turned from his face. She glared at Jaime, "I _can_ know that!" she hissed at him. " _Our_ son pointed at him with his last dying breath! _He_ killed our son! I cannot believe that you are taking his side in this! Why do you always take the side of others over me? First it was Lenora when she was born. Now it's Tyrion after he poisoned _your_ son!"

She lifted her hand to slap him, but instead she gently placed it on his cheek. Then she took a step forward, leaning in to press a kiss against his lips. It had been so long since they were last together that she could barely remember what it felt like to have his hands on her body. She hoped that her grief might be enough to persuade him to give in to her. She _needed_ him.

Out of instinct he lifted his right hand to push her away. The golden hand bumped clumsily against her left shoulder. A moment later he had turned away from her lips and used his left hand to successfully push her way.

"You are a hateful woman," he whispered to her, not looking at her. "One of your children is dead, two are in danger and you are trying to seduce me while standing vigil." He shook his head. "I have to go."

He started to walk away. "Jaime!" she called after him, waiting until she heard his footsteps stall before she continued. "You'll stay here, in King's Landing, until after the trial? Won't you?"

"I will," Jaime told her, his voice a whisper. "I'll stay for both of you."

And there it was, as always, he loved Tyrion more than her.

He loved Tyrion more than he loved his own son.

Finally she allowed the tears to slide down her cheeks.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hey friends! Happy GoT day! I thought I'd celebrate with an update if that's alright with you?  
I must apologize again, I go on a lot of vacations during the summer and this week was no different. I headed out to Hawaii on Monday and got back home late last night. Now I like you guys, and I like this story ... but it was Hawaii. There were not going to be any updates when I was out there.  
Tomorrow I head back to work so I wanted to make sure that I got this update out before then. But I do have good news! I don't have to work next Saturday and Sunday and so an update might be coming sooner than usual!  
YAY!  
Anyway, thank you for sticking around. Thank you for reading, for adding this story to your alerts and favorites lists, for adding it to your communities. And of course, thank you for your reviews! I live off of them!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you dear! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one. I'm not going to lie, the Boltons give me the creeps too, but I love writing about them. It's like when I was writing Joffrey, it's fun to put my mind there, you know? There's going to be a lot of Boltons in the next block of chapters, so strap in!

 _writingNOOB:_ I don't think Roose has his eyes on the Iron Throne, he's smart enough to know that he can't get that. There's a chapter coming up where he explains himself to Lenora so I do not want to give too much away. But I would imagine that he thinks he can control his son, he thinks the people of the North will be loyal to Lenora, he probably thinks that if he marries Lenora to his son and the marriage is consummated that the Lannisters will have to honor it and in doing so they will give Winterfell to Lenora and her husband. Unfortunately for him, Lenora is not weak and she won't go along with his plans easily. The Boltons are in for some fun.

 _Dudtheman:_ Don't worry, it's not a pipe dream. I hate watching rape scenes, I hate reading about them, and I absolutely refuse to write them. So whatever Ramsay Bolton tries to do to Lenora, a rape will not be successful. It's going to be a while before Robb and Lenora meet up again, but he's in the next chapter. I wrote it this morning.

 _ILSAIDE:_ Hello! I'm glad you liked the story so far! Chapter nine is a good one. Let me know when you get to chapter fifty-eight! Thank you for your review!

 _Vulcran:_ I won't tell you how Ramsay dies, partially because I have not decided yet. I've played around with several different scenarios. But it's difficult because while it would be wonderful for him to be flayed, Lenora will be the one to kill him and she would never flay anyone. So it's got to be a satisfying death, while being true to what Lenora is capable of. Fine line there. But I promise there will be a whole chapter dedicated to it.

 _12D3 Gorillaz:_ Rip his throat out with her teeth ... that's a fun idea. Hmmm... be right back, gonna go play around with my outline.

 _Guest (1):_ I'm sorry that you feel that way. At least I got the beautifully written part. That's nice.

 _BrittStar1199:_ Unfortunately Cersei is not going to send troops to the North. She's going to be busy going insane over her brother's trial and everything happening in King's Landing. But Lenora will stay strong. And she's going to get out of there just fine. A little beaten, perhaps, a little broken. But she's strong enough to handle it.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! Did you enjoy this chapter as well?

 _darkwolf76:_ Thank you! I get really worried when I write character point of views like Joffrey or Ramsay. They're so far from my usual personality that I'm worried I'll make them too nice. Or I'll go overboard on making them evil and they'll turn into a cheesy parody of themselves. So it's nice to hear I write them well. As for Lenora killing him, I'm going to play with them for a bit longer before that happens. Cause it's fun (perhaps I'm more sadistic then I like to think ...)  
It's no secret, I love writing Jaime. He's one of the reasons that I wrote this story, I needed a paternal Jaime in my life and no one had one. So not only am I happy that you enjoyed that section, but I'm ridiculously happy that you called Lenora his daughter. Because you're right, Jaime raised her. As for him and Bronn they will be taking a field trip north because I hate the Dorne story line and I refuse to write it. (Also because I'm pretty sure Lenora and Bronn would love each other and have a lot of fun making fun of Jaime together.)  
Tyrion does deserve a break, unfortunately for him it's going to be a while before he gets it, but it will come in the form of a much awaited reunion so I don't think anyone will mind.  
No Robb in this chapter unfortunately, but he'll be in the next update, I promise.

 _Guest (2):_ Thank you, I'm glad you love the story and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Guest1995:_ You do give good encouragement. Which is why I am always sad when I have to dash your hopes. Lenora's not going to escape from the dreadfort. She's going to go with them to Winterfell first so she's with them for a while. But when she does escape (and get her eventual revenge) it will be good.  
I don't blame you about not wanting to watch Theon's journey... it's a rough one. But as evidenced by Jaime, I take the characters I like (example: Theon) and I give them redemption in this story when I feel like the show/books don't do it justice. So Theon's on his way.  
As for Jaime and Lenora. Of course there's going to be a part where she forgives him. DNA, withstanding, he's practically her father. She _has_ to. It would break my heart if she didn't.  
And I'm not in the business of breaking my own heart, just all of yours.

 _rottingmermaid:_ Oh you're a love! Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad that you've enjoyed this story to this point and I hope that you continue to enjoy it! And I'm glad that you like my characterization of everyone. They're all such loved characters that every chapter I'm worried that I'm going to mess it up somehow. It's good to know that I haven't yet.

 _fallondyson:_ I'm sorry it took me so long, but here is your update my friend! I hope you enjoy it!

 _Guest (3):_ Oh you just make me so happy! Thank you so much for your review! I'm ridiculously honored they you enjoyed this story so much that you had to leave your first review EVER! (I did a happy dance when I read that!) By all means, keep the story bookmarked because I am most definitely still updating!

 _Gamemaster77:_ Binge read is definitely a term, don't worry! I'm encountering it more and more the longer this story becomes. More new readers who all seem to catch up ridiculously quickly. I applaud you guys, really. I could not read it all in a binge session and I wrote the thing.  
I'm also really happy that you like that Lenora doesn't have the power to stop cannon events. I've had a few reviews where people wanted Lenora to change something, but that's not possible. The Red Wedding, for example, a single woman (no matter how strong she is) would not have been able to stop that. I created Lenora to give redemption or happy endings to some of my favorite characters, not to completely change the story. So I'm glad that you appreciate that. (And I'm glad that you love her points of view!)  
I couldn't kill Grey Wind. I don't know how the showrunners kill direwolves. I can't do it. I can write that they died, but I can't describe it. So Grey Wind had to live. And he's following Lenora right now. If you read my author's notes you know that Lenora is going to make it to the wall eventually so it's a pretty good bet that there will be a direwolf reunion in the works.

 _Wallflower:_ Another binge reader! Welcome! Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad they you've enjoyed the story so far and I hope you enjoyed this update as well!

 _Alice Monita:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so far. Made it to chapter fifty-eight yet? And that is a huge compliment. I hope you know how much of an honor it is to be compared in any way to GRRM. Seriously. Thank you.  
As to the moment you're talking about. That was a complete brain fart on my part. Sometimes my fingers get ahead of my mind and I forget what characters know and what they don't. I'm sorry for any confusion!

 _Guest (4):_ I'm glad you like the story? But what is it that disgusts you?

 _Guest (5):_ One sitting, Jesus! That's pretty solid. Thank you for reading all of that! And thank you so much for leaving a review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Saffronellen_ : Another binge reader! I am surprised every time I read a review from one of you! Thank you so much for giving this story a chance. I'm glad that you enjoyed it.  
I'm glad you've enjoyed how I constructed this. At the beginning I'm sure there were some people who were confused about why I started by writing so in depth about her childhood, but it was both selfish and self-preservation really.  
Selfish: I wanted a paternal Jaime and no one had one so I wrote one.  
Self-preservation: There's so many beloved characters in this universe that if you're going to introduce an OC you have to give the reader a reason to like them and to root for them.  
The fact that you say she feels canon is a huge compliment. Thank you for that.  
And don't worry, you don't sound dramatic. I am thrilled that you are so passionate about her! Thank you for telling me!

Okay dudes, that's all I've got for this one this week!  
Have a FANTASTIC week and I'll see you back here soon!  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	59. Chapter Fifty-Nine: Wolf Dreams

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Fifty-Nine: Wolf Dreams_

 _Sansa_

 _Take him!_ She could still hear Cersei's desperate cries in her head. Even after days at sea. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear the broken screams, the desperate cries, her immediate orders that the Kingsguard arrest Tyrion for Joffrey's death.

When Ser Dontos had told her it was time to go she barely hesitated. There was a small part of her that had wanted to stay; a scared, childish part of her that _needed_ to watch him die. She wanted to be sure that he was truly dead, that there was nothing more he could ever do to her.

But she was smarter than that. She knew that in little more than a moment Cersei's mind would jump from Tyrion to her and that in no time they would be looking for her. Whatever had happened, whoever had done this, they had made it impossible for her to remain in King's Landing.

Despite her fear and confusion a giggle had bubbled up in her throat as Ser Dontos pulled her through the empty streets and the alleyways, heading toward the water. Whatever had happened, and she wasn't sure that she would ever hear the truth of Joffrey's death, she was finally _free_.

She would leave King's Landing. She would leave Joffrey and his taunts and cruelty. She would leave the queen and her open hatred. She would leave the lords and ladies who had been so kind to her when she was Joffrey's betrothed but had turned on her the moment she was no longer in his favor. She would leave all the fear and pain. She would leave all the horrible memories. She would leave it all.

She remembered Tyrion and for a moment she felt sorry that she would leave him. He had been kind to her. He had tried to protect her in his own way. She had been terrified and embarrassed when she had first been forced to marry the man. She had heard the court's taunts and had allowed them to color the way she looked at the man who called himself her husband. But he had been good to her. He had never forced her to do anything she wasn't comfortable with. He had never hit her. He had never yelled at her. He had taken no joy from the deaths of her mother and brother.

He had taken care of her. He had forced her to eat when she would have starved herself. There was that time when he had first come back to the Red Keep when he had protected her from Joffrey. He had married her in an attempt to protect her from any other fate the Lannisters could have come up with. And if Joffrey had let them leave after the battle of the five dwarves he would have taken her away from that horrible wedding and no doubt told her jokes until she was able to forget the reenactment of her brother's murder.

She wanted to ask Ser Dontos if they could not turn around and go back for Tyrion. Once they were away from King's Landing she would ask him for a divorce, he was a good man and she knew that he would give it to her. He would no longer be her husband, but they could be friends. He would need an escape from King's Landing just as much as she did.

But it was a stupid thought, she knew that the moment the question came to her lips. She bit down hard on her tongue to stop herself from asking. Even during that frenzied run from the Red Keep she could still imagine Cersei's voice in her head. She could still hear the distraught screams. And the order.

 _Take him!_

There was nothing she could do for Tyrion Lannister.

She could only save herself now.

Their escape from the Red Keep was an odd combination of sprinting and hiding. When Ser Dontos first told her that he meant to save her she had thought that he would bring her on the most direct route to the harbor. She had thought that before they even rang the bells at the Sept of Baelor to announce the death of the king she would be on a ship on its way out of Blackwater Bay. But they spent a good part of the afternoon hiding in alleyways and abandoned shacks, always just one step ahead of the Kingsguard or the gold cloaks that were rushing through the streets looking for her.

Ser Dontos had found her a cloak that she could wear to cover her recognizable red hair, but it would do little to hide her fine dress. She was sure that if they were caught she would be recognized and apprehended in an instant.

 _Take him!_

So she trusted Ser Dontos, just as he had asked her to do all those moons ago in the Kingswood. She ran when he told her to run. She hid when he told her to hide. She never spoke a word. She never questioned him. Her mother had raised her to be a lady, she had trained her to obey orders. And although she was of a higher station than Ser Dontos, during their escape she obeyed every whispered order he gave her.

The first time she spoke was at dusk when Ser Dontos brought her to a small rowboat. It was waiting for them in a cave by the bay. The cave looked so abandoned she wondered if the Gold Cloaks even knew it existed. "Where are we going?" she asked him, her voice little more than a whisper.

"Somewhere safe," he promised her.

The rowboat did not look safe. It looked old, some of the wood was rotting. She wondered if it would even stay afloat with the two of them in it. But with one glance over her shoulder in the direction of King's Landing she realized that anything was safer than what lay behind her. Even if the boat did sink with the two of them in it, even if she did drown in the middle of the Blackwater Bay it would be a better death than whatever Cersei intended for her.

She stepped into the boat without a second thought.

She stepped into the boat without a single regret.

 _This_ was her first step to freedom.

It was a cloudy, overcast night. She supposed that there might be a moon shining somewhere, but here over King's Landing the clouds blocked out the light. It was as if the Gods themselves wished to help her escape. She felt safer than she had ever felt as soon as their little row boat was out in the bay. Even if they thought to look in the bay, none of the Gold Cloaks would see them.

She was out of sight. And out of the queen's reach.

 _This_ time when the laughter rose in her throat she did very little to silence it. She was free. She did not know where she would go, but she trusted Ser Dontos when he said it would be safe. _Safe_ , she had not felt safe since her father's death. One death had taken her sense of safety away, and another had given it back.

"Careful, my lady," Ser Dontos warned as he rowed them through the water. His strokes were strong and sure and for the first time that evening Sansa realized that she could not smell alcohol on his breath. Her dear knight who always seemed drunk had stayed sober for her tonight. Perhaps her beloved fairytales that Arya had made such fun of her for could be true. "Don't laugh too loudly, they might not be able to see you, but they can still hear you. We're not out of danger yet."

"Of course," she whispered, her laughter coming to an end immediately, but she could not keep her smile off of her lips. "Oh Ser Dontos!" she whispered, her hands reaching out for his before she realized that he needed both of his hands to row. They settled in her lap. "You've done it, my brave knight! You've rescued me!"

He smiled at her, glancing nervously over his shoulder toward the capitol, "I have, my lady, just as I said that I would."

She wanted to stay awake, it would have been more prudent. But after his reassurance that he had rescued her she felt her eyelids become heavy. It had been a long day, filled with many surprises, and she was tired. With the feeling of safety came a better understanding of the toll King's Landing had taken on her. It had been many months since she had gotten a full night of sleep.

"Rest, my lady," Ser Dontos told her, his voice soft. "It will be a few hours yet before we reach the ship."

"The ship?" Sansa asked around a yawn.

Ser Dontos chuckled, "Did you think that I was going to row you all the way to Winterfell?"

"Winterfell?" Sansa echoed, a smile finding its way to her lips her eyes began to close. Resting was another order that she would follow. "I'm going home?"

"Eventually, I'm sure," Ser Dontos promised her. "As soon as it is safe."

 _Winterfell_. There had been a time when she had been so happy to leave her home, so excited. She had begged her mother to make her father take her with him when he traveled with the King to King's Landing. She had been so stupid, her mother and father had wanted to keep her at home. She would have been safe there. But she had begged and pleaded until they had given in.

She had been such a child then. King's Landing had seemed an adventure to her. Joffrey had seemed the perfect prince. Queen Cersei had seemed kind. The King's Guard had seemed full of courteous and brave knights. Everything had seemed perfect.

But it had all been a lie.

King's Landing was not an adventure, it was a nightmare. Joffrey was not the perfect prince, he was a monster. Cersei was not kind, she was horrible and cruel. The King's Guard were cowards who would beat up a young girl because they were ordered to do so. Nothing was perfect.

And Ser Dontos, the drunk fool, was the bravest man she knew.

...

It was full dark and the ocean was covered in a thick fog when Ser Dontos woke her up. They were approaching a large ship. When Sansa looked behind him for the lights of King's Landing she could not see any. She wondered how far into the open ocean Ser Dontos had brought her and her heart swelled with gratitude. It would have been a difficult task to row that boat out of the bay, but he had done it.

Because he cared for her.

She was also filled with a sense of wonder and doubt at the ship they were approaching. It was large. She could not imagine how Ser Dontos would have been able to afford it. This plan must have been set in place for months, she wondered who else was helping her.

Once Ser Dontos had swung the small rowboat around so that it was next to the ship a rope ladder was lowered down for her. Ser Dontos stood, working hard to balance himself as he held out a hand toward her to help her to the ladder, "Up you go, my lady," he told her. When she hesitated he smiled at her, "You'll be fine," he assured her. "You're stronger than you know."

He was the first person who had ever called her strong. She wanted so desperately to believe him.

She started to climb.

As she neared the top she was faced with the dilemma of climbing over the ship railing, it was much too high to step over. She was sure that she could climb over it, but it would not be in the most ladylike fashion. She cursed silently to herself for worrying about being ladylike, Arya would never worry about such a thing.

Before she could even attempt to climb over the railing a pair of hands closed around her upper arms and hoisted her over, placing her feet solidly on the deck of the ship before letting go of her. She had been afraid for a moment, only Joffrey and his men had ever handled her in such a way. But she reminded herself that Ser Dontos had brought her here and that he trusted whoever was waiting for her to keep her safe.

She squinted through the dark to see who had helped her onto the ship. "Lord Baelish?" she asked, surprised.

"Petyr," he told her, his voice soft and gentle. In the darkness she felt more than she saw his eyes sweep over her body, head to toe. "Are you alright, my lady?" he asked her, his tone colored with concern. "Are you hurt?" She shook her head, too surprised to speak. "Good," he told her with a nod. "Good. I'm sure you've had quite a fright, but rest easy. The worst is past."

"Lord Baelish," Ser Dontos called up from the rowboat below. Sansa jumped, in comparison to Petyr Baelish's husky whispers, Ser Dontos' voice seemed too loud, too harsh. "I promised that I would get her to you safely."

Sansa's head turned sharply toward the ship railing. _Ser Dontos had promised Lord Baelish that he would get Sansa to the ship safely_? But she had thought that it had been Ser Dontos that had wanted to save her, now it seemed that Lord Baelish had been the one to plan the entire thing. She felt lied to. And for a moment a feeling very much like suspicion began to build in her belly, but then she reminded herself that it didn't much matter who had planned her rescue. All that matter was that she was now safe.

"Softly, my friend!" Petyr whispered over the railing. "Voices carry over the water."

"I should get back," Ser Dontos whispered up. "Before they notice that I'm missing."

Sansa moved toward the ship railing, she hadn't realized that Ser Dontos would not be coming with her. The suspicion was back again. She did not know Petyr Baelish very well, now Ser Dontos expected her to sail to Winterfell with him?

"You're not coming?" she asked, her voice less than a whisper.

It was easily covered up by Lord Baelish's louder whisper of, "First you'll want your pay, ten thousand was it?"

"Ten thousand," Ser Dontos confirmed, not meeting Sansa's gaze.

Petyr snapped his fingers and Sansa heard another man approach the ship railing on her right. She assumed that the man would drop a bag of ten thousand gold dragons or silver stags down into Ser Dontos' row boat. But instead she watched fear cover her knight's face, she heard his whispered _wait_ , she watched him throw his hands up in front of his face as Baelish's man fired a bolt straight into his chest.

She screamed.

Lord Baelish quickly clapped his hand over her mouth as he pulled her away from the edge of the ship, threatening her with promises that the queen would hear her and the Gold Cloaks would be after her until she quieted.

And then he told her in whispers how everything Ser Dontos had told her had been a lie. About how he had only helped her to make himself rich, not because he cared for her. That it had been Petyr's plan all along to rescue her from King's Landing, that Ser Dontos had only been a pawn, the necklace a fake, the story of his grandmother nothing more than that - a story. And now he would be their cover. He would be found soon enough and one of the Gold Cloaks would claim that he had caught him helping Sansa escape, that he hadn't been able to recover Sansa, but he had killed the man who helped her.

They would stop looking for her in King's Landing then.

She hadn't wanted to believe him, but the evidence had been overwhelming. Her rescue was another one of King's Landing's lies. Her brave knight was nothing more than a drunk who rescued her for gold, not for honor.

And now he was dead. Just like Joffrey. Just like her father. Just like everything she had once thought was good and true in the world.

...

Lord Baelish had told her that he was going to take her home. And for her first day on board the ship she had believed him.

But on her second day she began to doubt him.

She was sure that Lord Baelish very rarely told people the truth. But she knew that he had told her the truth once, though she had been too stupid to hear it.

She heard it now.

Everyone in King's Landing was a liar.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

"They buried the king today," Podrick told him by way of greeting as he let himself into the tower cell that Tywin had thrown him in. "Your nephew, I mean," he stuttered. "Joffrey, not Tommen."

Despite himself, Tyrion chuckled, "I'm aware _which_ nephew I was accused of killing, Pod," he told the boy. "That is not exactly what I meant when I told you to bring me news. I could hear the bells from here. I knew he was buried this morning."

"Right," Pod told him with a nod, he seemed to be embarrassed by Tyrion's scolding. "Of course."

Tyrion sighed, he shouldn't have felt bad, the boy was a fool. Anyone with a brain between his ears would have known that when Tyrion asked for news he did not need to be told about the king's funeral. But all the same Pod was one of the few who had not abandoned him. He had been locked in this tower for over a week and he had only had two visitors: Pod and Bronn. Jaime had not even come to see him.

"I'm sorry Pod," he told the boy, making sure that his voice was softer than usual, an apology all its own. "Seeing the same wall, the same floor, the same face," he nodded toward the boy, a silent recognition that the squire visited him every day to bring him food, "day in and day out can grate on one's nerves. I've been irritable. But I should not have taken it out on you."

"You take things out on me all the time, my lord," Podrick told him with a shrug. "I wouldn't know who you were if you didn't."

Tyrion chuckled again, it was truly pathetic how much he looked forward to these visits. How far he had fallen in such a short time. "Now that we've gotten that out of the way, what have you brought me?"

Podrick nodded and quickly knelt on the ground in front of Tyrion. He supposed that he should be grateful to his father, Cersei would have thrown him into one of the Black Cells, but his father had at least granted him a tower cell and a bed, nothing else. If he had one wish he would have wished for a chair. _No_ , he thought as he watched Podrick unpack the wine sack and food he had brought with him. _If I had one wish it would be for a whore_.

He snorted at his own thought, it would have made his days more interesting at least.

Pod mistook his snort for one of derision at the food he brought. "There wasn't much that I could steal from the kitchens, my lord," he told Tyrion, apologizing. "Your sister, the queen, has ordered that you be given a rather bland diet. All the kitchen maids know that I am your squire, they would only give me so much for fear of the queen."

"Perhaps it is time that you find yourself a new employer, Pod," Tyrion sighed as he uncorked the wine sack and took a long draw from it. "A squire needs a knight, I am neither a knight nor likely to live long past the next moon."

"All due respect, my lord, you're not dead yet," Pod told him, for a moment Tyrion thought that he was making a joke, he laughed, but when he looked up at the young boy's face he saw how sincere he was. "And if it's all the same to you, I'd like to see my duty through to the end. I'm no quitter, my lord."

Tyrion smiled at that and took another, smaller sip of wine, "No you are not, Pod," he told the boy. "But as your employer I will have to order you to leave King's Landing as soon as the trial ends. As you said, people know you are my squire, the capitol will not be a kind place to you once I'm gone. I wouldn't be surprised if my sister did not find some way to blame you for my nephew's death as it is."

"Oh, I'm sure she thought about it," Pod told him with a nod. It was almost charming, the way this boy had no courtly filter. He said what he thought and he did not care how people felt about it. It was brave. And Tyrion liked him for it. "But I've been called for a witness instead. I suppose they think I will sell you out to save my own skin."

"And will you?" Tyrion asked the boy, his eyebrows raised.

"Only if you tell me to, my lord."

Tyrion chuckled, low and dark, "I would never order you to do that. But at the end of the trial, earlier if it seems that they might turn on you, I order you to leave King's Landing." He felt the need to repeat his order because he was not sure if Pod had listened to him the first time he gave it.

"And where would have you me go, my lord?" Podrick asked. "Who would take me?"

"Go north," Tyrion suggested. "Put as many leagues between you and the capitol as possible. Find my niece, find Lenora, she would take you if only because I sent you to her."

"And will she be in need of a squire?" Podrick asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Perhaps," Tyrion told him with a shrug. "She will most definitely be in need of a friend."

Podrick was quiet for a moment and then he nodded. "You wanted news," he said as Tyrion began to eat the bread and meat he had been given. "Obviously I do not know how you rank the importance of your news. So you ask me questions, I'll answer them as best I can."

"Fair enough," Tyrion agreed with a nod. He thought quietly for a moment, ranking the importance of his questions. "When will my trial be?"

"Within a fortnight," Podrick answered, his voice full of certainty. "Your sister wants to crown Tommen as king before the trial. To give more legitimacy to it, but the king will not judge you. He's too afraid."

"It will be my father then," Tyrion mused quietly.

"I don't know, my lord," Podrick answered.

Tyrion shook his head, it hadn't been a question. "It will be my father, Pod," he told the boy. "I will be judged and no doubt sentenced by my own father." Podrick looked down at his hands, wanting neither to confirm nor deny Tyrion's assumptions. Tyrion sighed, "And Lenora?" he asked, his second most important question. "Is there any news of Lenora?"

"She still has not been returned to King's Landing," Podrick told him.

 _Of course not,_ Tyrion thought bitterly. If Lenora were in the Red Keep she would have visited him. And she would have dragged a sheepish Jaime with her. "But is there any news of her? Does anyone have any idea of where she might be? Littlefinger? Varys?"

"Littlefinger has not returned from the Vale, my lord. And I'm not allowed in the Small Council meetings," Podrick told him, his brows furrowed as if he was afraid that he had disappointed Tyrion.

"I _know_ that, Pod," Tyrion sighed. "But have you heard any whispers? This is the Red Keep. There are no secrets here. Surely you might have heard _something_."

"There have been whispers, my lord. Nothing more. I heard one of the Red Cloaks saying that they had heard that Princess Lenora had been seen at White Harbor."

"White Harbor?" Tyrion mused.

"Yes, my Lord," Podrick agreed. "A port city in the North. Just northeast of Moat Cailin. On the White Knife."

"I know where White Harbor is, Pod," Tyrion sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "That's quite a ways north of the Twins, and much further away from King's Landing than she should be. Lord Bolton will have her of course, perhaps he did not like my father's terms?" It was a rhetorical question, Pod knew nothing about Tywin's agreement with Roose Bolton and even if he did he would have no way of knowing what the northern lord had felt about the reward for the Red Wedding.

"He was made Warden of the North," Podrick supplied. "Those terms are likable enough I would imagine."

"He was made Warden of the North for a time," Tyrion corrected. "Those last three words are important Pod. He would rule over Winterfell until I had a son by Sansa Stark. We told him that we would give him Arya Stark for his newly legitimized bastard -"

"You don't have Arya Stark," Podrick interrupted

"Fine then," Tyrion sighed, this boy was trying his patience today. "We would give him a girl that he could pass off as Arya Stark. His bastard and the changeling would be given a good stronghold in the North and would be in the line of succession for Winterfell after my children by Sansa."

Podrick thought about it for a moment. There had been a time when Tyrion had thought that his squire was an idiot, but as he had gotten to know the boy he had started to realize that he took in everything he was told and learned from it. That he might have been a bit slower than most, but that he was _learning_. That was more than he had ever been able to say about Joffrey. "It seems to me that Princess Lenora would have been a better prize than a girl pretending to be Arya Stark," he said softly.

"Exactly," Tyrion agreed. "And with the Ironborn holding Moat Cailin there is no way my father or sister could get an army up to the Dreadfort to take her back."

"Would you really need an army?" Podrick asked, his brows furrowed. "Lord Bolton somehow got her north of Moat Cailin. Most of his force is still south of the Moat. Seems to me that a small force of men could do it."

"And if my brother still had both his hands he would have already set out after her," Tyrion told the squire. "But there is no one that Lenora would trust besides Jaime. And if he were to go now it would be a death sentence." He was quiet for a moment, thinking about his brother. When they were younger, children, Tyrion had always looked at Jaime like one would look at the sun. Brief, quick glances, shielding his eyes from his brother's brilliance. All of that was gone now. With the loss of his sword hand Jaime had lost most of what made him _him_. Tyrion hardly recognized his brother anymore. "Have you managed to speak to Jaime?" he asked Pod, his third most important question.

Podrick shook his head, "He won't speak to me," the boy told him. "And he won't answer my notes. Though I suppose he's been busy as of late. What with King Joffrey's death and the upcoming coronation for Prince Tommen. I'm sure that after it has all settled down he will come to visit you."

Tyrion nodded though he did not believe it. Bronn had come to visit him too several times. They had talked about Jaime as well. The sellsword turned knight had told Tyrion that he and Jaime still practiced sword play every day. He had told him that Jaime refused to talk about him or the trial, no matter how many times Bronn prodded him.

Even when things settled down he doubted that Jaime would speak to him. Perhaps he thought that Tyrion really had killed Joffrey. He knew that Jaime loved him and they had never talked about it, but Joffrey was Jaime's son. With Tyrion on trial for Joffrey's murder it would place Jaime in a very difficult position between his love for his brother and his duty to his son.

 _And then there's Cersei to think about_ , the voice in his head needled him.

"Back to the trial," Tyrion muttered, shaking his head, trying to forget how much his sister hated him. "You're being called as a witness. Who else?"

"A few servants," Podrick told him with a shrug.

"That Cersei is paying, no doubt," Tyrion interjected.

"If you say so, my lord," Podrick agreed with him. "And Cersei herself. The Queen Regent seems very certain that she will win her case."

"My sister is nothing if not sure of herself," Tyrion told the boy. "And Sansa? Will my wife be called to give evidence against me?"

"The Lady Sansa has not been seen since the wedding feast," Podrick told him. "I thought I had told you that."

"You didn't," Tyrion deadpanned. "Where is she?"

"No one knows," Podrick answered. "The queen is desperate to find her, she sent an entire company of Red Cloaks after her. But no one in the city has seen her. They say she made it out before the gates were shut. She could be anywhere now."

"Not anywhere," Tyrion told the boy. "She'll be in the North soon enough."

"Why is everyone going north, my lord?" Podrick asked.

"Because it's far away from this hell on earth," he answered. "King's Landing is nothing but a den of liars and murders. All the good ones realize that soon enough and leave before they die or get too comfortable here."

"And which are you, my lord?" Podrick asked him. "Dying or too comfortable."

 _Both, I suppose_.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

He could not remember who he was. He could not remember where he came from. He could not remember who his family was. He could not remember what was important to him. He could not remember _anything_. Anything except the faces of those who had betrayed him.

He could remember those.

Anything he knew, he owed to the Brotherhood. The men who had found his corpse in a river, fished him out, and, as the red priest told him, _brought him back to life_. He wasn't sure if he believed that; something told him that it was not particularly easy, or even possible, to become _undead_. But it seemed to be the only thing that could explain the darkness.

That was another thing he remembered. The darkness, the nothingness. The red priest asked him what he had seen on the other side, he was afraid he had disappointed the man when he told him the truth.

 _Nothing_. There was nothing on the other side. Nothing but darkness and silence. And the faces of the men who had betrayed him.

They called him many names. They called him Stark. They called him Robb. They called him the Young Wolf. They called him King in the North. But none of them felt like _him_. None of them brought back any memories. None of them belonged to him.

Or perhaps he didn't belong to any of them.

Thoros, the priest who had helped his friend bring him back told him it was to be expected. That the memories would eventually come back to him. And that when they did he would belong to his names again.

"Is it usually this hard?" he asked, angry that he could still remember nothing. He had been brought back weeks ago and he could not remember a thing from his past.

"I wouldn't know, my lord," Thoros told him honestly. "I've only brought Lord Beric back, many times mind you, but only him. The memories came easier for him."

"Why?" he asked. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing, my lord," Thoros promised him. "There is nothing wrong with you. Except for the way you died. I am not an expert, just a drunk priest that says the words. But Beric's deaths were always cleaner, expected even. His last thoughts were never ones of anger, fear, betrayal. I imagine yours were. You'll have to fight through all of that before you remember the good stuff."

"And was there?" he asked. "Good stuff?" he clarified when he did not receive and answer.

"I imagine so," one of the other men answered. They called him _Lem_ for his yellow cloak. "You were married to a beautiful girl. All accounts say you were happy. Right Tom?" he asked, looking toward the group's singer.

"Aye," Tom Sevenstrings agreed. "I would've written songs about you and your lady love. If I were you I would be in a hurry to remember her."

"What was she like?" he asked them, desperately trying to remember her.

They glanced between each other, never quite meeting his eyes. Thoros leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, "It's best if you remember her for yourself," the priest told him. "Second hand knowledge is never more than a bandage for these things."

...

They invented a game of sorts for him. One they played every night. Every night, for an hour during supper he could ask them questions and they would answer them. There were rules, there were certain questions he could not ask. Everything had to be about _facts._ He could ask them the names of his family. He could ask them about the history of his House. He could ask them about the battles he had fought and won.

He could not ask them who his closest friend was. He could not ask them to tell him about his childhood. He could not ask them about _her_.

Memories were slowly coming back. Not useful ones, stupid ones about learning to ride a horse, about days spent in the woods, about an inn he had once stayed at when traveling. But whenever he mentioned them the men celebrated as if he had told them the most important thing in the world.

"My mother's name was Catelyn," he told them one night, not a question but a statement. Some of the men glanced up at him in surprise at that, they had not told him that yet. He had remembered it on his own.

Thoros was the one who answered, "Aye son," he told him. "Catelyn Tully. She was from the riverlands."

He nodded, quiet for a moment, "They killed her," he growled after his silence. "The men I see. The faces I see when I close my eyes. Slit her throat. Why?"

Tom Sevenstrings opened his mouth, but Thoros held up a hand, silencing the singer. "You tell us, boy." He shook his head, he couldn't tell them. He didn't _know_. He couldn't remember. "Think about it," Thoros urged. "Close your eyes. Focus on your mother, on her hair, on her voice. Focus. It will come to you."

He sighed, it seemed like a pointless exercise but he did as commanded. He closed his eyes and focused on the name. _Catelyn Tully_. For a moment all he could see were the faces of the men who had betrayed him. All he could hear were the sounds of the wind moving through the trees above him, the water in the stream behind him, the sounds of the men eating around him.

And then he saw her face.

She had red hair. And blue eyes, like his. Everyone had always told him that he had Tully eyes. He could remember that now. He could remember her smiling when he was a child, but now the face he pictured in his head was not smiling. Her lips were turned down as if she didn't remember how to smile. Her cheeks were hollow. There were dark circles under her eyes. And lines, each one marking a worry that she carried all on her own. She was standing in a hall, but it was not the one he imagined when he thought of his home, the keep they called Winterfell.

This hall was where she had died.

 _This_ hall was where _he_ had died.

He could hear it now, over the sounds of the wind and stream and the men around him. He could hear the chaos. The yells of the men, both the ones fighting for him and the ones betraying him. The clash of steel. The sound of bolts being released from their crossbows. The old man laughing from his seat. He could smell the blood in the air, he could see it on his hands. He heard music over and under all of it, a song that he had only heard a few times, but the name of which was on the tip of his tongue. He heard a young woman screaming. She was screaming his name. He could feel the pain in his chest, as if he had been stabbed. Without meaning to he reached up and placed his hand over his chest.

"Yes, boy," Thoros told him, pulling him out of the vision, "That's the one that did it most like. But why?"

" _The Rains of Castamere_ ," he murmured without even realizing it. His tongue knew the name of the song before his mind. "It's the Lannister song."

He opened his eyes and looked around the circle, solemn faces stared back. They hadn't expected him to remember that. "And now the rains weep over their halls with not a soul to hear," Tom Sevenstrings confirmed for him.

In the back of his mind he could remember another person quoting that exact verse to him. A woman with dark brown hair and grey eyes. He wondered who she was, he wondered if she was important to him.

"The Lannisters plotted with the Freys and the Boltons to kill me and my men," he said, glancing around the circle for confirmation. The men nodded. "What did they get for it?" he asked, a cold bitterness coloring his tone.

"Walder Frey is now Lord of Riverrun," Anguy, the archer spoke up for the first time that evening. He closed his eyes, Riverrun was his mother's home. "And Roose Bolton has been named Warden of the North."

"And given Winterfell?" he asked.

They did not need to answer him, he knew he was right.

...

 _He was running through the woods. Not on two legs, but four. It felt natural. It was quiet and dark, the air was cold, but he had his coat to keep him warm._

 _He was hungry. His stomach was not empty, but it had not been full since the night he had started running. The night he had run from the men and their weapons and their fire. The night that the entire world had seemed to smell like blood._

 _He paused briefly each night to hunt and to eat. Not to satisfy his hunger, but to give him fuel to keep going._

 _He paused briefly when the sun was high in the sky to sleep. Not to fully recharge, but to give him just enough energy to go until the next morning._

 _He had to keep going. He had to find her. He was close, he could feel it in his bones. He could not stop until he found her._

 _He had lost her for a bit by the great water. He had hid, unseen, and watched as she was led onto the giant wooden house that could float on the water. He couldn't follow her there._

 _And so he had run, everything in him telling him to keep north, toward the colder air. He ran along the side of the great water, sniffing trying to smell where she had gotten off._

 _He had almost given up when he picked up her scent again._

 _And now he ran, following her._

 _He had to find her._

 _He had to find her._

 _She needed him._

...

"I wonder," he said the morning after his strange dream. "I wonder why you keep me around, why you won't just let me go."

"I helped bring you back," Thoros told him with a shrug. "Seems cruel to just leave you without your memories."

He shook his head, "That's not it," he murmured, glancing between the men. "Surely you have better things to do then watch over me until my memory returns. Why do you keep me prisoner?"

"You're not our prisoner," Thoros told him. "You're our guest."

"Then I'm free to leave if I want?" he asked. No one answered. He nodded, "That certainly sounds like a _guest_ to me."

Anguy smirked, "He sounds like his sister, the little lady did not quite like how we treated our guests either."

"You had Arya?" he asked, the name slipping from his lips before he could even think about it.

"Aye," Anguy told him. "We had her. We were going to take her to you at Riverrun when she was taken from us. We don't know where she is now."

"What were you going to do with her at Riverrun?" he asked them. But it dawned on him before they answered. "You were going to ransom her to me. I would give you gold and you would give me my sister." He was quiet for a moment. "And now you will do the same with me."

"And help you with your revenge along the way," Lem told him.

Thoros was the one who gave him an answer, "Yes," he told him. "We are going to ransom you. Once we find someone who can pay. We need the gold." The priest was not apologizing for their actions, only giving him an explanation.

He nodded, not angry with them. He could understand it. "Why not send me to the Lannisters?" he asked. "They went through all that trouble to kill me the first time. If I remember right they shit gold, don't they? I'm sure they would pay you well to kill me again."

Thoros shook his head, the priest waited until he met his gaze before he spoke. "The Lord of Light brought you back for a reason, Lord Stark. I doubt it was to die at the hands of the Lannisters again. That seems hardly worth the trouble. We will not bring you to them."

He supposed that he should have felt reassured. But all he felt was empty.

...

They thought he was sleeping later that night when they talked about _her_.

"Why didn't you tell him about Lady Lenora?" he heard Anguy whisper across the fire.

"And what would I have said?" Thoros questioned back. "That we think his wife is still alive, but that we don't know where she is. Or who she is with?"

"It might help him remember her," Anguy suggested. "He might have some sort of idea of where to find her. I bet she would pay his ransom in a heartbeat."

"It was her family who organized the entire ambush," Thoros hissed. "Do you think they did that without her knowledge? What if she had known it was happening? What if she was in on it? Do you think he can handle remembering that right now?"

"She wasn't," Tom Sevenstrings spoke up as he strummed his harp. "They say that when he was stabbed, her scream could be heard on the other side of the Green Fork, even over the battle. She wouldn't have screamed like that if she had been in on it. She wouldn't have screamed like that if she hadn't loved him."

Thoros sighed, "Be that as it may, we have no idea where she is. It's better for now, perhaps, if he doesn't even know she's alive."

"Better because he won't run away and try to find her?" Anguy asked.

"Better because holding onto his anger will not help him bring his memories back. He's better when he's calm, quiet. Do you think knowing that the girl he loved is out there somewhere, probably with an enemy will keep him quiet and calm? And what if they've killed her?"

But she wasn't dead, he knew it. More than that, he _felt_ it.

He had followed her scent only the night before.

* * *

Author's Note:

I have been waiting **ALL** week to post this chapter. Seriously, all week. I was super excited about Robb's part. But the longer I sat on it the more nervous I got. What if I did it wrong? What if I disappointed you? So here's hoping that I did him justice.  
Though it's going to be a while before you really read his name. If you didn't notice read his section again. I call him _him_ and only use his name once. That's because at the moment he doesn't belong to that name. And it's going to be a while before he does.  
But he's coming back. He's talking now. Which is a lot better than the last time we saw him.  
Anyway. What did you think? You should let me know. There's a review box down there where rockstars leave reviews! They make me happy and push me to update faster if that's any incentive to share your thoughts.  
Plus ... you know you want to.  
Anyway, thank you for reading, for adding this story to your favorites list, your alerts list, your community. But as always, the majority of my thank yous go to those of you that reviewed the last chapter. This update is for you.

 _HPuni101:_ You're more than welcome for the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!  
Sansa and Tyrion ... I love them together. There might be hints at it throughout the story, but I don't think there's ever going to be an obvious Tansa moment ... the age difference tends to scare some people and I wouldn't want them to feel like they were forced onto that ship because of this story. That being said there will be hints at it and I will make it very easy to imagine them back together by the end of the story.

 _Wallflower:_ Thank the gods for your review! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. Unfortunately that reunion you're waiting for is about twenty chapters away. I promise to make the wait worth it thought.

 _Raging Raven:_ Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _RHatch89:_ Lenora is a bit more than the Boltons bargained for. They're going to realize that soon enough and when they do it will be fantastic.

 _Kimberley:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one too and that the wait wasn't _too_ long, and if it was then it was at least worth it.

 _Brittstar1199:_ Haha. She will. Unfortunately for her she doesn't quite know what she's dealing with at the moment and she may come to regret that "can of whoopass" once she does.

 _janaoliver_ : Whatever happens, she will get her revenge. She's part Lannister after all. And they always pay their debts. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _matrixboy122:_ I hope you enjoyed Robb's point of view. It'll be a while before he comes back, but every time he does he'll be a little more _him_. Thank you so much for your review.

 _Guest1995:_ You know me, I like to bring redemption to some of the worst characters.(except for Joffrey and the Boltons. There will be no redemption for them. I count it as a win every time someone tells me that they feel bad for the likes of Cersei or Tywin.  
As for your list of what you're looking forward to, I'm looking forward to it too. I've written parts of those chapters but not all of them yet because I know if they're fully written I'll want to post them right away. And it's not time for that yet.  
There will be a confrontation between Cersei and Lenora. As for Daenerys, she's not really in this story. I imagine her happily freeing slaves in the free cities and I want to leave her there.  
Which means, that I have someone in mind for the Iron Throne. ;)

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ Hello new reviewer! Thank you so much for your (two) review(s)! I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story so far and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter just as much. (Don't worry about the fist bump, I was doing a happy dance in my seat when I wrote about Robb coming back and I had known that would happen since the beginning.)

 _Innieminnie:_ I'm making you feel bad for Cersei? Wonderful! That's part of what I've intended to do.

 _Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:_ I'm glad! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _DatMatt:_ Hello new friend! Thank you for your review, and thank you for sticking it out even in the middle there when you were worried about Lenora's character would change nothing. It was a slow build, I wanted it to be. There are so many stories out there where an OC (especially a woman) changes everything easily and that's not realistic. As strong as Lenora is, she's a woman who doesn't have dragons, so her impact is more subtle at the beginning, but the little changes snowball. Just like you said. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've got for now. Go leave me some review love and I will be back soon.  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	60. Chapter Sixty: Oathkeeper

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and ... chapter sixty guys. **SIXTY** _ **.**_ Damn.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty: Oathkeeper_

 _Jaime_

Leave it to a sellsword to make him feel guilty. He had known since the gold cloaks had brought Tyrion to his tower cell that he needed to go see his brother. He knew that Tyrion would be waiting for him and that he would be more hurt each day that Jaime stayed away. He knew all of it, but he had been able to keep the guilt at bay by reminding himself that Tyrion was on trial for murdering not only the king of the Seven Kingdoms, but Jaime's own son.

And then Bronn had ruined all of that when they had practiced swordplay that morning. He would never forgive the man for that. The guilt had been eating away at him ever since.

He was getting better with his sword, still not where he had once been, but better. He had almost holding his own against the man. He had allowed himself a grin. And it was then, when he was comfortable and unaware, that Bronn had grabbed his golden hand and hit him across the face with it.

"What the hell was that?" Jaime asked, as he scrambled on the ground, forcing himself to turn and look up at the sellsword.

"That was _me_ knocking your ass to the dirt with your own hand," Bronn told him dismissively as he dropped the golden hand to the ground near Jaime's feet and walked away. Jaime's left fist clenched in anger, there had been a time when a man, even one as stupid as Bronn, would have never dreamed of turning his back on Jaime Lannister.

But that time was past. He was getting better with a sword in his left hand, but he still not a threat.

He grabbed his hand and quickly stood up, placing it back on his stump without looking at the injury. "You're a rare talent," he told him bitterly. "When you're fighting cripples anyway."

Bronn was not insulted. "You learned to fight like a good little boy. I bet that _thrust_ through the Mad King's _back_ was pretty as a picture. You want to fight pretty or do you want to win?"

"Do you talk to my brother this way?" Jaime asked him.

"All the time," Bronn answered. Something told him that the man was telling him the truth. Tyrion had always valued honesty over manners. And one thing Jaime could say about Bronn was that he was honest.

Brutally so.

"He got used to it," Bronn continued as he handed Jaime a wine sack to drink out of.

Jaime waited until he had swallowed a rather large sip of wine before he spoke next. "Do you think he did it?" he asked as the sun rose behind them.

"No," Bronn told him, almost immediately. "Sure, he hated the little twat, but who didn't?" Jaime didn't answer, he didn't need to. Everyone had hated Joffrey. Everyone but his sister and they both knew it. "Besides," Bronn continued with a shrug. "Poison's not his style. Or murder for that matter." He glanced at Jaime, "If you want to know for sure, why don't you ask him? Or have you still not been to see him?"

His voice when he asked the question was flippant enough, but the sellsword's pale blue eyes focused on Jaime's face with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. Yes, Tyrion's pet sellsword was honest. He was also loyal.

More loyal to his brother than Jaime was.

He threw the wine sack back to Bronn and moved away from him. "We're done for today," he told the man.

Bronn let him walk five steps away from him before he spoke. "Your brother ever tell you how I came to be in his service?" he asked.

"You stood for him in his trial by combat at the Eyrie," Jaime supplied, purposefully sounding bored.

"Aye," Bronn agreed nonchalantly. "But only when Lady Arryn demanded that the trial take place _that_ day. _You_ were his first choice." He was speaking to Jaime's back, so he must have seen the way his shoulders tensed. He had caught Jaime's attention. And harder yet, he had caught Jaime by surprise. "He picked you for his champion because he _knew_ that you would ride day and night to come fight for him."

Jaime turned to look at the sellsword, Tyrion had never told him that. Did his little brother really have that much faith in Jaime? The man who broke everything he touched, the man who had never met an oath he could keep? Had Tyrion really believed in him _that_ much?

"You gonna fight for him now?" Bronn asked him.

Jaime could not meet his eye.

...

The surprise on his brother's face was all he needed to know that staying away had been the wrong thing to do. Tyrion would never say it to him, for a man who valued honesty his younger brother had always had a way of keeping the most painful observations from Jaime, but he had been hurt by Jaime's absence. Betrayed even.

"You're here," Tyrion murmured, almost a gasp, as he scrambled off his bed and rushed toward Jaime. For a moment it looked as if the younger man was going to wrap his arms around Jaime's legs and hug him. But he stopped just short of his brother's personal space. "I thought it was Podrick coming to see me."

Jaime smirked at the memory of his brother's strange, bumbling squire. "I met him in the corridor," he explained. "He was coming to bring you bread and very watered down wine."

"And you decided to stop him?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime smiled as he threw his wine sack to his younger brother, "I figured you would prefer a _non-watered_ Dornish red," he told him. "And the Tyrion Lannister I used to know never wanted to pad his stomach with bread before he drank."

"The Tyrion Lannister you used to know wasn't also about to be on trial for the murder of his nephew," Tyrion supplied as he uncorked the wine sack and took a long sip. He was testing Jaime, he wanted to see what his older brother would say in response to the allegations against him. He wanted to know Jaime's honest opinion before he tried to either reinforce it or change it.

"Bronn says that you didn't kill him," Jaime supplied with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

"I didn't," Tyrion assured him. "Surely you know that, Jaime. I hated him. I thought he was a cruel, sadistic little shit. But I never would have murdered him. You must know that."

Jaime looked at his brother and he realized that Tyrion was right. He _did_ know that. He _did_ know that Tyrion would have never killed a member of his own family. This was his little brother. He was angry at himself for allowing Cersei to make him doubt that. "I know you didn't," he assured him.

The bright smile Tyrion gave him made him feel even worse for staying away for so long. How he must have hurt him. He vowed to make it up to him somehow. Tyrion looked around his nearly empty cell, "I would offer you a chair," he started. "But I don't have any. Would the floor suit you?"

Jaime chuckled and easily lowered himself down to the floor, "I'm no stranger to sitting on the floor," he assured his brother, thinking of the months he had spent as Robb Stark's prisoner. No, he was no stranger to the floor, or chains, or sitting in his own shit. He knew that Tyrion must hate his cell, but as he looked around them he knew that his brother was in much better shape than Jaime had ever been. "You must thank Father for your current accommodations." Tyrion scoffed. "I'm serious," Jaime told him. "This looks like a palace compared to where Robb Stark kept me."

"Yes," Tyrion agreed, though he had never seen Jaime's cell. "Though I think you rather deserved it, didn't you?"

Jaime reeled back, his left hand coming to his heart as if Tyrion's words had wounded him, "And this is what I get for coming to see you?" he joked.

"Perhaps I would have been friendlier if you had come sooner," Tyrion told him, a bit of pain bleeding through his joking tone. He took another swig of the wine before he held the sack out to Jaime. "I only mean that you were at war with him, you were his prisoner, you had attacked his father, and attempted to escape. However horrible your cell was, I'm sure he thought you deserved it."

"I did," Jaime admitted. There was no anger to his admission, it would have been a waste to be angry at the dead. "I did deserve it."

"But me?" Tyrion continued, smiling when Jaime passed the wine back to him. "I don't deserve this. I did not kill Joffrey."

Jaime sighed, hating himself for it. "You have to admit that it looks bad though," he told Tyrion. " _You_ were his cupbearer. The poison was in his _cup_. He _pointed_ to you with his last breath. And your wife just conveniently disappears after his death." He shook his head, "Can you blame Cersei for blaming you?"

"If she hadn't spent my entire life hating me," Tyrion told him in his casually honest way. "I wouldn't blame her if I thought for one second that she would look at this objectively. But she won't. She's hated me my whole life. She's wanted me dead since the day I was born. She's using this as an excuse. I was Joffrey's cupbearer because he made me. I barely touched his cup, only to hand it to him. Perhaps he pointed at me because he wanted something to drink, he was choking after all."

"And Sansa?" Jaime asked, his voice quiet. "What do you make of her disappearance?"

"Sansa Stark did not kill him either if that's what you're hinting at," Tyrion groaned. "She was no where near him, for the Stranger's sake."

"But she did handle his cup," Jamie remembered. "When Joffrey kicked it under the table."

"To help _me_!" Tyrion defended her. "To save me from any further embarrassment. Not to kill the king."

"How are you so sure?" Jaime asked him. "Your marriage was a sham. You barely knew the girl."

Tyrion took a long draw from the wine sack, Jaime wouldn't have been surprised if he finished the thing. But a moment later Tyrion pulled it away from his lips and passed it to him. "Our marriage was a sham," he admitted. "I will agree to that. But I will not agree that I did not know the girl. I spent my days with her. I knew the few things that made her smile, I knew the many things that made her frown. I knew what she looked like when she was angry, I knew what she looked like when she cried. I knew what she looked like when she was trying to hide something. I knew that she loved lemon cakes and on the day she learned that Father had orchestrated the murders of her mother and brother she couldn't have a single one. I knew her. I knew Sansa Stark. And she would never have done this."

"Then where is she?" Jaime asked.

"Gone," Tyrion gave the obvious answer. "Perhaps you should be asking where Littlefinger went. Everyone knew about his love for her mother. Seven Hells, he never shut up about Catelyn Tully. Perhaps he took her in some strange attempt to earn forgiveness from the dead."

Jaime thought about that. It was plausible. Unbidden his mind drifted to Brienne, the blonde knight had not left King's Landing yet, though she was distraught that Sansa Stark was missing. She had come all the way to King's Landing to fulfill her vow to the dead mother and she had lost the daughter. "Brienne of Tarth meant to take Sansa Stark home," he murmured without thinking.

Tyrion snorted, "Some homecoming that would be," he told his brother bitterly. "The Ironborn set Winterfell to the torch. I don't know how much is left."

"It does not matter," Jaime told him. "She will not be satisfied, she will not rest until she fulfills her oath to Catelyn Stark."

Tyrion took a long sip of wine, finishing the sack, then he corked it, and tossed it back to him. "When will she leave to search for the Stark girl?" he asked.

"I suppose when I tell her to," Jaime answered after a long moment of silence. "She's staying in King's Landing for me. She seems to think that I am a better man than I really am. More honorable than I truly am. Stronger than I pretend to be."

"She's a fool," Tyrion joked with a smirk.

Jaime nodded in silent agreement. "She reminds me a bit of Len," he added after a moment.

"Len did always see the best in people," Tyrion agreed. He watched his brother for a moment under furrowed brows. "Jaime, can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything," Jaime promised him, eager to pay his brother back for staying away for so long.

"When you send Brienne of Tarth away, to look for Sansa Stark, can you send my squire with her? King's Landing will not be safe for him much longer. And a squire so desperately needs a knight to serve."

"Then what was he doing with you?" Jaime teased.

"Seeing the best in me," Tyrion answered. "Like Brienne sees in you."

"And Lenora sees in everyone."

...

It was not going to be easy to say goodbye to Brienne. That surprised Jaime more than anything. There had been a time in the riverlands when Lady Catelyn had first set him free that he would have given anything to be free of the woman. But now; now that she had saved his life and he had saved hers, now that she had brought him home to King's Landing, now that he had begun to see himself the way she saw him, now it was harder.

He would miss her. He would worry about her. He would always wonder if she was able to fulfill her oath to Lady Catelyn. It would be easier to keep her in King's Landing, to tell her that he _needed_ her, she would stay for him, he knew that now. But this was for her safety. She was no safer from Cersei than Tyrion's boy Podrick. They both needed to leave.

And if Jaime was half the man that Brienne thought he was, he would have sent her away long before now. But he was selfish. And he had kept her in the capitol for too long.

He asked her to meet him in the Lord Commander's solar so that he could give her his gifts and say goodbye to her far from the spying eyes of Cersei's servants. He was sure that she wouldn't want any gifts from him, that she wouldn't need any. But he was sending her on a suicide mission, he was sure that she would never find Sansa Stark. The best he could do was give her the best sword and armor Lannister gold could buy.

She beat him to his solar and when he walked in she was sitting behind the desk reading from the Book of Brothers. It was so forward, so cheeky, so like her that he could not help but smile. "Find anything interesting in there?" he asked her, hoping that she was not reading about him.

"Ser Jaime Lannister," she read from his page, he sighed, as Joffrey had once pointed his page was practically empty, he done so few knightly deeds. "Knighted and named to the King's Guard in his sixteenth year. At the sacking of King's Landing, murdered his king, Aerys the second. Pardoned by Robert Baratheon."

Jaime flinched. That was all that was written on his page. He supposed that he should write that he was taken captive in the Battle of the Whispering Wood, that he had failed to protect his nephew from being poisoned, and any number of other failures. It was now his job, after all, to fill the pages.

Brienne glanced up at him, flinching herself as she read, "Thereafter known as the Kingslayer."

She opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him that it did not matter. That he had killed Aerys to save the people of King's Landing. She would try to make him feel better about his failures, try to paint them as honorable. And there was a part of him that loved her for it. But he had not brought her here to make him feel better about his own shortcomings. He had not always been an honorable man, but he could be one now.

And he would start by sending her away to fulfill their oath to Catelyn Stark.

"It is the duty of the Lord Commander to fill those pages," he told her, cutting off any argument she might have made. "And there's still room left on mine." He hoped that she would understand that he was trusting her with his honor. That anything added to his page would be because of _her_.

He lifted his Valyrian sword from its stand and with his gold hand handed it to her, hilt first. He watched her as she inspected the sword, testing the balance and the weight. Her light blue eyes widened when she noticed how light it was. "Valyrian steel," she murmured, turning the blade in her hand to watch the light dance off of its dark surface.

"It's yours," Jaime told her.

Those two words were the only words that could have brought her gaze from the steel in her hands to his face. "I can't accept it," she tried to argue, meaning to hand it back to him.

"It's reforged from Ned Stark's sword," Jaime told her, hoping that she would understand why _he_ could not have it. "You'll use it to protect Ned Stark's daughter. You swore an oath to return the girls to their mother. Catelyn Stark is dead, Arya is probably dead, but there is still a chance for Sansa."

When Brienne glanced up at him he thought for a moment that there were tears in her eyes. But she blinked and they were gone. "I'll find her," she told him. "For Lady Catelyn." He nodded, he expected nothing less of her. "And for you," she added.

She understood.

He smiled at her, for just a moment before he looked away. Her eyes were too intense, he could not meet her gaze. He dropped his gaze to the sword in her hand, "They say the best swords have names," he told her thinking of his old sword, _Oathbreaker_. "Any ideas?"

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze still intense, her brow furrowed, " _Oathkeeper_ ," she told him after a long moment.

And she was.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

They were sailing north. She could feel it in the air the few times Lord Baelish allowed her on the deck of the ship. Always at night, when it was darkest and none of the crew would be able to recognize her. He told her it was of the upmost importance that she stay hidden from the crew. He told her that he had paid them well enough to do their job, but that once they had disembarked his gold would do very little to keep the men from whispering. He told her that she wanted to be careful that no whispers of the redheaded girl on the ship made their way back to King's Landing and the queen.

She wanted to argue with him. She wanted to tell him that she had no reason to fear the queen. That she had played no part in Joffrey's death. But the words always died on her lips. She may not have killed Joffrey herself, but she had prayed for it. And the queen knew that. If no one else could be found to blame the murder on Cersei would have been too pleased to behead Sansa for it.

And so she kept quiet. She went out on deck only when Lord Baelish told her it was safe. She did not argue when he shut her in a cabin below deck. She did not complain when he was her only visitor during the day. She pretended not to be embarrassed when the lord brought her meals instead of sending a servant to do it. It was all for her safety, though she was unsure of why that mattered so much to Littlefinger.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked him one day. When she had first been brought on the ship he had told her that he was taking her home, but she didn't believe that. Winterfell belonged to the Ironborn now, or perhaps Roose Bolton and his men. She had been so broken after the news of her brother and mother's deaths that she hadn't even thought to ask what had happened to her home. As much as she wanted to go home, it was impossible. And Petyr Baelish, the intelligent, scheming man that he was would know that.

"I'm getting married to your aunt Lysa," he told her. "She's waiting for us at the Eyrie. You'll be safe there."

 _Safe?_ she thought to herself. She couldn't even remember what it was like to feel safe. But she was sure that she wouldn't be safe at the Eyrie. She had never met her aunt Lysa, never spoken to her. All she knew was what she had heard from her mother. That Lysa had gone a bit insane after Jon Arryn's death, that she had taken her son and fled to the Eyrie and called up her banners as if they were at war. Robb had no doubt sent her ravens when he was still alive, asking for help and support in his war. But Lysa had helped no one.

 _And Tyrion_ , the voice at the back of her head reminded her. She knew about her aunt Lysa from Tyrion. She knew that the woman had locked him up in a cell high on a cliff, an open-ended one, nothing protecting him from falling. She knew that her aunt had meant to throw Tyrion from her castle through a hole in the floor called _the moon door_. She knew that Lysa still coddled her cousin Robin as if he were a baby.

 _Lysa is insane_ , she almost told Petyr, but she bit her tongue. For whatever reason this man was helping her and she would not speak out against his betrothed. That would be stupid. And no matter what she was sure Lord Baelish thought of her, she was _not_ stupid.

So instead she nodded and walked away from the older man, gaining as much space as the small cabin would allow her. She wanted to be able to watch him when she asked her next question. And she wanted to be as far away from him as she could in case he was angered by it. "Did you kill Joffrey?" she asked him, ashamed that her voice wobbled a bit when she said _his_ name, as if she were going to cry.

"Did _I_ kill Joffrey?" he asked, moving closer to her. He smirked, as if enjoying some private joke of his. "I've been in the Vale for weeks."

"I know it was you," she told him, sounding more sure of herself than she truly was.

"And who helped me with this conspiracy?" Littlefinger asked her.

She had to think about that for a moment. For days she had been working up the nerve to ask him this question, she had imagined and rehearsed the moment over and over in her head. But she had never imagined what would happen _after_ she asked him. She had no plan now. And so she thought. "Well, there was Ser Dontos," she started, speaking slowly and hoping that her brain would work faster. For whatever reason she wanted Petyr Baelish to understand that she was not a _stupid little girl_ , she wanted him to think that she was clever. _Clever girls survive_. "You used him to help you get me out of King's Landing, but you would never have trusted him to kill the king."

Her last thought had started out as a question, but she had been careful to end it as a statement. She wanted to sound sure of herself. And for a moment after she said the words she thought she saw a glint in Petyr's eyes. He was impressed, though he would never tell her that. "Why not?" he asked her, testing her.

"Because you're too smart to trust a drunk."

This time there was more than just a glint in his eyes. He smiled at her as he took a step closer to her. "Then perhaps it was your husband," he suggested.

"No," Sansa told him immediately. There had been a moment, just as the king started choking that she had thought perhaps Tyrion had done something to harm Joffrey, but the thought quickly vanished. Tyrion would never have done something so stupid, so obvious as to poison the king when he was acting as his cupbearer. And even if he had, he wouldn't have done it in a way that put Sansa in danger as well.

They had never been a _true_ husband and wife, but she knew that Tyrion cared for her. She knew that he would do whatever he had to to protect her. And if he were going to kill the king he would have found a way to get her out of King's Landing _before_ he did so, not during. Lord Baelish wanted her to doubt everyone but him. But _Tyrion_ , he was one person that she could not doubt. He was one person, perhaps the only person in the Seven Kingdoms that she could completely trust.

"How do you know?" Lord Baelish asked her, his eyes narrowed.

"I just do," she told him.

He was silent for a long moment before he answered her, "You're right," he finally told her. "Tyrion wasn't involved in Joffrey's death, though he will certainly be blamed for it."

That hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She had not loved Tyrion, she never would have. But she had started to like him, they were almost friends. She could trust him and he cared for her. He was kinder than anyone had been since her father had died and he was the only person in King's Landing that did not seem to have an ulterior motive where she was concerned. She did not want him to be blamed and beheaded for Joffrey's death. Especially since it was Petyr Baelish who had orchestrated the entire affair.

"But _you_ were," he continued, surprising her. Sansa glanced up, surprised. Littlefinger smiled at her, and once again she realized that she was not clever, she was stupid. "Do you remember that beautiful necklace Ser Dontos gave you?" he asked her, waiting for her to nod before he continued. "I don't suppose you realized that a stone was missing after the feast?"

She shook her head, after the feast she had been too busy running through the alleys with Ser Dontos and hiding from the gold cloaks to notice anything, let alone that a stone was missing from her necklace. She took a step away from him, shaking her head again, "The poison," she whispered.

She would never be able to go back to King's Landing, she realized. Unbeknownst to herself she had played a very large, very important role in the murder of a king. It would not matter to Cersei that Sansa had not known her part in the king's death, all that would matter to the queen was that the poison had come from Sansa's necklace.

Littlefinger nodded.

"I don't understand," Sansa told him, wanting desperately to beg him to explain it to her. To tell her _why,_ and what he planned to do _now_. "The Lannisters gave you wealth, power, Joffrey made you Lord of Harrenhal."

"A man with no motive is a man no one suspects," Petyr told her, calmly, patiently, as if he were teaching her an important lesson. "Always keep your foes confused. If they don't know who you are, and what you want, they can't know what you plan to do next."

 _And who are you, Lord Baelish,_ she wanted to ask him. _What do you want?_ If he wanted to keep her confused he was certainly succeeding. She had started this conversation because she had wanted answers, but now she was only left with more questions. It wasn't fair. "I don't believe you," she told him, only truly realizing the honesty in her words after she had said them. "If they catch you they will put your head on a spike, just like my father's. You would risk that just to confuse them?"

"So many men, they risk so little, they spend their lives avoiding danger. And then they die." _Father_ , Sansa thought as he spoke, _he's talking about Father_. "I would risk anything to get what I want."

"And what do you want?" she asked him, unable to keep her question in this time.

His hand was on her shoulder, it sat there for too long. And in his silence she thought she could hear his answer _you_. But then he spoke, "Everything," he told her. "My friendship with the Lannisters _was_ productive. But Joffrey, a vicious boy with a crown on his head, was not a reliable ally. Who could trust someone like that?"

"Who could trust _you_?" Sansa asked him. She couldn't, she knew that now. He might have saved her from King's Landing, but it was because he wanted something from her. And once he got it, whatever it was, he would betray her too. She knew that.

"I don't want friends like me," he told her. "My new friends? They're very predictable, very reasonable people. As for what happened to Joffrey," he paused, "well, that was something my new friends wanted very much. Nothing like a _thoughtful_ gift to make a new friendship _grow strong_."

 _Grow strong?_ Sansa thought. _Where have I heard that before?_

And then, under Littlefinger's intense gaze, she realized where she had heard it.

The Tyrells.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds._

The words had been echoing in her head all morning. Try as she might she could not forget them, she could not think of anything else. She could not distract herself.

As she got dressed in her gown of dark fabric, with hints of red and gold the old witch's words echoed in her head. As she ate her breakfast she could hear the woman's laughter after she had finished her prophecy. As she visited Tommen in his chambers to make sure that he was ready for the day's celebrations she pictured Joffrey in his funeral shroud.

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds_.

She wanted to write the words off as false, as a lie. What did the old hag know to begin with? _Nothing_. And for short moment s she might have succeeded. But then she thought of her children.

She had asked the witch if she and the king would have children. The woman had told her that the king would have six and ten, Cersei would have three, and there would be one for the two. As a child that answer had made almost no sense to her. Cersei could not understand who a man could have sixteen children, his wife three, and one for the two. But now that she was a woman grown, and a mother she could see it all too clearly.

 _Bastards_. She could not know for sure how many bastard children Robert had fathered, she only knew of a few. But she would hazard a guess that there were sixteen of them. Then there were her own three children, perfect Lannister children that belonged to her and her brother. Or her alone as Jaime had never been able to claim them. Six and ten for Robert, three for her.

 _And one for the two_. Lenora. The one child she gave birth to who belonged to both her and Robert. The one trueborn child. The one she had tried to kill as an infant. And, perhaps, the only one that she had not ruined.

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds_.

And so the old witch had been right about the number of children she and Robert had each had. If she was right about that, Cersei thought that she could be right about everything else. She had said that one of her children would have a crown of steel, bronze, and iron. She had never seen the crowns of the North, but she could imagine them. The North was hard and cold, they would want their crowns to reflect that. There would be no gold, no jewels - those were for the soft, southern kings and queens. Lenora's crown would be as hard and cold as the men that had crowned her. It would be made of darker metals, stronger ones. It would be made of steel, bronze, and iron.

As for the other three ...

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds_.

Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen. Their hair was the same, soft spun gold as her own. When they were babies she had thought that their hair looked like crowns on their heads. _Golden_ crowns.

Joffrey had been given a gold crown and within a few months, he had died. Only three days earlier she had stood as they buried her son in the Sept of Baelor. He had been wrapped in cloth of gold when they buried him.

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds_.

And now, this very day, she would stand in the Great Sept and watch, pretending to be proud, pretending to celebrate as yet another of her children was given a golden crown. She wondered, how long it would be before she watched him, wrapped in cloth of gold, be buried beneath the Sept as well.

 _Gold shall be their crowns. And gold their shrouds._

...

He looked so small, her youngest child. Now her only son. He was kneeling in front of the High Septon, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he waited for the old man to finish his prayers and name him King of the Seven Kingdoms. His green eyes kept darting toward where she stood, desperate to please. There would have been a time when that would have touched Cersei's heart, when she would have thought that her son wanted nothing more than to please _her_. But that time was over now.

She was not touched because the last thing she wanted was for that crown to be placed on Tommen's head. Joffrey had died with that crown on his head, just as the old hag had predicted and Cersei thought, at her most desperate moments, that she might be able to save Tommen from the same fate if only she could keep him from being crowned. But it was a vain hope and a stupid thought. One her father would have laughed at if she had shared with him.

She was not touched because when her son's eyes glanced in her direction they only landed on her for a short time before they darted to her father on her right. It was not his mother that he wanted to please, but his grandfather. Her days of influence over the young boy were gone. Now, it was Tywin Lannister that he looked to for guidance and praise. Not Cersei.

She was not touched because just as often, if not more, his green eyes darted through the crowd of lords and ladies only to land on _her_. The little slut from Highgarden, the beautiful young woman who still wore black. The woman who would have the court believe that she was still _mourning_ Joffrey's death all while plotting how to get her claws in Tommen. There was very little that Cersei was sure of these days, but she was certain of this. Margaery Tyrell wanted to steal Tommen from her, just as she had attempted to steal Joffrey. And if her son's glances were anything to go by, the young woman would succeed.

"May the Father give him the strength to seek justice and the wisdom to recognize it!" The High Septon proclaimed as he held the golden crown high above Tommen's head. "May the Mother teach him mercy. May the Maiden protect his innocence and show him forgiveness. May the Warrior grant him courage and protect him during these perilous times. May the Smith grant him strength, that he may bear this heavy burden. May the Crone, she who knows the fate of all men, show him the path he must walk and guide him through the dark places that lie ahead. May the -"

His prayer was cut short by Cersei shaking her head. Before the coronation she had made it explicitly clear that she did not want any prayers offered up to the Stranger. It was the Stranger who had taken Joffrey from her. It was the Stranger that would take her other children too. She would not pray to him, not today. Not ever.

The High Septon sighed, as if disappointed, but then he straightened up and quickly continued, as hoping that no one would notice his mistake. "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms!"

Cersei closed her eyes as he lowered the antlered golden crown onto Tommen's head. She could still remember the day they had crowned Joffrey. She could still picture the triumphant smile on his lips when the High Septon had named him King of the Seven Kingdoms. And now, Joffrey was dead and Tommen was the king in his place. She hoped that he would rule much longer than his older brother.

When she opened her eyes Tommen was doing his best to seem solemn, but she was his mother. She had known him since his first breath. She could see the corners of his lips fighting to turn up, to smile when he glanced toward Margaery in the crowd before him. Her youngest son was now King, and he had chosen his Queen.

He no longer belonged to Cersei.

"Long may he reign!" The High Septon called out as he moved away from the new king.

"Long may he reign!" The lords and ladies called back. Her father sounded triumphant, the audience cheered and clapped, but Cersei's whispered response was more of a prayer than a celebration.

 _Please Gods_ , she thought, glancing at the statues of the Seven that stood at their alters. _Long may he reign_.

...

After the coronation at the Great Sept the court had traveled back to the Red Keep where there would be a feast after all the lords had bent the knee and pledged their loyalty and fealty to Tommen.

 _This_ Cersei knew well, she had seen it many times in her life. She had seen all the Lords and Ladies bend and scrape to King Aerys, after the rebellion she had watched as they knelt in front of her and Robert and made the same vows and promises. Not long ago they had been smiling their simpering smiles to Joffrey. And now, here they were for Tommen. It would be a race, a competition. Everyone would try to be the _first_ to kneel before their new king, to seem the most useful, the most loyal, the most ardent.

Everyone wanted something from their new king. And none of them did well to hide their impatience.

The only one who surprised Cersei was Margaery. She would have thought that the little slut would have been tripping over herself to kneel in front of Tommen, to give him a good view of her tightly laced breasts, to tempt him into announcing that he meant to take her for his wife, just as his older brother had done. But the young woman held back, watching from afar, as if she were afraid to approach the throne and boy who sat on it. But as the lords of the Small Council stepped forward to pay their respects Cersei watched as Tommen glanced toward the young woman and she understood.

Margaery separated herself from the rest so that Tommen would be able to find her. So that he would be able to watch her. And so that the rest of the court would see it. She was smart, the Highgarden girl, Cersei would give her that.

When Cersei approached her she pretended that she had not been watching Tommen so closely. She pretended that she had not been smiling so invitingly. She pretended that she had been looking out over the entire court, instead of just watching one boy. But Cersei was not stupid. And she had played this game before, first with her brother when they were young. Then with Prince Rhaegar at court when she hoped to draw him away from his wife. And finally with Robert when they were first betrothed and she cared if he thought she loved him.

Tommen might have been blind to the girl's game. But Cersei was not.

Her shoulders were tense when she approached Margaery. Her jaw was clenched. She did not want this woman anywhere near her son. But her father had already decided that they would marry. And it would not do to be enemies with the woman who would marry her son. Tommen was not Joffrey, he would easily be led by a pretty smile and a young woman's body. If he sensed that Cersei and Margaery did not get along, he would choose Margaery without a moment's hesitation. As much as Cersei hated the girl, she must pretend to stand her.

"Your Grace," the Tyrell greeted her when she approached.

Cersei did not return the greeting, they were not kin. Not yet. "There he is," she said instead, knowing that Margaery was watching Tommen just as closely as she was.

"Long may he reign," Margaery supplied.

"Long may he reign," she agreed. _Longer than his brother_ , she prayed.

"He sits the throne as if he was born to it," the younger woman observed after a long moment.

"Yes," Cersei agreed. And the woman was right, she had seen many kings sit on the throne, but none had done so as comfortably as Tommen. The Mad King had always cut himself on the barbs, Robert would rather hunt or whore than sit on the throne, Joffrey had spent so little time on it and had been unhappy for most of it. But Tommen, he looked comfortable. She hoped that it was a good omen as to what his reign would be like. "But he wasn't, was he?" she added, reminding the young woman of Joffrey, the man she had married not even a fortnight ago.

"No," the young woman agreed. "He wasn't."

She sounded sad. It was an act though, Cersei knew that. An act, just like her dark colored dresses were an act. She reached out and touched the heavy black fabric that made up the girl's sleeve. She had never seen Margaery Tyrell wear a dress with sleeves until Joffrey had died. "You still mourn for Joffrey?" she asked. She knew that the girl didn't mourn for Joffrey, no one did except for her. But the girl would play her part, her words would be pretty, and for a moment Cersei wanted to hear them. She wanted to pretend that she was not the only one who yearned for her son.

"He was my husband," Margaery told her. "And my King -"

"He would have been your nightmare," Cersei cut in. She had wanted to hear the girl mourn for Joffrey, but as she whispered the words Cersei found that she could not stand to hear them. "You knew exactly what he was," she accused Margaery. "I did too. You never love anything in the world the way you love your children, you'll learn that one day. Doesn't matter what they do. But what he did ... it shocked me. Do you think I'm easily shocked?"

"No," Margaery told her.

Cersei nodded, "And yet the things he did shocked me." She glanced toward Tommen, and suddenly she was begging though she did not know why. "He's only a boy," she pleaded, unsure if she was talking to the Gods or the girl beside her. "A _good_ boy, a _decent_ boy. He always has been. Who was the last _decent_ king, I wonder. _He_ could be the first man to sit on that throne in fifty years and actually deserve it."

"It would be some consolation, wouldn't it?" Margaery asked. "For all the horror that put him there."

She was still playing the game, Cersei knew that, but there was truth to those words. Tommen would be a decent king, a good king. And perhaps that would be the consolation, perhaps the old witch would be wrong about her youngest child. Perhaps he would be safe. But with a glance at the _too_ innocent face of Margaery Tyrell Cersei thought her hopes were once again in vain.

 _Gold will be their crowns. And gold their shrouds._

* * *

Author's Note:

Guys! I'm still freaking out about last night's episode. I went to bed freaking out about it and I woke up freaking out about it. Ahhhh! It was somewhat predictable, but SO good. And now I'm watching it again as I edit this chapter and wait on the eclipse.  
No Lenora in this chapter. And no Robb. But I hope I made it up to you with everything else. You got some Jaime and Bronn, Lannister brother bonding, Jaime and Brienne, Littlefinger scheming, and Cersei's quickening spiral into madness. I loved all of it and I hope that you guys did too.  
Thank you guys so much for all of your support. Without you guys this story might never have gotten past chapter three or four and we're now on chapter sixty. That's huge!  
And so much love, so much love to all of my wonderful reviewers. You are more fantastic then I will ever be able to say.

 _Tsume Yuki:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad that you saved this story to your favorites and that you've enjoyed it so far! And I really appreciate that you think it's the best GoT original character fic you've ever read. That's so wonderful to read! So thank you!

 _bookangel1624:_ Haha. I love leaving you guys hanging. It's one of my favorite things. And I am so glad that you enjoyed Robb's point of view in the last chapter. There's going to be a lot more of it in upcoming chapters. It won't be _too_ long before he remembers Lenora again.

 _DatMatt:_ All fifty-eight chapters in three days? Welcome to the binge reader club, my friend! Well, I am so glad that I trapped you with my OC and this story. Thank you for sticking around! Also, there's going to be a lot of Robb/Grey Wind points of view in the future. Even though it's going to be a long time before Robb and Lenora reunite, I don't want them to be completely separated, you know?

 _Guest:_ I'm glad that you loved the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you so much for your review!

 _rottingmermaid:_ Thank you friend for your review! I was so nervous about the Robb point of view and it is so nice to see that I didn't need to be.

 _RHatch89:_ Don't worry. Robb will start to remember her soon. (I wrote the chapter yesterday afternoon.)

 _Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 _darkwolf76:_ You know what I love about you? When you miss an update and you come back and there are two new chapters you leave me two reviews! Most people wouldn't do that and it makes me really happy that you do. Anyway ... I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last two chapters!  
There was a lot of sadness and suffering in the last two chapters. That's why you guys got Lannister brother love in this one. I figured people would need it. I won't say that I'm sorry that Ramsay is freaking you out (he's going to be around for a while) or that you feel a bit bad for Cersei (I love making people feel bad for that bitch).  
As for chapter fifty-nine. I don't necessarily want you guys to cry, though I wouldn't count it as a loss if it happens.  
I'm glad that you enjoyed the Robb part. The wolf dreams are quickly becoming my favorite parts to write, even if the emptiness that he felt in the last chapter was really hard to write. I'm glad you guys are enjoying it!

 _Guest1995:_ I knew Robb was going to come back with no memories when I wrote the first chapter. They don't really address it in the show with Beric, but they talk about it a bit in the book. He forgets things. Beric had a woman he loved, he was betrothed to her, but he after he died a few times he pretty much forgot about her. So I took that bit of cannon and I bent it to my will. Robb's death was unexpected, it was full of fear, worry, anger, betrayal. And then he was _gone_ for almost a week. It's not hard to imagine that all of that would take a toll on him.  
Unfortunately for Rickon (and perhaps Bran because I'm leaving out the Three-eyed Raven storyline for this story) unless I have a major change of heart in the next ten or so chapters Robb will be the only Stark I save.  
And the Iron Throne? You'll just have to wait and see!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it! I think I'm going to be updating every other day this week as I build up my post writer's block chapter reserve. So keep looking out!

 _LokiLova:_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed Robb's point of view! There's more of that in the future! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Wallflower:_ You want to know what's really cruel? Their reunion is about twenty chapters away and the end of this story is _exactly_ twenty-three chapters away. According to my story outline the last chapter will be chapter eighty-three. We're getting close now.

 _FairyFelicity:_ You're welcome for the long Robb POV! I'm so happy that you enjoyed it!

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ Thank you so much for your review! When I was worried about the Robb point of view I was worried that I would mess it up or disappoint you guys because he's a bit darker and more _empty_ then anyone would want him to be. That's going to come into play a lot in later chapters too, even as his memories start to come back. There's going to be a darkness that I don't know if he's ever really going to shake. And that's going to be something that both he and Lenora will have to deal with.  
As for Lenora there was none of her in this chapter, but you guys will get a lot of her in the next chapter. And then there's going to be a snowball effect of reunions in the next ten or so chapters.  
All the same, I hope you enjoyed this one.

And that's all I've got for now friends! Thank you so much!  
 **Sixty chapters** _ **.**_ Damn.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	61. Chapter Sixty-One: Ways to Die

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and this chapter ... belongs to the girls.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-One: Ways to Die_

 _Sansa_

The further away from King's Landing they got, the more relaxed Lord Baelish became. They disembarked their ship at Gulltown and traveled by night until they reached Redfort. Then, with the sea and some mountains between them and King's Landing Lord Baelish changed their traveling schedule. They moved by day and at night, when they could find one they slept in inns. He was still careful to make sure that her red hair was covered when too many people were around and the few times he called her _Sansa_ it was always in a whisper. To the few strangers they had to speak to her name was Elaine, and she was to be his niece.

The false name and the disguise worked well enough in the Vale. Her aunt Lysa and her cousin Robin had somehow managed to maintain the loyalty of their people, even though Sansa knew that they had not left the Eyrie since after Jon Arryn had died. Perhaps it was Lord Arryn who had inspired the loyalty, she thought, and Lysa had just taken advantage of it. It did not matter though, there were no Queen's men here and most of the strangers they met on the road barely spared her a second look.

Until they reached a small inn half a day's ride from the Bloody Gate. They were so close to the Eyrie now that Lord Baelish had not wanted to stop for supper. But Sansa had insisted. They had one horse between the two of them, and Littlefinger, playing the proper Lord had graciously offered it to Sansa every day since they had left the ship. But Sansa did not like riding, and her bottom hurt from sitting in the saddle for too long. They were safe here in the Vale, and so close to the Bloody Gate that they would be able to beat any Lannister men, if there were any around. Once they made it through the gate she would be safe.

But she felt safe _now_. And she was hungry _now_. And she was sore. And so when she had seen the inn and realized it was the last one she would see before they reached her aunt and cousin she had demanded that they stop for supper. Lord Baelish had tried to dissuade her, but she had smiled at him. "If you're that nervous, Lord Baelish, by all means, go on ahead. I am sure that I will be able to find the Eyrie on my own from here," she had told him, her voice light and playful. He would not leave her. Petyr Baelish had saved her from King's Landing for a reason, and she was sure that it was not to see her _almost_ to her aunt at the Eyrie.

Grumbling all the while he had led the way into the inn and found them a suitable table in a back corner, far from prying eyes. But there were some eyes at the inn and they had been looking for her. Not long after they had sat down were they approached by a large blonde knight. The knight was tall, as tall as a man, but Sansa had seen her before and she knew that despite her height and her armor she was, in fact, a woman.

A woman who had escorted Jaime Lannister to King's Landing.

The large woman knelt in front of her, her blue eyes intense as she looked at Sansa as if she were a gift from the Gods. "My name is Brienne of Tarth," the woman announced.

"We met," Petyr told her, the woman never looked away from Sansa, but she flinched at what he said next. "With Renly Baratheon. What was it he used to say about you? _Your loyalty came free of charge_." Sansa watched across the table as Petyr's gaze moved over the knight's dark armor and her well-made sword. "Someone seems to have paid quite a bit for it since then."

Sansa was not as stupid as Petyr liked to think she was. She knew what he was hinting at, she knew _who_ he was hinting at. He was warning her about the Lannisters. But she needed no such warning, she had seen Brienne of Tarth with Jaime Lannister at King's Landing. She knew the company this woman kept and she would not trust her. Even without Lord Baelish's warning.

The woman kneeling before her did not rise to Lord Baelish's taunt. Her gaze remained on Sansa's face. And when she spoke her voice was gentle, soft even, as if she had spent many days and nights dreaming about her chance to speak to Sansa. "Lady Sansa," she started, pretending that Lord Baelish was not even there. "Before your mother's death, I was her sworn sword. I gave my word that I would find you and protect you. I will shield your back, keep your counsel, and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

There was something in the woman's voice. Sansa did not trust her, but she wanted to. Never in her life had she heard someone sound so sincere. Something about her words made Lord Baelish nervous. He shuffled out of his seat and stood up.

"Please, Lady Brienne," he mocked her. "There's no need for such formality. You were Catelyn Stark's sworn sword?" The blonde knight nodded as she stood up, the light glinting off the hilt of her sword caught Sansa's attention. She knew that sword, she knew who it belonged to. "I've known Cat since we were children," Petyr was saying. "She never mentioned you."

"It was after Renly's murder."

"Ah yes," Petyr agreed. "You were accused of killing him."

"I tried to _save_ him," Brienne argued.

"But you were accused," Littlefinger pressed.

"By men who did not see what happened," Brienne countered.

"And what did happen, Lady Brienne?" Sansa asked from her seat at the table. She did not need these two arguing for her. She was quite capable of speaking for herself and now that she had been rescued from King's Landing she felt safe enough to do so. She would not allow Lord Baelish to make decisions for her. She was able to do that herself.

The blonde woman flinched again. Sansa had the feeling that if anyone else had asked her what had happened to Renly she would not have told them. But she seemed prepared to swear her loyalty to Sansa and if Sansa wanted to know what had happened to Lord Renly the blonde woman would tell her. No matter how ridiculous it sounded. "He was murdered by a shadow, my lady," she told Sansa, turning away from Littlefinger. "A shadow with the face of Stannis Baratheon."

"A shadow?" Petyr mocked, shaking his head. "With a face?" He glanced at Sansa, "This woman swore to protect Renly. She failed. She swore to protect your mother. She failed." He turned his gaze on the tall woman. "Why would I allow someone with your history to protect Lady Sansa?"

"Why should you have any say in the matter?" Brienne bit back.

"Because I am to be her uncle," Lord Baelish told her. "I am bringing her to her aunt Lysa now and then, once she is safe, I will marry her. We will be family. And she won't need the likes of _you_ protecting her."

"Lady Sansa," the woman begged, turning back to Sansa. "If we could have only a moment alone."

"No," Sansa spoke up, tired of having Petyr Baelish speak for her. Tired of hearing Brienne talk about her mother. She would not speak to this woman alone. "I _saw_ you at Joffrey's wedding," she told the woman, her voice hard and cold, like her mother's whenever she spoke to Jon Snow. "I saw you bowing to the king."

"Neither of us wanted to be there," Brienne told her. "Sometimes we don't have a choice."

"And sometimes we do," Sansa told her, her eyes narrowed. She knew everything about not having a choice. _She_ had not had a choice but to be at Joffrey's wedding, but this woman who was neither a Lannister prisoner, nor a Lannister bride had not been ordered to be at the wedding. Brienne of Tarth, whatever she was, had had a choice. And she had chosen to be at the wedding with Jaime Lannister. "I recognize that sword," she whispered, glancing to the woman's sword belt. "I know who it belonged to. I know who gave it to you."

"Ser Jaime," the woman started.

"The _Kingslayer,_ " Sansa interrupted, noting how the woman winced at the word.

"He sent me after you -"

"To drag me back to King's Landing?" Sansa asked, standing a bit from her seat.

"To keep you safe," Brienne told her.

Sansa laughed at that, high and cruel, she sounded like Cersei when she laughed like that. She would believe that Jaime Lannister wanted her kept safe the day she believed that her brother would wake from the dead. "I'm quite safe as it is, Lady Brienne," she told the woman knight as she nodded, silently urging the woman to move out of her way. "Lord Baelish, we must be going. I want to be well past the Bloody Gate by sundown."

Petyr bit back a smile as he nodded and bowed. "My lady." He brushed past Brienne and stopped a few feet away. It seemed as though he was giving her space to say any final goodbyes to the knight, but Sansa knew him well enough to know that he was listening. She no privacy with Petyr Baelish. All the same, she would take his spying over Brienne's lies any day.

The woman reached out, her fingers closing around her wrist, "I will remain here, Lady Sansa," she whispered, so quietly that Sansa wondered if Littlefinger could even hear her. "If you ever need my services, if you need my assistance for any reason. Send me a raven, I will be there. I swore to your mother that I would protect you and I shall."

Sansa barely spared her a look as she pulled her wrist out of the woman's grasp and walked away from her toward Littlefinger. "What did she say?" Petyr asked her, leaning closer to her than necessary to whisper in her ear.

She did not know why, but she lied. "Just more vows that she serves me and not the Lannisters," she told him, her tone bored. "But she holds a Lannister sword, so all lies and falsehoods."

Petyr looked pleased enough with her answer that she was happy she had thought to lie.

...

She felt safe enough to lower her hood as they moved down the narrow path toward the Bloody Gate. They were almost there now, a few minutes more and she would be safely at the Eyrie, a place where even Queen Cersei could not touch her. But as soon as she had lowered it, Lord Baelish was ordering her to cover her head again. "A memorable shade," he had whispered, teasing the end of her braid between his fingers as they walked.

"But _how_ would they know?" she asked him. _And who would they tell?_

"You know what kind of stories poor men enjoy the most?" Lord Baelish asked her. "The ones about rich girls they will never meet." He was quiet for a moment as Sansa lifted her hood, and then, as if he had heard her unspoken question he continued, "And even here in the Vale, whispers can reach King's Landing."

"Is this the only way into the Eyrie?" Sansa asked him, wondering if there could be some secret route the queen's spies and assassins could take to get to her.

"The mountains are impassible," Petyr assured her. "If you want to get into the Eyrie you must enter through the Bloody Gate. It does not matter how large your army is, if you want to attack you must do it on _this_ road, three men abreast, and be slaughtered like goats. The first Lords of the Vale did not have much. But they had these mountains and they knew how to use them."

Sansa tried not to sigh, it always sounded like Petyr was teaching her a lesson, every time he spoke to her. She wanted to learn all she could from him, he seemed to know more about surviving in this world than anyone, but she wished that he would just tell her what she needed to know instead of using his mind games and stories.

"The fortress they built here has never been overcome, not once in a thousand years. _Know_ your strengths, _use_ them wisely, and one man can be worth ten thousand."

He stopped whispering as they approached the gate, coming to a stop before the closed iron portcullis. From up on the cliff above them a man called down, "Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"

"Lord Petyr Baelish and his niece Elaine," Littlefinger called up, surprising Sansa when he did not name her for who she was. Was she going to have to pretend to be Elaine even once they were safe inside the Eyrie?

The man stared at them for a long moment and Sansa was sure that he would name them liars, that he would know who she was in an instant. But instead he called to the rest of the knights on the cliff to stand down and he opened the gate. Calling out, "Welcome back, Lord Petyr."

Sansa glanced toward Littlefinger, wondering silently if she had made the wrong decision to follow him to the Vale, if perhaps she should have trusted Brienne of Tarth. She had no idea what awaited her at the Eyrie. All she knew was that it had to be better than what she had left behind in King's Landing.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She found him in the small, dying Godswood. His presence surprised her. She had never seen him in the Godswood at Winterfell, even after all his years away from the Iron Islands he had never believed in the Old Gods. Or the New for that matter. And even if he had, she found it hard to believe that the Old Gods would listen to his prayers or offer any mercy if he asked for it.

Not after he had killed two of their own, and children at that.

"Do you think they will listen to you?" she asked him, her voice softer and gentler than he deserved. The air around them was cold, her breath fogged in front of her and there were snow flakes dancing in the air. She watched a snowflake fall in front of her, only to melt on the ground at her feet. The air was cold, but the ground was still warm. Still, the Starks were always right, Winter was coming.

Theon turned to look at her, his eyes wide with surprise as he scrambled to his feet. He had not expected her to find him, perhaps he had not expected anyone to find him. And no doubt, after the last time she had spoken to him he probably thought that she would never speak to him again. She shook her head, a rueful smile resting on her lips, "My father always told me that the Old Gods were as vengeful as their northern men," she told him as she moved closer to him. "Something tells me that the North will not be forgiving to you and neither will their Gods."

He ducked his head, bowing slightly to her. He never met her gaze though, choosing to stare at her chin or her shoes rather than her eyes. This was so unlike the Theon that she used to know that she felt her heart breaking a bit for him. She would not allow it this time, she had shown Theon Greyjoy too much sympathy since arriving at the Dreadfort. He would get no more from her. Her jaw clenched as his blue eyes lifted to her chin, "You'll want to be alone, my lady," he stuttered out. "I'll leave you."

She allowed him to take three steps past her before she stopped him. "I did not dismiss you," she called out, her voice cracking like a whip. He flinched. She did not turn to look at him, she knew that he would be there, listening to every word she said, waiting for her. "Whatever is to happen to me, I am still your princess. You will leave when I tell you to and not a moment before."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him nod and slowly, carefully as if he was afraid that she was going to beat him he moved closer to her. He stood, just a step behind her and to the right. _Almost_ next to her, but not quite. "My lady," he told her, his way of acknowledging that he was at her disposal.

"There was a time when you would have made fun of me," she told him, not looking at him. "There was a time when you would have pointed out that I was about as welcome here in a Godswood as you were. There was a time when you would have laughed and told me that I was just as foreign in these woods as you." She shook her head and turned to look at him, ducking her own head and forcing him to make eye contact with her. "There was a time when I liked you better."

He averted his gaze. "As you say, my lady," he agreed with her.

She shook her head, bitter and angry. " _No_ ," she told him. "There was a time when you would have rathered cut out your own tongue than call me _my lady_. What happened to that man? What happened to the Theon Greyjoy I once knew? The sharp-tongued young man who liked nothing more than his own reflection and lived to remind people that he was born to be Prince of the Iron Islands. What happened to you, Theon? Did that man die along with the boys?"

He shook his head, fast and violent, as if denying her question was enough to absolve him from any guilt it might have made him feel. But Lenora was tired of letting him deny his actions. She as tired of his excuses. She wanted to know why he had killed the boys and she would not let him leave the Godswood until he told her. "No, Theon," she told him, ignoring his whispered _Reek_. "You cannot run from this. You cannot run from me. You killed the boys. The Boltons might not care, they might even be grateful for it. But I will not allow you to hide from it. You killed them, and you _must_ answer for it."

"No," Theon told her, shaking his head. "I didn't."

"You had someone else do it?" Lenora asked, her jaw dropping in horror. Throughout their marriage she had watched Robb struggle to live up to his father's beliefs. She had watched him protect and provide for prisoners that he had no room for. She had watched him behead his own bannermen when they betrayed him. He had done it all so that his father's ghost would be proud of him. Theon had grown up in the same keep as Robb, she had thought that some of Ned Stark's honor might have rubbed off on Theon, but it seemed she had been wrong. "Seven Hells, Theon," she cursed. "You couldn't even do it yourself?"

He shook his head, biting his lips as if trying desperately to keep something inside. "I didn't," he murmured, not looking up from his own feet. "I didn't, I didn't, I didn't."

"You did, Theon," she argued, turning to face him and reaching out so that she could drop her hands on his shoulders. He flinched away from her touch, but she held strong. "You did," she told him again. "You killed them. You betrayed Robb and you killed the boys. Why? So that you could make your father proud?"

Theon shook his head, still unable to admit to it.

"Your father didn't care about you," Lenora told him. "Even after you murdered the boys. Do you know who cared for you? Ned Stark! Robb cared about you. You were his _brother_ and you betrayed him and murdered two innocent boys."

Theon shook his head again, he was biting his bottom lip so hard that he had drawn blood, it was dripping down his chin. His eyes were filled with tears and as he shook his head some of them flew off his cheeks, one of them landed warm and wet on the back of her hand.

She stared at it, unable to look at his face. "Can't you just admit it, Theon?" she begged him. "I need you to admit it so that I can hate you. I need you to admit it so that I don't have to feel sorry for you. I need you to admit it so that I can believe that you deserved whatever Ramsay did to you."

She was crying now, she could feel her own tears slipping down her cheeks. Theon had better control than she did. This was embarrassing, but she could not stop the tears. And when he glanced up at her face and guilt flashed across his face she realized that she didn't want to. She wanted him to see her tears, she wanted him to understand the pain she felt, the pain _Robb_ had felt when he first heard what Theon had done.

She wanted him to suffer.

She wanted him to suffer more than Ramsay had made him suffer. She wanted him to want to die for what he had done. She wanted him to _understand_.

"I didn't," he told her again.

"Is that all you can say?" she asked him, lifting one of her hands off his shoulder so that she could wipe angrily at the tears slipping down her cheeks. "You were there when Rickon was born, you were there as they grew up, you helped rescue Bran and me from the wildlings in the Wolf's Wood. And all you can say is _I didn't_?" She shook her head. "The Theon I knew was braver than that."

"Not Theon," he started.

She sighed, shaking her head as she moved away from him. "I can see that now," she told him, her tone bitter. "You're not Theon at all. Perhaps you really are him, perhaps you are _Reek_."

He had spent so much of his time since she had arrived at the Dreadfort telling her to call him Reek, denying his given name that she thought for a moment that he would be pleased that she had finally accepted his new name. But a look of pain flashed in his eyes when she said it.

She didn't care, she wanted him to feel pain.

She looked away from him as she sat down on a fallen tree. "You can go," she told him, not even looking over her shoulder at him as she dismissed him. "I don't want you here." She nodded toward the heart tree and front of her, "And neither do they."

He was so quiet when he approached her that she did not notice him until his hand had already fallen on her shoulder. "I didn't," he told her again. His voice was still shaking, but it was stronger. Less a whimper and more a whisper. She opened her mouth to argue with him, but he cut her off before she could. "I did not kill the boys. I did not kill Bran and Rickon. And I did not have someone else do it for me."

She glanced at him now, her eyes wide. "They're alive?" she whispered, her voice quiet. He nodded. Her brows furrowed, "But the raven said you hung their bodies from the castle wall. _Who_ did you kill?"

"Two farm boys," Theon admitted, not meeting her gaze. "Changelings dressed to look like Bran and Rickon. And burned so no one would recognize them. They had escaped with their direwolves before I knew. I couldn't catch them. But I could not look weak in front of the small folk. I murdered two innocent boys, yes, but not _the_ boys. Not _our_ boys."

She stared at him, waiting for more, but he never said anything else. "Do you want my gratitude?" she asked him, her voice harsh. "Do you want me to forgive you since you didn't kill Bran and Rickon?"

He shook his head, "I don't deserve anything from you, my lady," he told her hands that were folded in her lap. "I just wanted you to know the truth. The boys are alive. And they're out there."

"A boy of seven and a cripple," she murmured, her anger returning to her. "They're as good as dead. Perhaps I should be grateful, but if you had killed them at least they would have been given a clean death. Now they're probably starving and freezing to death." She was quiet for a moment, thinking about what he had told her. "Who else knows?" she asked him.

He looked down, ashamed. "Ramsay knows," he told her. "And Lord Bolton. And some of the Bolton men. They're hunting them now."

"Hunting them?" Lenora echoed, dread settling in her chest. She shook her head again, "You should have killed them, Theon."

He nodded, " _Reek_ ," he corrected her.

She looked at him, "Theon _._ "

...

"I have been patient, Lord Bolton," she told the older man by way of announcing her presence when she walked into his solar that evening. "More patient than you deserve."

He glanced up from the book he had been reading as his cupbearer placed leeches on his naked chest. Lenora averted her eyes, uncomfortable at the sight of both his chest and the leeches. "Princess Lenora," he greeted her, bowing his head to her though he remained seated, a contradiction. "Good evening."

She moved closer to him, her eyes darting toward the cupbearer and wondering if she had the right to dismiss the boy or not. "I have been patient," she told him again. "You betrayed your king, you killed my husband, and then you kidnapped me and brought me against my will to the Dreadfort. I have been patient, but no more. I would like some answers. I _demand_ some answers."

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Are you really in a position to _demand_ anything, my lady?" he asked her, his voice still annoyingly calm.

She glared at him, perhaps she was not in a position to demand anything of her captor, but she would have the answers anyway. She deserved them. And so, she ignored the cupbearer, she ignored the leeches, she ignored his naked chest and she threw herself into a seat across his desk from him. "My grandfather arranged the Red Wedding," she told him, finally calling the Frey wedding by the name she had heard whispered since they left the Twins.

She had not asked a question, but Lord Bolton nodded his answer. "He did," the northern lord told her. "Lord Tywin believed that if he could kill Robb Stark and decimate most of his host the northern cause would die with him."

Lenora smiled, dark and rueful, it sounded like her grandfather, ruthless and cold, guest rights be damned. He had done it well, if it had not been for the musicians playing _Rains of Castamere_ even she might not have known that her family was behind it. All the blame would have fallen on the Freys and the Boltons. "And was I supposed to die at the Twins as well?" she asked him.

Roose Bolton smiled at her for a moment before he shut his book, giving her all of his attention. "You were not, my lady," he told her.

She nodded, she had expected as much. So far, nothing Lord Bolton had confirmed surprised her. "But I was not supposed to be brought here?" He shook his head. "I was supposed to be sent back to King's Landing. That was part of why my grandfather arranged the affair. To get me home."

Roose nodded, "That was one of the terms," he told her.

"Then why am I here?" Lenora asked him. "You were supposed to kill my husband, you were supposed to destroy his army, and you were supposed to return me to my mother. For those actions you were made Warden of the North and given Winterfell. Do you think they will allow you to have it even though I was never returned?"

"I imagine they do not have much choice in the matter," Roose told her, his tone dismissive. "With the Ironborn holding Moat Cailin they have little hope of making it north to rescue you or take Winterfell from me." He was gloating, not in an obvious way, but a quiet, teasing gloat that made her shoulders tense and her fists clench.

"The Ironborn will not hold the Moat for much longer," she warned him. "The squids are too far from the sea. They'll be running low on food with your men both north and south of the moat. Then what do you plan to do?"

He smiled, "You seem to think that I am like your dead husband, Lady Lenora," he sneered at her. "He used to discuss his battle plans with you, though I warned him not to. I will not do the same."

"Who am I going to tell?" Lenora asked him, glancing around the room as if looking for a Lannister or Stark spy. "I have no friends here. Perhaps I'll tell Reek, though he's as loyal to your son as one of your hounds."

Bolton was quiet for a moment, watching her before he nodded. "I have sent Ramsay and Theon south, they will take the moat back. Then my army will be united north of the moat and there will be no way for your Lannister soldiers to rescue you."

"You sent Reek to deal with the Ironborn?" she asked him. "They won't fall for that in a moment. It's obvious that your son owns the man."

"He will pretend to be Theon Greyjoy," Roose told her, his voice hard. "There won't be a battle. He will order them to surrender and then my son and his men will kill them all."

"And what will he get in return?" Lenora asked him. She was not as innocent as she had once been, she knew that everything came for a price now.

"Reek?" Roose asked her, his eyebrows raised. "He will get nothing. But Ramsay, will be legitimized if they succeed. He will throw away the name _Snow_ and will hereafter be called Bolton. I will recognize him as my trueborn son."

Lenora stared at him, her eyebrows raised, "You would name that monster your son?" she asked him.

Roose smiled at her, "Until I have one of my own."

She wanted to ask him what he planned to do with her. But she was afraid of his answer. She wanted to ask him what would happen after Ramsay was legitimized, but she was terrified. She wanted to ask him if his men had found the boys yet, but she did not want to admit that she knew the truth about them.

So instead she sat, glaring at him from across the desk, hoping that he would know just how much she wanted him to fail. Just how much she wished him dead.

Roose Bolton smiled at her, as if he could read her thoughts and they delighted him. "You won't be at the Dreadfort much longer, my lady," he told her as he signaled to his cupbearer that it was time to start removing the leeches from his chest. "As soon as I have control of the Moat I will bring you home to Winterfell."

"And what will you do with me there?" Lenora asked him.

His calm smile was the only answer she got.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Arya_

"Where will you take me now?" she asked him as they rode together.

The Hound turned to glare at her, "You ask too many questions," he told her. "Curiosity will kill you, little girl."

She smiled at him, he meant for it to be a threat, but he did not scare her. For all his growls and his glares Sandor Clegane had done more to protect her than he had ever done to harm her. He had kidnapped her from the Brotherhood, but after what she had seen them do to Gendry she was not sure that she could trust them not to sell her to the Lannisters if they offered enough gold.

He had meant to bring her to the Twins so that he could ransom her off to her brother and when they had faced the fire and fighting at the Twins he could have left her there, ransomed her to the Freys, but instead he had rescued her. He had protected her from seeing the worst of it and got her away as quickly as he could.

He had helped her kill Polliver. He had gotten Needle back for her. And he had given her a horse.

He liked to remind her that he could kill her if she caused him too much trouble, but she knew he wouldn't. And not because she was worth more to him alive than dead. He wouldn't kill her because he liked her. He wouldn't kill her because somewhere, along the road, he had decided that he would protect her.

And now, he could not scare her.

Her smile widened as she watched his glare intensify, "Where will you take me now?" she asked him again. "You wanted to take me to the Twins but my mother and brother were murdered. Where will you take me now?"

They were traveling south east, for a moment when she had realized what direction they were going she had worried that he meant to bring her back to King's Landing, to the Lannisters. But he had done so much to keep her alive, she didn't think he would waste that all now by bringing her back to the lion's den.

Besides, he seemed as afraid of the Lannisters as she was. Whatever had happened in the capitol before he left had scared him enough that he seemed in no hurry to return.

He sighed, glancing away from her as if he didn't want to answer her. "Your aunt Lysa is in the Vale," he told her. "The Eyrie. I'll bring you there and see if she'll pay me for you."

Arya shrugged her shoulders, "My aunt Lysa has never seen me," she told him. "She doesn't know what I look like. She might not believe you when you tell her who I am."

"Then you'll make her believe me," the Hound growled at her. "You'll tell her everything you remember about Winterfell and your mother. Then she'll have to take you, it'll be her familial duty."

Arya laughed out loud at that, " _Familial duty_?" she asked him. "Do you think people care about that in times of war? Have you heard the stories of my aunt Lysa? Do you believe that she _ever_ cared about that? She left my brother when he needed her most, _ignored_ him. What makes you think that she won't ignore me too."

The Hound turned to watch her, "If your aunt won't take you I'll bring you further south to King's Landing," he threatened. "So you had best hope that your lady aunt is feeling _auntly_ when we get to the Eyrie."

Arya barked out another laugh, "You're a shit liar," she told him. "You're just as likely to willingly walk into King's Landing as I am. You won't bring me back to the Lannisters."

"Don't you want that?" the Hound growled at her. "Aren't they on that little list of yours? It would be easier to kill them if you were in King's Landing." He was mocking her, she felt her fists clench as she stared at him. The Hound chuckled, "That list is a lie, little girl," he told her. "You're too scared to knock names off of it."

"Your name is on the list," she warned him. "If I were you I would hope that I don't decide to _knock your name_ off of it."

The Hound chuckled, he was not afraid of her. She wanted him to be. "If I were you I would hope that when you tried I was nice enough to kill you quickly," he told her. "You'll get one try, little girl, use it wisely."

She hated him.

...

They were laying on either side of a fire, resting for the night. She supposed that if she were out there alone she would not have been comfortable so out in the open, next to a fire. But with the Hound she felt safe. Whoever might come upon them during the night would be wise to rethink attacking the Hound.

And despite his daily threats. He would keep her safe.

He would keep her safe until he had found someone to ransom her to.

"Cersei, Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, Tywin Lannister, the Red Woman, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Ilyn Payne, the Mountain," she whispered, reciting her list. It was the only thing that could help her sleep at night.

The Hound turned his head, glaring at her through the flames, "Would you shut up?" he asked her.

She wondered how he could lay so close to the fire. Sure, he was a good five feet from it, but given his past she wondered if even that was too close. Perhaps the chill in the air was enough to make him fight his fear of the flames. Warmth over fear.

"I can't sleep until I say the names," she told him, angry that he had interrupted her.

"The names of every fucking person in Westeros?" he asked her.

"Only the ones I'm going to kill," she told him. She didn't need to explain herself, he knew about her list, she had explained it to him. But this was the first time that he had truly heard it. Usually she waited until he was sleeping to say the names.

He laughed at her, "Hate's as good a thing as any to keep a person going," he told her. "I know that better than most." He was quiet for a long moment and she thought he had fallen asleep. She was about to start her list again when he spoke, "If we ever come across my brother maybe we can both cross a name off our lists."

"If he were here right now what would you do?" Arya asked him, sitting up a bit so that she could squint at him across the fire.

He stared at her for a long moment, debating whether or not to let her in. For a moment she thought that he might trust her, but then he sighed. "I'd tell him to shut the fuck up so that I could get some sleep," he told her. She stared at him, quiet and waiting. There had to be something more, he couldn't leave it at that. He sighed again, "Go on," he told her, closing his eyes, "get it over with, your list of doomed men."

"I'm almost done," she told him as she lay back down and rolled away from him. "There's only one name left," she paused for a long moment, but she knew that he was listening. "The Hound."

...

She was up and practicing her water dancing by the river long before he woke up the next day. She woke up early every morning to practice, but she was usually finished before he woke up. This was the first time he had caught her. She did not know how long he had stood there, watching her practice, but she knew that Syrio Forel would be disappointed with her. She was as quick as a cat, but she had not been listening.

"What the hell are you doing?" the Hound had asked her when she turned to see him.

"Practicing," she told him. Wasn't it obvious?

"Practicing ways to die?" he asked her, his voice sounded angry. She did not know what she had done to make him angry, but she did not care. He would not always be around to protect her. She needed to keep practicing how to do it on her own.

"No one's going to kill me," she assured him.

"They will if you keep dancing around like that," he told her. "That's not how you fight."

"It's not fighting," she agreed with him as she turned away from him. "It's water dancing."

He laughed out loud then, as if she had told him the funniest joke in the world. "Dancing?" he echoed at her. "Perhaps you should put on a dress then. Who taught you that?"

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived," she told him, doing a one handed cartwheel as she turned to face him, _Needle_ extended as if she meant to fight him. "Syrio Forel. The first sword of the Sea Lord of Bravos."

He chuckled, "You're all off," he told her.

"What do you know about anything?" Arya fired back, angry. The Hound could laugh at her all he wanted, but she would not allow him to laugh at Syrio.

"What happened to him?" the Hound asked.

"He's dead," she told him.

"Who killed him?"

"Ser Meryn Trant," she yelled, moving closer to him. He was laughing again, "That's why Ser Meryn is on my -"

"The _greatest swordsman who ever lived_ killed by Meryn Fucking Trant?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. She tried to tell him that Syrio had been outnumbered, but the Hound kept going. "Any boy with a sword and armor could beat three of Meryn Trant."

"He didn't have armor or a sword," Arya defended her teacher. "Just a stick."

"The _greatest swordsman who ever lived_ didn't have a sword?" he asked, chuckling. "Alright, you have a sword, let's see what he taught you. Show me."

She threw her sword from one hand to another, trying to confuse him, then with one fast quick twirl she lunged, stabbing him in the stomach. He would have been cut open if he hadn't been wearing armor. He looked down at her sword and almost smiled before he drew his hand back and slapped her across the face. She fell to the ground, staring up at him as he plucked _Needle_ from her hands and turned it on her. "Lesson one," he told her. "Your friend is dead and Meryn Trant is still alive because Trant had armor and a big fucking sword."

Then he flipped the blade in his grasp, holding onto the steel and extending the handle out toward her so that she could take it back. "Lesson one?" she asked him as she stood up.

He nodded, "If you're going to carry that sword around, I had better teach you to use it."

...

They stopped at an inn that evening, not to stay for the night, but to eat supper. The Hound was quiet for most of the meal, it took Arya longer than she liked to admit to realize that he was quiet not because he had nothing to say, but because he was listening to the whispers and gossip around them.

"What are you listening to?" she asked him.

"Shut up," he growled to her, his ear turned toward a table of fishermen to their right.

"I'm telling you," one of them swore to his friends. "I saw them get on the boat. Lord Bolton thought that moving by night would keep her hidden, but I recognized her."

" _Recognized her_?" his friend echoed, not believing a single word the man said. "And when have you ever seen the lady? You wouldn't recognize her if she were standing in front of you now."

"I have too seen her," the first argued. "I saw her as she rode to the Twins for the Red Wedding. She was riding with the King in the North and that grey direwolf of his. That's how I knew it was them. It was the same woman, the same dark hair, the same grey eyes."

"You were close enough to see her eyes?" his friend chuckled. "Now I know you're lying."

"I'm not," the first defended himself. "They were headed north, toward White Harbor. Getting around the Ironborn at Moat Cailin."

Arya turned toward the Hound, her eyes wide, "Lenora," she whispered, "they're talking about Lenora."

The Hound did not say anything, he didn't even hint that he heard her. But when they left the inn and climbed back into their saddles he did not turn east toward the Vale and her aunt Lysa at the Eyrie.

He started to ride north.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello loves, you asked for more Lenora and I hope I delivered! I'm not super excited about her section in this chapter (if I'm being honest, I'm all about the Arya love in this chapter) but it leads her to make a really exciting decision about three chapters from now that I just wrote this morning. And that part I'm in love with!  
I hope you all are doing well. And that maybe this chapter helps you get over the hump this week.  
Thank you for stopping by, thank you for reading, and thank you in advance for all the review love I know you're about to leave me. I'm sure that we're going to get past four hundred reviews with this chapter. I can feel it.  
 **HUGE** thanks to the review rockstars from the last chapter. You guys are what keeps me writing. Just know that.

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you! I was doing a happy dance all day on Monday. This is the largest story I have ever tried to take on and sixty chapters just seemed like a huge deal. I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one!

 _DannyBlack70:_ Thank you for your two reviews! I really appreciate that you were going to wait until you were caught up, but that you had to tell me about Robb's POV. I'm so glad I nailed it. And I'm even more glad that you enjoyed reading it.  
I'm having so much fun with Theon and Lenora. You guys got a little hint of it in this chapter. When he _whispered_ instead of _whimpered_ about the boys. He's getting stronger. Part of it is that Sansa saw him again at Winterfell, Lenora first saw him at the Dreadfort, so she's got a little more time with him, but she also challenges him more than Sansa did. He's going to end up more of an ally for Lenora than he was for Sansa. I rewatched her escape episode last night (a bit of research) and he had a moment when he pushes Miranda from the wall, but then Ramsay returns and it's almost like he helps Sansa because he knows that HE is not safe anymore. If/when (don't want to give too much away) he helps Lenora escape it's going to be more for her than for him.  
There's been a lot of Sansa bits recently (and there will be more to come) because I love her and I love her arc (except for the recent episodes because she's turning into a bit of a stone cold bitch (no hatred for that) but I'm really worried she's going to try to kill Arya. And Arya's my girl. So I won't like her if she does.  
As for Dorne, I'm not going to go too far into the Sand Snakes and my plot definitely follows the show more than the book, but Jaime won't go down there. And whatever happens to Myrcella, you guys probably won't see it, it's going to happen off page(?) (for the most part) but it's going to be that final thing that drives Cersei insane. And there's going to be a lot of collateral damage that is going to be a lot of fun to write. So I'm excited for it.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you dear!

 _Wallflower:_ What will you do in your spare time? What will I do in my spare time? My weeks off have been devoted to this story for almost a year! What will I do? I suppose I will just have to write another one. And you might just have to read it.

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one too. I'm really glad you enjoyed the Cersei part. Home girl is going insane. She's depressed, she's scared, she's angry, she's paranoid, and she is just steadily going off the deep end. And I have so much fun writing it! And I now it probably sounds sick and twisted but I really can't wait until after Tommen and Myrcella go because then the real fun begins. At least as far as Cersei's mind goes.  
 _Gold will be their crowns. And gold their shrouds._

 _FairyFelicity:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope you enjoyed this one. There was some Len in it. As for your request for more of them I checked my outline. There's some Robb in the next chapter. Neither of them in the next. And then there's at least one of them if not **BOTH** in every chapter to follow. So your heart will get its wish.

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ I'm glad you love the story. And thank you so much for the information on Henry VIII. I know that my information was very basic, so thank you for adding to it. And it wasn't rude at all. I was a biology and history major in college (but I studied WWII like it was my job and basically nothing else) and I'm a proud American but I get a bit insulted when people spout off bad information about Hitler and the Nazis because I spent four years of my life studying them. So I totally understand where you are coming from. And I sincerely thank you.  
As for what Lenora looks like. I picture her as Lily James with her brown hair and with grey eyes, not brown. It worked out really well because the picture for this story is actually her and Richard Madden from when they were doing Romeo and Juliet in London (not sure if they're still doing it, but they were).  
Anyway, I hope you make it all the way to chapter sixty-one to read this reply!

 _OfSeashellsandStars:_ Oh my goodness, you binge readers amaze me! You read the story in a day? That's amazing. And I guess it means it's pretty good, so cheers to both of us for that! I'm so glad that you found this story. And I'm so glad that you're shipping Robb and Lenora "so hard right now". (Secret: I am too ... obviously.) As for Ramsay ... don't worry, whatever happens, he'll get what he deserves.

That's all I've got for now, dear readers.  
See you on Friday!  
Chloe Jane.


	62. Chapter Sixty-Two: North, North, North

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Two: North, North, North_

 _Tyrion_

They sent Jaime to collect him for his trial. He had to respect his father's decision. It was both cruel and intelligent, two things his father had always done best. Cruel because of anyone in King's Landing, being escorted to his trial by his older brother would hurt Tyrion the most. Intelligent because it appeared to pit the brothers against each other. Even though Jaime knew that Tyrion had not killed Joffrey, to the court it put the brothers on separate sides: the King's Guard and the man who killed the king.

It had been embarrassing to stand there while Jaime chained his hands and feet together as if he really was the criminal they accused him of being. But Tyrion was sure that it was not the most embarrassing thing that would happen to him during his sham of a trial. His father and his sister would use every chance they got to embarrass him. He couldn't speak for his father, but he knew that Cersei would enjoy every bit of it.

"It's fitting," he mused as he followed his brother through the corridors toward the throne room. "You escorting me to my trial."

"Why is it fitting?" Jaime asked with a sigh. Tyrion smiled sadly, his brother knew him so well that even now he knew what to expect from Tyrion. Jaime knew that Tyrion was going to attempt to make a joke. It would be a bad one, but Jaime would try to smile, if only to humor his brother.

"Well, you're a Kingslayer and so am I, it would seem," Tyrion told him, shrugging his shoulders. "Though you never had to go to trial for your king."

"If you had seen Ned Stark's eyes when he walked into the throne room you would know that I was given a trial of my own," Jaime murmured, not meeting Tyrion's eyes. "I was given a trial and judged guilty before I could say a word in my defense."

Tyrion sighed, for years he had known that his brother had been hurt by Ned Stark's reaction to him after the sack of King's Landing. For years he had wondered why Jaime had never defended himself. When Ned Stark looked at Jaime all he saw was a knight who had broken his vow and murdered his king. But Aerys was mad, horrible for the kingdom and for the people. All those cowards that whispered _Kingslayer_ behind his back, they really could not blame him for the murder, only the broken vow. And who hadn't broken a vow during their lifetime? He would wager that even Ned Stark had broken a vow or two, Jon Snow was evidence of that at least.

He understood his brother's bitterness. And on any other day he might have sympathized. But not today. Today he was going to be put on trial for a murder he had not committed. Jaime would not get sympathy from him now.

"Oh poor Jaime Lannister," he cooed at his brother, turning to glare playfully at him. "Woo is me, some northern lord with a stick up his ass didn't like me. My life is ruined." He smirked when Jaime's lips turned up a bit at the corners, at was a pathetic smile, but a smile none the less. "Forgive me, brother, but I think that my trial is a bit more high stakes than your pretend trial in Ned Stark's eyes."

Jaime sighed, "They're not calling you Kingslayer," he assured Tyrion.

"Not yet," Tyrion countered. "But I'm sure it will occur to them, most likely when we walk in together. Yet another reason why Father probably chose you to escort me to my trial." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "These bastards," he told Jaime, shaking his head. "They all act as if Joffrey's murder was a horrible crime. I know he was your son, and I'm sorry for it, but that boy was a monster and he would have destroyed the entire Seven Kingdoms. Whoever killed him was doing the world a favor."

"Do yourself a favor and don't bring up those thoughts during your trial," Jaime warned him, his voice quiet and pleading.

"Do you think that I'm a fool?" Tyrion fired at him.

"I think you're hot-headed," Jaime corrected him. "I think that Cersei and others will try to upset you and rile you up and you will let your emotions get the better of you. I know you will because that is who you are, but _I_ am asking you, begging you really, to hold your tongue."

"You want me to play nice?" Tyrion asked him, raising his eyebrows.

"I want you to survive."

He chuckled and shook his head, "You're fooling yourself if you think they will name me _innocent_ at the end of this trial, Jaime."

Jaime nodded, "I know you won't," he told Tyrion. Tyrion smiled, his brother had never lied to him, in his entire life, and he was pleased to know that he wouldn't lie now. "But there's a difference between _guilty and taking the Black_ and _guilty and dead_."

"You think they'll allow me to take the Black?" Tyrion chuckled and shook his head. "Never. I'm not on trial for killing a man, I'm on trial for killing a _King_. And the Night's Watch would never want me, what would they do with a dwarf on the Wall?"

"Send you to Moletown?" Jaime joked.

"I wish," Tyrion chuckled back.

Jaime smiled for a moment, but the smile quickly fell from his face. "Just hold your tongue," he begged again. "Hold your tongue, keep quiet, don't yell or lash out. Only speak when absolutely necessary and when you do, be polite."

Tyrion chuckled and shook his head, "I'll be on my best behavior, brother," he promised. "If that's what you want. But it won't change a thing. This is not a fair trial and I will not get a fair judgement. You know it. I know it. There's no use fooling ourselves."

Jaime's silence was enough to tell him that his brother did know, just as well as Tyrion did.

...

He had been right, someone had called him Kingslayer the moment he walked into the throne room. But unlike when they called Jaime _Kingslayer_ they did not whisper it. They were not afraid of him, so when they called him the horrible name they shouted it. Tyrion was not hurt, he had expected as much, but his chest tightened when he saw his brother flinch at the word. He wondered if Jaime was flinching because he thought the name was meant for himself, or because he knew it was meant for Tyrion.

He wondered if he would ever get the chance to ask his brother. He might never get a chance to be alone with his brother again. They might decide to take his head as soon as he was pronounced guilty. He supposed her should be grateful that Joffrey was dead. If Joffrey had been running this trial his head would have been cut off in the throne room itself.

Joffrey would not have provided the stepping stool either. Tyrion was grateful to Tommen for that. It would be nice to be able to see over the pulpit he was chained to. He wanted to look all of his sister's liars in the eyes when they lied about him. If he had to die for Joffrey's murder he wanted them to be afraid he would haunt them for the rest of their lives for the lies they told.

Once he was chained inside his box Jaime moved to stand in his spot, just to the right and forward of the Iron Throne, placing himself between Tommen and Tyrion. It was unnecessary, Tyrion had not killed Joffrey and he would never think of killing Tommen, besides he was chained up, but Tywin Lannister loved nothing more than proper appearance, and this was what would be expected of the Lord Commander of the King's Guard, even if the one who stood accused was his own brother.

When he stood, Tommen's fists were clenched. And when he spoke his voice shook. "I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, do hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin, of House Lannister, Hand of the King, and Protector of the Realm will sit as judge in my stead. With him Prince Oberyn from House Martell and Lord Mace of House Tyrell."

It was such a large speech for such a young boy. He could barely make his way through all of his new names and titles. Tyrion wondered if the poor boy had stayed up half the night before, practicing so that he would not stumble over his words. His chest tightened again at the thought.

Most of his speech had been given while he looked over Tyrion's shoulder, staring at the people behind his uncle. But now he brought his gaze to Tyrion's face and took a deep shuddering breath, "If found guilty, may the Gods punish the accused."

It hurt, Tyrion was man enough to admit it, but he opened his eyes and watched as Tommen left the dais. He was in the process of accepting his fate, but he would not have Tommen blaming himself for whatever happened during his trial. _I don't blame you, boy,_ he thought as he watched the young king walk stiffly past Jaime. _I never could. None of this is your fault_.

Once Tommen had walked past Jaime his older brother lifted his gaze toward Tyrion and nodded, a silent reminder that he expected his brother to behave throughout the trial.

Things were not going to get better from this point on.

They could only get worse.

"Tyrion, of House Lannister," his father called down from the Iron Throne once all three judges had taken their seats. "You stand accused by the queen regent of regicide. Did you kill the king?"

Tyrion shook his head, "No," he told his father, biting back the rest of his sentence, _though I wanted to_. He meant to keep his promise to his brother and hold his tongue.

"Did your wife, Lady Sansa?"

"Not that I know of," Tyrion answered. _She wouldn't have_ , he thought. _She was too afraid_.

"How did he die then?" Tywin asked.

 _Why do you think I know?_ Tyrion wanted to yell at him. _How in the Seven Hells can I know who killed the king? Half the Seven Kingdoms wanted to._ "He choked on his pigeon pie," Tyrion answered instead.

"So you would blame the bakers?" Tywin asked, not impressed.

"Or the pigeons." Oberyn smirked in his seat. "But leave me out of it."

Tywin sighed. This entire trial was a mockery, but he did not appreciate having his son make it more of one. Tyrion realized belatedly, that perhaps he would have gotten more sympathy from the judges, his father in particular if he had kept his tongue in check. _Just like Jaime asked you to_ , the voice in the back of his head teased in a sing-song voice.

"The Crown may call its first witness," his father commanded.

The first witness was Ser Meryn Trant. He glared at Tyrion maliciously as he recounted the day they had sent Myrcella to Dorne. He briefly mentioned the attack, went into greater detail about his role in protecting King Joffrey from the mob, and went into even greater detail about Tyrion's reaction when he realized that no one had thought to protect Sansa from the angry and desperate small folk.

"He slapped the king across the face and called him an idiot and a fool," Meryn told the judges.

 _He was one!_ Tyrion wanted to shout. _Even Father knew it! I believe you called him a fool yourself on several occasions_. But that defense would not work for him, not here, not with these judges. They all knew that Joffrey had been a monster and none of them seemed to care.

"It was not the only time the Imp threatened Joffrey," Meryn continued. "Right here, in this very room. He marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. He compared His Grace to the Mad King and suggested that he would meet the same fate. When I spoke up in the king's defense, he threatened to have me killed."

"Why don't you tell them what you were doing?" Tyrion fired at Trant, only realizing after the words were spoken that they were not in his head, that he had spoken out loud. He could have stopped there, he should have stopped there, but he thought it very unlikely that he would ever get a chance to give a defense to their claims. He might as well force one. "Joffrey was pointing a loaded crossbow at Sansa Stark, who currently still his betrothed, while you tore at her dress and beat her. I thought it an apt comparison and anyone who had known the Mad King would have thought the same!"

"Silence!" Tywin roared over Tyrion's shouted defense. "You will not speak unless called upon." He turned toward the white cloak. "You are dismissed, Ser Meryn."

The next witness was Grand Maester Pycelle, who would have had the court believe that Tyrion had arrested him and thrown him in a black cell so that he could pillage all of the poisons in the maester's stores.

Tyrion wanted to ask him why he would need to steal _all_ those poisons to kill Joffrey. Did the maester really think him so stupid? Wouldn't _one_ have been smarter? Wouldn't _one_ have potentially gone unnoticed.

He also wanted to ask why the maester had all of those poisons so readily available. _Who are you trying to kill?_

Pycelle did have one surprise up his sleeve, quite literally, he pulled out a necklace, Tyrion vaguely recognized it as one he had seen Sansa wear the day of Joffrey's wedding. The maester told the judges that it had been found on the body of Joffrey's fool, Ser Dontos, who had been spotted dragging Sansa away from the feast. He claimed that there was a residue of poison on the necklace, the Strangler.

As luck would have it, that was one of the poisons that Tyrion was supposed to have stolen from the maester's stores.

Tyrion glanced up at Jaime to find his brother watching him with furrowed brows. His heart fell when he realized that this might have swayed his brother's opinion. It was Sansa's necklace after all, he shook his head, as subtly as possible, he was still just as sure that Sansa had not knowingly killed the king as he was that it had not been himself.

"It's a poison that few in the Seven Kingdoms possess, used to strike down the most noble child the Gods ever put on this good earth!" Pycelle stated, turning to glare at Tyrion.

 _If you truly believe that than you are more of a fool than I thought you were_ , Tyrion thought, glaring at the old man. _Joffrey was anything but noble. And the Seven Kingdoms are safer with him gone._

The third witness was Varys. If he had not been called on behalf of the crown Tyrion might have held out hope that this man could have done something to help him. But the Spider was there to speak for his sister. Even then Tyrion held out hope that Varys might say that he had never witnessed any treasonous behavior on Tyrion's part. Varys was one of Tyrion's only friends in King's Landing after all. They kept each other's secrets.

All of his hope died though when Varys took the witness stand and was asked if he had ever witnessed Tyrion threatening the king. Varys had answered that he had, a few weeks before Joffrey's death, when the Small Council received word of the Red Wedding.

"And do you remember the exact nature of this threat?" Lord Mace Tyrell had asked, eager to get a word in during the proceedings. So far Tywin had run the show, Lord Mace was eager to prove himself useful to Cersei.

"I'm afraid I do, my lord," Varys told him, his voice as soft as ever, Tyrion hated it. Tyrion hated him. "He said, 'Perhaps you should speak more softly to me then, monsters are dangerous and just now kings seem to be dropping like flies.'"

 _That's out of context!_ Tyrion wanted to yell. _All of this testimony has been out of context!_

"And he said this to the king during a Small Council meeting?" Lord Mace asked, his brows furrowed. He was trying his best to seem thoughtful and serious. _Did you really want your daughter married to that monster?_ Tyrion screamed at the man in his head. _If I had killed Joffrey you should have been the first person in line to thank me!_

"Yes, my lord," Varys told the judges. "It was just after we had received word of Robb Stark's death. Lord Tyrion did not seem pleased by the news. Perhaps all the time he had spent with his wife, Lady Sansa, had softened his heart and his mind to the Northern cause."

That assumption shocked and angered the court more than the suggestion that Tyrion had murdered Joffrey. _Since when had being sympathetic to the North been more treasonous than killing a king?_

The crown was not finished yet, it had one more witness and it had saved the best for last.

Cersei Lannister

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He had never felt more betrayed than he did the moment Cersei took the witness stand. It was stupid. He was not the one on trial. If anyone should have felt betrayed it should have been Tyrion, turned on by his own family. But when Cersei took her place facing the three judges Jaime felt betrayed. This trial was her fault, most of the High Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms had been there for Joffrey's wedding. They had all seen his death. They had all watched him pointing toward Tyrion with his last breath. But none of them had accused Tyrion of murdering his nephew.

Only Cersei.

She had blamed Tyrion. She had accused Tyrion. She had refused to listen to reason and to look at any other suspects. He wondered how long she had been waiting for this moment, for this chance to put him on trial and find him guilty. _Since the day he was born_ , he realized. For a moment he hated his sister for putting him in this position. They were not as close as they had once been, after what she had done to Lenora all those years ago it was impossible for them to be, but she was still his twin, the other half of him. And now she was placing him between her and the little brother that he had always done his best to protect.

It was cruel. Because he knew, even now, that there was no way that he could protect his younger brother. Not from her. Not from their father. Not from the judgement they all knew he would get.

They had named him guilty before he had even sat a trial. And now they were all playacting, all pretending that this wasn't all for show. Their father was just like Cersei, he had been waiting for years for an excuse to rid himself of Tyrion. Oberyn Martell hated Lannisters, why would he vote to save Tyrion's life when he would no doubt enjoy watching him lose his head. And Mace Tyrell would vote how Tywin wanted him to. He was about as useless on the judging council as a great pair of breasts on a man.

"I will hurt you for this," Cersei was telling the judges, recounting a conversation she had had with Tyrion before the Battle of the Blackwater. That had been almost a year ago, Jaime wondered why none of the judges bothered to ask why Cersei had it memorized. _How long have you been planning this?_ He wondered, staring at his sister in horror. "There will come a day when you think you are safe and happy and your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth and you will know that the debt has been paid."

Jaime had to hand it to her. She was a convincing enough witness. Her words sounded like something Tyrion might say. And the tears in her eyes looked real enough. Her jaw quivered as she spoke and she looked so lovely and heartbroken in her black silk gown that even Jaime wanted to believe her. But then he remembered those same tears in her eyes whenever she recounted the time Lenora had been poisoned, always conveniently leaving out that _she_ had been the one to poison the babe, and he realized that he could not believe her now.

He knew that Cersei loved her children, all four of them. He knew that she was heartbroken over what had happened to Joffrey, that a part of her was broken and that she may never heal from it. But he also knew that no one knew better than Cersei how to turn an unfortunate situation to her advantage. Someone had killed Joffrey, and perhaps for one heartbroken moment Cersei had truly believed that Tyrion had done it. But he knew his sister, sometimes better than himself, and he knew that she did not believe it now.

Her son was dead, there was nothing she could do about that. But she could use his death to rid herself of her biggest threat in King's Landing. As he watched her he wondered how he had ever thought that she was beautiful. She was cruel, she was conniving, she was vengeful. But he could no longer see her beauty. If he lost his brother for her actions he would never forgive her for it.

He wondered if losing both her eldest son and her twin brother would seem an even trade for Tyrion's head. Deep down inside, he knew it would.

Mace Tyrell leaned forward in his seat, his face etched with concern, "Your own _brother_ told you that?" he asked, as if he could not quite believe it.

 _If you knew the way she treated him you would understand_ , Jaime wanted to defend his brother. But it was not his place and an outburst from him would do nothing to save his brother from these judges.

"Yes," Cersei told him, allowing a tear to slide down one of her cheeks. "Shortly before the Battle of Blackwater Bay. "I had confronted him for his plans for Joffrey on the front lines. As Queen Regent I understood that having the king on the front lines was necessary to the moral of our soldiers, but as a mother I _needed_ to ensure that my son would be safe. Even then, I had my suspicions that Tyrion wanted Joffrey dead, and a death on a battlefield would be looked at much less closely than poison at a wedding. I only wanted to make sure that my suspicions were nothing more than a woman's worry and that Tyrion would take every necessary precaution to keep the king safe and alive." She shook her head, smiling ruefully as she wiped at the tear sliding down her cheek. "As it turned out when the attack came, Joff insisted that he remain on the battlements. He thought that his presence would inspire the troops, even when it appeared that the battle had been lost."

Jaime wanted to yell at her for her lie, he wanted to yell at all the lords and ladies who sat quietly, knowingly listening to it. He had not been in King's Landing for more than a day before he had heard the whispered accounts of Joffrey's part in the Battle of the Blackwater. He had stood behind Tyrion when his brother used wildfire on the bay. He had stood behind men when they launched rocks from the scorpions at the attacking army. And he had run like a child when the battle turned and it seemed as though King's Landing would be sacked. It had been _Tyrion_ who inspired the troops, not Joffrey, and everyone in this room knew it, though none would speak up for him.

Oberyn Martell shifted in his seat, his brow was furrowed as if something about Cersei's story did not make sense to him. Jaime leaned back, toward the man, physically willing him to question Cersei's account, to call her on her lies.

"Your brother said, _and you will know the debt is paid_. What debt?"

Cersei took a shuddering breath, she had not expected that question. She had hoped that the men would see her tears and her motherly compassion and look no further. But Oberyn saw more, and he questioned it. Jaime watched as his sister's eyes narrowed, quickly thinking of an answer for the man's question. "I had discovered that he was keeping whores in the Tower of the Hand," she told the judges and the court. "I asked him to confine his salacious acts to the brothel where such disgusting behavior belongs. He was not pleased."

Jaime raised his eyebrows, wondering if anyone would buy that answer. In order to do so they would have to believe that Tyrion was so egotistical that even the mere act of Cersei asking him to take his whores to a brothel would make him wish to murder her son. Even if Jaime had not known his siblings he would not have believed that, not even for a moment.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder to see what the judges thought. Oberyn looked skeptical, as if he did not believe what he had heard. Tywin was pensive, as if trying to understand how to use this to his advantage. The oaf, Mace Tyrell, was smiling kindly at Cersei, "Thank you, Your Grace," his smiled widened, "for the courage of your testimony."

Jaime snorted, there was nothing _courageous_ about lying.

Tywin waited until Cersei had left the stand and taken her seat before he spoke. "We will adjourn for now. Toll the bells in an hour's time." The lords and ladies of the court began to clear, the judges would leave to drink wine and eat. Tyrion would remain, locked to the stand, waiting for them to return. All Jaime needed to do was glance at his sister and see the hatred and anger in her green eyes to know that it would not be good for Tyrion when they did. He barely looked at her or his brother when he left the throne room, following his father.

It had occurred to him, watching his father on the Iron Throne that there might be some way for him to save his brother's life, even if he couldn't save him from the guilty verdict. His father controlled Mace Tyrell, if he told the oaf to have mercy in the punishment they would. There was nothing Tywin Lannister wanted more than to have Jaime step away from the King's Guard and become his heir again. He would even be merciful to Tyrion for that.

So, with that in mind, Jaime followed Tywin to the Tower of the Hand. He had broken many vows before, it would not take much to break them again.

Tywin did not look surprised to see him when he walked into the solar. "You would condemn your own son to death," Jaime accused him, there was no point in stalling, he only had an hour to change his father's mind.

"I condemn no one," Tywin interrupted. "The trial is not over."

Jaime laughed, hard and humorless. "This is not a trial, Father," he told his father, shaking his head. "This is an act. You've known he would be found guilty from the moment you decided to have a trial. That's why your pet judge Mace Tyrell sits up there with you. To ask the questions you want him to, to vote the way you want him to, to think the way you tell him to."

Tywin glanced up at him from the meal he was eating, "Do you think I would have risked a trial if I were not sure of the outcome?" he asked Jaime, as if surprised by his own son's condemnation. "Have you taught you nothing all these years?"

"Clearly not as much as you've taught Cersei," Jaime fired back. "She knows better than anyone how to take advantage of every situation." He shook his head. "She is manipulating everything and everyone, she's paid and threatened the witnesses, her tears are fake, her answers lies. And you know it."

"I know nothing of the sort," his father countered.

"Then you're a liar too," Jaime yelled at him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. His father would not make a deal with him if he was yelling and causing a scene. "You've always hated Tyrion," he accused his father.

"He killed his King," Tywin defended himself.

"As did _I_ ," Jaime reminded him, so angry that he did not even flinch at the memory. Tywin would not even look at him. "Do you know the last order the Mad King gave me?" he asked. His father did not know, Jaime had never felt the need to defend his actions to his father, or anyone else outside of Lenora and Brienne. "He ordered me to bring him _your_ head. I saved your life so that you could murder my brother?" He felt ashamed of his father, but more than that he felt ashamed of himself. He had always known that _this_ was the kind of man his father was. And at this very moment he could not understand why he had tried to save Tywin's life.

"It won't be murder it will be justice," Tywin told him around a bite of food.

"Justice?" Jamie echoed, slamming his golden hand on the table between them. "How is this _justice_?"

"I am performing my duty as Hand of the King, if Tyrion is found guilty he will be punished accordingly."

"He'll be executed," Jaime whispered, some of his fight gone.

"He'll be punished accordingly," Tywin repeated.

Jaime sighed, "Once you said that _family_ is what lives on. _All_ that lives on. You told me about a dynasty that would last a thousand years." He stepped closer to his father now, playing his hand. Cersei was not the only one who had learned how to use a person's words against them. "What happens to your dynasty when Tyrion dies? I'm a King's Guard, forbidden by oath to carry on the family line."

"I'm aware of your oath," Tywin growled. He always growled when he spoke about Jaime's vows to join the King's Guard. He had never been able to look at Jaime in his white plate and white cloak without glaring as if Jaime had stolen something from him when he put them on.

And perhaps he had.

"What happens to _your_ name? Who carries the lion banner into future battles? _Lancel Lannister_? Other cousins I can't even remember the names of?"

"What happens to my dynasty if I spare the life of my grandson's killer?" Tywin asked, putting down his knife and fork to study Jaime.

"It survives," Jaime told him without a moment's pause, without a flinch or a thought. "Through me."

Jaime had not paused, but Tywin did. He cocked his head to the side and stared at Jaime as if seeing him for the first time in years. "You would leave the King's Guard?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Jaime nodded, "I will leave the King's Guard," he confirmed. "I will take my place at your side as your son and heir. _If_ you let Tyrion live."

"Done."

There was no hesitation now, no pause on his father's part. Jaime's eyes widened as he took a step away from the table. Since he had come to the realization in the throne room that he could save Tyrion's life he had thought that he was taking advantage of the situation, that it was _he_ who would bribe his father into doing something that he did not want to do. But he saw it now. It had always been Tywin.

Jaime had not been in control of anything from the moment he had stepped foot into his father's solar. Tywin Lannister, who always taught by example, had been playing him by allowing Jaime to think that _he_ was playing his father. This had always been Tywin's plan. He was never going to behead Tyrion, but he had waited to admit it until Jaime had agreed to give him what he wanted most.

Cersei did not care to find Joffrey's true murderer, she wanted to be rid of Tyrion.

And Tywin did not care to find justice for Joffrey, he wanted Jaime to consent to leaving the King's Guard and becoming his heir again.

And he had gotten exactly what he wanted, as he always did.

"When the testimony is concluded and the guilty verdict rendered, Tyrion will be given the chance to speak. He'll plead for mercy and I will allow him to join the Night's Watch. In three days time he will depart King's Landing and head north to live out the rest of his days on the Wall. _You'll_ take off your white cloak immediately. You will leave King's Landing and take up your rightful place at Casterly Rock. You will marry a suitable woman and father children named _Lannister_. And you will _never_ turn your back on your family again."

Jaime nodded, he hated that he had played straight into his father's plan. But there was no going back now. When Tyrion had been born and Jaime realized that both his father and sister hated the babe he had vowed to protect his brother. He would do this now, his final act of protecting him. "You have my word."

"And you have mine," Tywin told him.

 _For what it's worth_ , Jaime thought as he quickly turned and left the room. He would not stand there and stare at his father's smug face any longer than he had to.

He hurried back down to the throne room, he wanted to tell Tyrion that he would be safe. That all he needed to do was wait for them to proclaim him guilty and ask for mercy. The lords and ladies were beginning to take their seats when he approached Tyrion. "Not going well is it?" Tyrion asked him sarcastically.

"You're going to be found guilty," Jaime warned him.

Tyrion scoffed, "You think so?"

"When you are you need to enter a formal plea for mercy and ask to be sent to the Wall. Father will agree to it, he's given me his word. He will spare your life and allow you to join the Night's Watch."

"Ned Stark was promised the same thing," Tyrion told him.

"And Father is not Joffrey," Jaime argued. "He _will_ agree to it. He has to."

Tyrion studied him for a moment, his brows furrowed. "You made a deal with him?" he asked, always too smart for his own good.

"Do you trust me?" Jaime asked him. Tyrion nodded, he didn't even have to think about the answer. Jaime nodded in return, "Keep your mouth shut, no more outbursts. This will all be over soon." He turned to return to his place on the dais before the judges returned, but Tyrion reached out to catch ahold of his wrist. He stopped and turned back toward his brother, his eyebrows raised.

"What did this deal cost you?" he asked, his voice soft.

Jaime shrugged his shoulders, "Nothing important," he assured his brother, "just a white cloak."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

 _He had found her. It had taken him many nights, but he had finally found her. He had caught her scent again on the other side of the great water and followed her scent, running along a river, through the trees, past the walls he once lived behind._

 _And finally he had stopped in front of new walls, shorter walls. Her scent went no further. He did not know where they were, he did not know what was happening to her behind those walls. But he knew that she was there._

 _He knew that he had found her._

 _He could smell her emotions. She was sad, it reminded him of the small of the wood he used to live in, when it was wet with rain. She was angry, it smelled like fire and ash like the night a stranger had attacked the broken man cub. But more than anything, above it all, underneath it all, all around it all, she was afraid. It smelled like blood._

 _He had circled the walls three times when he first arrived, and every night since. But he could not find a way in, he could find no weak spot. Without one he was trapped outside the walls. And she was trapped within._

 _He howled for her every night. She might not be able to leave, she might not be able to find him, but he hoped that she would understand. Whatever was happening to her, she was not alone._

...

"Lenora was the daughter of the king," he told the men the next morning. They looked up at him, Tom Sevenstrings seemed to be biting back a smile, but he could tell that they were trying not to make a large deal of his statement. He remembered that night they thought he was sleeping when Thoros had said that he remembered better when he was calm. They were trying to keep him calm.

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and picturing her face. At first he could not see anything, save grey steel. A sword. But then he heard a soft, musical laugh and the steel lightened into liquid silver. It was her eyes. He could remember marveling at how her eyes seemed to change colors with her mood. Dark when she was angry, polished steel when she was determined, silver when she was happy.

He could picture the rest of her face, her smooth skin, darkened by the sun from her years in the South and their march from Winterfell. Her lips, soft and full, turned up at the corners in a teasing smile, a dimple in her right cheek. Her high cheekbones that her mother's family was so well known for. He could remember running his hands through her dark brown curls, watching as the silky strands slipping through his fingers.

He could remember her smell, an interesting mix of winter woods and southern flowers. He could remember the way she felt in his arms. Her voice, her laugh, her hands. He could remember a thousand conversations and five times as many moments the two of them had shared. He could remember their fights and their reconciliations. He could remember her teasing him and the countless times he had purposefully made her angry. He remembered the joy he felt the first time she willingly and happily let him have her. The sparkle in her eyes when she had told him that she was carrying his child and the way she had broken in front of him when she lost that child.

He could remember them.

He could remember her.

He could remember all of it.

He opened his eyes, wishing to close them the moment her face disappeared from his view. "Lenora was the daughter of King Robert and Cersei Lannister. She looked like a Baratheon, except for her cheek bones. But she carried herself like a Lannister, all grace and beauty concealing the steel in her bones. She fought with a sword like the Kingslayer and with words like the Imp. And she would kill me if she heard me call either of them that."

Anguy chuckled, "I've never met the lady," the archer told him. "But from what your sister, the little lady told us, that sounds about right." The man paused, watching him closely, "You remember her then?"

He smiled and nodded, "I remember her," he told them. "I remember bringing her to the Twins with me. I remember that we only shared one dance that night. And that, the moment when it all went to hell and her mother's song started to play she was nowhere near me. We were being attacked by my own men and I was not there to protect her." He shook his head, "She kept trying to reach me, as if she could protect _me_."

"Did she need your protection?" Lem asked him, his voice hesitant, as if he were afraid of upsetting him.

He nodded, "I thought she did," he told them.

"But it was her family that arranged it all," Thoros told him. "Her grandfather who persuaded the Freys and the Boltons to kill you and your men. Her mother who guaranteed their safety and reward when they did."

"And you think she had something to do with it?" he asked them, raising his eyebrows. He could see it, in his mind, her face when they started the attack. He could see the way she fought against the Smalljon to get to him, to throw herself in front of him. He could hear her screams, they way she called out to him, begging him to stand from where he lay on the ground, pleading with him to leave the castle and survive. He shook his head, "If you had been there, if you had seen her, you would know how ridiculous that question is. She may have been born to a Lannister queen, but she was no Lannister. She was a Baratheon."

"And a Stark?" Tom Sevenstrings asked him.

He nodded, "Aye, she was a Stark. And she's still alive. I _know_ it."

...

Three days later he realized that the Brotherhood was bringing him south. They had changed directions without him noticing. "Where are we going?" he asked Anguy one day.

"South," the man answered.

He rolled his eyes, "I thought you weren't going to bring me to the Lannisters."

"We're not," Anguy assured him. "You said so yourself. She's not a Lannister. She's a Baratheon and a Stark. We're bringing you to her." The archer looked at his face, studying his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. "I thought that you would be happier about it, Lord Stark."

"I am," he told the man after a long moment. "But we're going the wrong way."

"And which way should we be going, my lord?"

The men had taken to using his many names more often, Thoros thought that it would help him belong to them faster. He shook his head, it wasn't working. "I don't know," he told the man, his mind going to his strange dreams. He wanted to tell them that they should travel north, that she was there. But he didn't really _know_ that and why would they believe him. "But south is not right."

"We have four directions to pick from," Lem interjected. "South seemed as good as any. Her grandfather wouldn't have had you and your men murdered only to leave her wandering around the North all by herself. He would have had her sent south, back to her family. So we'll go south, we'll find a way to reach out to her and we'll get the two of you back together."

"She's not with her family," he told them. "She's not south. We need to go a different direction."

 _She's north!_ He wanted to yell at them. He wanted to yell it over and over again until they listened to him.

 _North. North. North._

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello dears! It's Friday and I'm back with another update!  
Thank you guys so much for stopping by and reading. And as always thank you for your wonderful reviews and support. You guys really are amazing and I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter.  
I've got my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this one just as much!  
Let's give it up to the wonderful souls who reviewed the last chapter. This update is for you!

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it! Hope that you liked the new one!

 _DannyBlack70:_ I'm so glad there was that "about to". And I am happy that I caught you by surprise. As much as I love the stone cold Arya that left the Faceless men, I want her here in Westeros. And I have been waiting since she disappeared from King's Landing for her and the Hound to travel north. So I'm so glad that you guys liked it!

 _DatMatt:_ Me too! I'm enjoying keeping you guys on your toes. And oh my god! I had an idea for Roose Bolton and it was a good one but your review has caused me to rethink all of it. And now I've changed that part of the story because I did not realize how much I needed one of your suggestions in my life until I read it. (I will admit I fought it for a bit, because I write out an outline of a story all the way to the end before I even start writing it and I try not to allow myself to be swayed by reviews.) Don't worry, when we get to that part, I'll let everyone know they owe you for the bit of wonderfulness that I will give them.  
And don't worry, as much as I like playing with the Boltons, there's no way I'm going to let them stick around for long.

 _Kimberley:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last couple chapters and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well! The Hound is one of my favorites and I really like him paired with Arya in a non-romantic way so there's going to be a lot of him in upcoming chapters. Enjoy!

 _rottingmermaid:_ THE HOUND AND ARYA ARE GOING NORTH! (Happy dances all around!)

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ I'm happy that I surprised you with that one! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. There wasn't any Lenora in this one, but you guys are going to get a lot of her in the next two chapters and I hope you don't regret it (insert foreboding music here). I've been keeping Roose in the background for a while now. Because like you said, he's got this sense of unknown that makes him scary. Ramsay is scary because you know what he's going to do, you know who he is. Roose is scary because you don't. So I've been playing that up. And I'm glad you appreciate it!

 _Guest:_ Thank you! Thank you for reading and thank you for reviewing! Welcome to the binge reader club, my new friend.

 _FairyFelicity:_ I love that you stress the _silently_. Because I wrote that scene when the Hound and Arya go north months ago. It's just been sitting on my hardrive waiting ever since. And the first time I wrote it he voiced his decision. But every time I came back to it, it didn't feel right. With the exception of the chapter in the Hound's POV he's been very quiet about his care for Lenora. So he wouldn't just be like "I'm gonna go rescue the princess." It would just be a silent, determined change of direction.  
So I'm glad you enjoyed it because that has been a plot twist that's been several months in the making.  
As for your fear about Lenora and the Boltons. Just a few more chapters and you will have your answer. (No hints here, I'm gonna make you suffer :p)

 _Lom:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I'm sorry I made you wait two days for this one. Hopefully it was worth the wait!

 _HPuni101:_ No one was expecting the Hound! And I love it! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. How'd you feel about this one?

 _Guest1995:_ Does the Hound intend to rescue Lenora? I think so. Though it's going to be hard. And after everything she's been through she might not trust him. And I like to wrenches into my own plots so no one gets comfortable.  
As for Roose and Ramsay, personally I think Roose is worse. And here's why:  
Ramsay is horrible, Roose knows it and he subjects Lenora to him anyway.  
Ramsay is horrible, everyone knows it. They know what to expect from him. No one really knows what to expect from Roose.  
Better to face the enemy you know, than the one you don't.

 _belllaphant:_ Hello! I'm so glad that you found my story and liked it enough to binge read it! Welcome to the ever growing club! I'm so glad that I managed to keep you guessing and surprise you and that you love the story. Thank you so much for your review! I hope this chapter did not disappoint!

That's all I've got for now friends, I'll see you on GoT finale day (sunday). I'll be crying my eyes out, I'm sure.  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	63. Chapter Sixty-Three: Run Away

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

My name is Chloe Jane and I know that everyone is gearing up for what will probably be a very brutal season finale. So I thought I'd make it worse.  
Enjoy.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Three: Run Away_

 _Tyrion_

"The Crown may call its next witness," Tywin had commanded, his tone of voice bored, as if he could not wait for the trial to be over. And of course he couldn't, Tyrion realized, he had gotten what he wanted, Jaime would leave the Kingsguard and become his heir again. Their father had probably planned that from the beginning. Jaime had thought that he was saving Tyrion's life, but he was only doing what their father had always wanted him to do.

He looked around when the witness did not immediately appear. He was about to ask if the next was a ghost, perhaps Joffrey himself, when he heard her footsteps. It was strange, it had been so long since he had heard her walk, but he still knew it was her. Before he laid his eyes on her he knew that Shae was the next witness. She looked lovely, every bit the lady he had always wanted to make her. Her dress was pale pink silk, but it had long sleeves and sweeping skirts. No one would believe she was a whore in _this_ dress.

She looked like a princess. A goddess even. The very picture of the Maiden.

He could not look away from her as she walked down the aisle, her gaze on the floor. His mind willed him to turn away from her, she was here to lie, to frame him for his sister, deep down he knew that. But his heart would not allow him to look away, and the hope that had risen in his chest when he first saw Varys take the stand came back in full force. This was _Shae_. His love. No matter what his sister and father had threatened her with, she would not betray him.

She had always told him that she wasn't afraid of his family, he had always warned her that she should be. But he was so happy that she had not listened to him. She was here, and she was about to prove to him and the Seven Kingdoms as a whole that Tywin and Cersei Lannister were not as powerful as they liked to believe they were. His gaze danced over her face, memorizing every line, the way the light danced over her cheeks. She was his. And she was here to save him.

He had thought that he would never see her again. But here she was, brave as the Warrior, and all his.

"State your name," Tywin commanded her, barely giving the girl a look. He was so sure that she would do exactly what he wanted her to. Tyrion tried not to smirk, he did not want to give away the game too early. He would let his father think he had won for now.

"Shae," his angel told him, not able to meet the judges' gaze.

"And do you swear by all the Gods that your testimony will be true and honest?"

"I swear it," Shae answered with no hesitation. _Yes, you do, my love_ , Tyrion thought, turning his gaze on the beautiful woman beside him. She was wearing jewelry, a necklace, that he had given her. He was sure that it was a secret signal to him that she was on his side.

"Do you know this man?" Tywin asked, barely even nodding in Tyrion's direction.

Now she hesitated, but it was only right. The judges would not listen to her testimony if they knew she was in love with him. She was playing the game well. Why had he ever doubted her? She glanced back at him, her dark eyes landing on his face for the first time since she had entered the hall. And he nodded, she couldn't hesitate for too long. They would know something was afoot. "Yes," she told the judges, turning away from him to face them again, squaring her shoulders to show them that she was not afraid of them. "Tyrion Lannister."

"And how do you know him?"

"I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa," she answered, looking every bit the demure and faithful handmaiden. Tyrion had been right to get her placed in Sansa's service. She had been good for the girl, loved her even. Shae would do nothing to betray either Tyrion or Sansa.

"This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey. What do you know of it?"

Tyrion almost snorted, by her own admission she was nothing to him but his wife's handmaiden. Why would his father think that she would know anything of his supposed plan to murder his nephew? And how did his father find her? What made him think that she knew _anything_? The hope that was rising in his chest stopped, almost choking him in his throat when it turned quickly and painfully into dread. "I know that he is guilty," Shae told the judges, not meeting any of their eyes, not turning to look at Tyrion. She stared at the floor. "He and Lady Sansa planned it together."

Behind him the court gasped, but Tyrion barely heard it. All he could do was stare at Shae. He felt his legs go weak and he stumbled a bit as he took a seat on the top step of his foot stool. How could she do this? She loved him. And he loved Sansa. She knew this was betraying them and putting them in danger and she said it anyway. What did they say to her to persuade her to lie for them? What did they have on her? It couldn't be gold, he had given her more than enough of that. And she had always said that she didn't love him for his gold. So what had they used?

He wanted so badly to ask her. But he didn't want to let on that she was anything more to him than his wife's handmaiden. And he had promised his brother that he would hold his tongue. _No more outbursts_ , he reminded himself as his chest tightened painfully. What was it that Jaime had said? _This will all be over soon_.

"Silence," his father ordered dismissively as he glanced at the court. They quieted in an instant. Tywin's eyes didn't even land on Tyrion as he brought his gaze back to Shae. "Continue."

"She wanted revenge for her father, her mother, her brother. She blamed their deaths on the king. Lord Tyrion was happy to help. He hated Joffrey. He hated the queen. He hated you, my lord. He stole poison from the Grand Maester's chamber to put in Joffrey's wine at his wedding. He meant to escape with Sansa while all eyes were on the king. They planned to go north together and to attack King's Landing once they had an army."

Tyrion's fists clenched. Whoever had coached her and told her what to say had done well. There was enough truth to her words that they all sounded believable. Just like Cersei's testimony, just like Vary's testimony, just like Ser Meryn Trent's testimony. _Pycelle's testimony was more lie than truth, even a blind fool could have seen that_ , but this one had enough truth that it was almost believable. He _was_ married to Sansa. Shae _was_ Sansa's handmaiden. Sansa, no doubt, _had_ wanted revenge for her family. Tyrion _did_ hate Joffrey, everyone did. Tyrion _did_ hate Cersei. And he _did_ hate his father. Joffrey's wine _had_ been poisoned. Sansa _did_ slip away in the confusion. She _had_ the means to call the Northern bannermen. If all of those statements were true it was not hard to assume that her lie that Tyrion had planned to escape during the wedding feast as well was also true.

She had told him on many occasions that she was not afraid of his family. But here she was, lying for them. And here he was, a heartbroken fool.

Prince Oberyn shifted in his chair, a habit Tyrion had noticed that presented itself when the young Dornishman believed he was being lied to. "How could you possibly know all this?" he asked, his dark eyes narrowed as he looked at Shae. "Why would he reveal such plans to his wife's maid?"

Shae had not expected the question. Just as Cersei had not expected the question that Oberyn had asked her as well. Of all the judges sitting before him Oberyn seemed to be the only one who meant to take his role seriously. He had not already made up his mind as Tywin had, and he did not blindly believe everything he was told as Mace Tyrell did. Tyrion watched the panic in Shae's eyes as she decided the best way to answer the prince's question. He wondered which lie she would choose. In the end it wasn't lie, but a horrible truth.

"I wasn't just her maid," Shae told him. Oberyn shifted forward, his eyebrows raised. "I was also his whore."

The crowd behind him gasped again. This time Tywin did not silence them. He sat in the Iron Throne and he smiled. He knew he had won. "I beg your pardon," Mace Tyrell apologized. "You said you were his -"

"His whore," Shae told them again. Tyrion winced, even now after everything she had said. After all the lies. After he knew that she had come back to betray him. He could not stand to hear her call herself that. His mind flashed back to the last day they were together, when he had called her a whore. He had regretted it then. He regretted it even more now. What if it wasn't his family who had turned her against him? What if it had been him? What if it was the words he had said to her the morning of Joffrey's wedding? Had he created his own monster?

He barely heard his father ask how Shae had come into his service. But he heard her answer. He heard every word. "He stole me," she told them. "I was with another man, a knight in your lordship's army. But when Tyrion arrived at the camp he sent one of his cutthroats into our tent. The sellsword broke the knight's arm and brought me to Lord Tyrion." Tyrion had always remembered that first night in a more romantic manner. He had thought he saved her from the Lannister knight, rather than stolen her. " _You belong to me now_ , he said," she continued. Tyrion gritted his teeth, hoping, praying to all seven Gods that she would stop there. She didn't. " _I want you to fuck me like it's my last night in this world_."

Behind him the crowd laughed, his father called for silence but they did not listen to him. From her seat to the left of the dais Cersei smirked. They were all mocking him. But they didn't know how he had felt. His father had ordered him to lead his mountain clansmen into battle. He did not know how to fight, he was certain he would be dead by the next evening. He had been scared. And he truly believed that it was his last night on earth. And Shae, to her credit, had made it an amazing night. And she had made every night since even more amazing. But she was spitting on all of that now. Not only was she allowing these monsters to mock him, but she was using his own words to do it. Had she ever loved him? Or was it all just an act?

"Silence!" his father bellowed.

"And did you?" Oberyn asked, laughter coloring his words.

"Did I what?" Shae asked him, confused by the question.

"Fuck him like it was his last night in this world?" Tyrion sighed, of course this would be what Prince Oberyn Martell was most concerned with. _This_ was the man who had brought a Sand and his mistress to King Joffrey's wedding. He had thought he had an ally in Oberyn, someone who might take this trial seriously. But he could see that he was wrong.

Shae nodded a silent _yes_ to his question. She could have left it at that, but with no further prompting she gave more. "I did everything he wanted. Whatever he told me to do to him. Whatever he wanted to do to me. I kissed him where he wanted. I licked him where he wanted. I let him put himself wherever he wanted. I was his property. I used to wait in his chambers for hours so that he could use me when he was bored. He ordered me to call him _my lion_ and so I did. I took his face in my hands and told him, _I am yours and you are mine_."

She hadn't looked at him since she had first told his father that she knew who he was. It hurt him to look at her, physically hurt him. But he needed to see her face. He thought that if he could only get her to look at him he would be able to beg her to stop this. To tell the truth. To tell all of them that they had loved each other. "Shae," was all he managed, his voice cracked. She had already broken him. She turned to look at him, he shook his head, "Please don't do this."

"I am a whore," she told him, her own voice wobbling as if she was trying not to cry. "Remember?" _I did this_ , he realized. _This is all my fault_. She turned away from him, back to the judges. "That was before he married Lady Sansa. After that all he wanted was _her_. But she wouldn't let him in her bed. So he promised to kill King Joffrey for her."

His father did not try to silence the crowd behind him. They were gasping and whispering and yelling. It was no wonder no one heard him the first time he spoke. "Father," he ground out, "I wish to confess." When his father did not immediately respond he spoke louder, yelling above the crowd and silencing them himself. "I wish to confess."

"You wish to confess?" Tywin echoed, leaning forward in his seat. Tyrion did not glance at Jaime, he knew his older brother would be worried. All the same he heard the clank of his brother's armor as he took a step forward, as if to physically stop Tyrion from doing whatever he planned to do next. But Jaime could not stop him now, no one could.

Tyrion turned away from his father and the other judges. He turned away from Cersei's disdain and Jaime's concern. He turned away from Shae and her lies. He turned to glare at the lords and ladies behind him, the men and women that he had saved during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He turned toward the ungrateful wretches who would have been raped and robbed and murdered if it weren't for him. And he glared. "I saved _you_ ," he growled at them, but he knew they heard every word. "I saved this city. All your worthless hides. I should have let Stannis kill you all."

The people were outraged, but he did not care. "Tyrion?" he father called down from the throne, silencing their shouts and cries. "Do you wish to confess?" Jaime took another step, this time toward their father, as if to remind the older man of the promise he had made his eldest son, _and heir_ , Tyrion ruefully reminded himself. But Jaime could not save him anymore than he could have stopped him.

"Yes, Father," Tyrion told him, turning back to Tywin. "I am guilty. _Guilty_ , is that what you wanted to hear?"

"You admit you poisoned the king?"

"No," Tyrion answered. "Of that I am innocent. I am guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being born a dwarf."

"You are not on trial for being a dwarf," Tywin told him, chuckling slightly.

"Oh, yes I am," Tyrion assured him. "I have been on trial for _that_ my entire life."

"Have you nothing to say in your defense?" Tywin asked him, his voice hard.

"Only this," Tyrion answered. "I did not do it. I did not kill Joffrey. But I wish that I _had_." He turned toward Cersei, "Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores!" he yelled the last two words at Shae before he turned back to the crowd behind him. "I wish that I was the monster you think I am. I wish that I had enough poison for the whole pack of you! I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it!" His father called for Ser Meryn to escort him back to his cell, perhaps he was worried that Jaime would free him if given the chance. But Tyrion was not finished yet. He turned back on his father, "I will not give my life for Joffrey's murder and I know I will get no justice here! So I will let the Gods decide my fate! I _demand_ a trial by combat!"

His father did not need to say anything, he could see it on his face. He would get his trial. He glanced at his brother, only now realizing that he could not ask Jaime to fight for him. Jaime would have been his first choice, his last choice, and every other choice in between. But he was on his own. As he always was.

At least this way it would not be his father that judged him and named him guilty. He did not want to give Tywin the satisfaction. And he would not go to the Wall quietly. He would not take the Black. If he was going to be named guilty for a murder he had not committed then they were going to have to behead him for it.

And may they all go to the Seven Hells for it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

This was all working out almost too well, _too cleanly_. Cersei could not think of a time in her life when something had been _this_ easy. She had a good memory, but life had never been good to her. But now, now the Gods were making it up to her and she was going to make sure that she did not miss a moment of it. Her brother, Tyrion, had always said that the world was cruel. He told her once that the good ones never got the reward they deserved, and that the cruel never got the punishment they had earned. His words had been prettier, he always had such pretty words, but that had been the meat of it. And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right.

She had never gotten what she deserved out of the world. And Tyrion, the little monster, had never gotten what he had earned. But that was about to change now.

Her life of bad luck had started the moment she was born. If the Gods had been kind they would have made a man. She was Jaime's twin, she should have been his equal. But the Gods had seen it fit to make her a woman and she had been paying for that every day since.

For so many years she and Jaime had been treated the same. And then one day, shortly after Tyrion had been born her father had changed all that. Jaime had been sent out to the tilt yard to learn to ride and to fight. He was expected to be strong. He was trained to lead and to rule. One day he would be given the Rock even though _she_ was older than him. While he had been learning to be a man. She had been forced into dresses. She had been trained to dance, to sing, to sew. He was given strength and she was given the skills to be a desirable wife. They had never been on equal footing since. That was the second slight the Gods had dealt her.

The third offense was Tyrion himself. The monster who had killed her beautiful mother when he _ripped_ his way into the world. She had not wanted another sibling, she could not understand why her parents had wanted one. They had their heir in Jaime, they had the alliance maker in Cersei. Could they not be happy with that? She could still remember how happy her lovely mother had been in the days and weeks leading up to Tyrion's birth. She had promised Cersei that she would love the child. She had picked out the furnishings for the nursery herself. And Tywin had doted on her for the entire nine moons. And how had Tyrion repaid their parents joy and hope? By murdering their mother so that he could live.

He should have died in those first few weeks. But the Gods were cruel. They were not on her side. They betrayed her and they allowed him to live. Every day he got stronger. And every day Jaime loved him more. Before Tyrion it had always been Cersei and Jaime, just the two of them. Two halves of the perfect whole. But with each day Jaime got closer to the monster, he forgave Tyrion for murdering their mother, perhaps he had never even been angry at him. Tyrion had stolen her mother from her and now he was stealing her brother. It was then that Cersei realized that she could not count on the Gods to give her what she wanted or deserved. The Gods not care about her. They did not care about anyone. If they had they would have let Tyrion die, they would have let Joanna live, they never would have created the monster in the first place.

Over the years, as she grew up the Gods were crueler and her life got worse. Her father sought to marry her to prince Rhaegar, but the Mad King chose a dark Martell princess over the Lannisters and their golden hair and mines. Next, Tywin thought to marry her to the younger Targaryen prince. He was just a boy and no matter how much Cersei protested her father would not listen. She was a girl, her opinions did not matter. Then she had fallen in love with Jaime, the one man in the Seven Kingdoms that she could not have. But the only man she wanted. They had only made love a few times when the Gods separated them, Jaime to the King's Guard and Cersei back to Casterly Rock to finish growing up with the monster.

It was then that she had thought the Gods could get no crueler. She had thought that they reserved a certain amount of cruelty for each human life, and they had given all of hers to her when she was still a child. They could do no worse to her, she was sure of it. And when her father married her to Robert Baratheon she thought her luck was turning around. He had just been crowned King, the Seven Kingdoms loved him. He was the most handsome and desired man in the entire realm and he was all hers. For one evening she thought herself in love with him. And then he had gotten too drunk at their wedding feast and taken her to his bed and whispered _Lyanna_ in her ear. Her dream had turned into another nightmare. But a moon's turn later, when she realized she was with child, _his_ child, she had thought to give it another chance. To give _him_ another chance. If she could give him a son from their wedding night perhaps she could make him love her. Perhaps she could make him forget about Lyanna Stark.

She had a girl instead, Lenora, and the king had been angry at her for it. She could have died bringing the little wretch into the world and the girl didn't have the decency to be a boy. And Robert didn't have the dignity to pretend to be happy. But he took one look at the girl and he softened, just as Jaime had. It was _that_ , more than anything that had led Cersei to commit her most shameful act. That _softening_ of both men. She saw in their reactions what she had always wanted from her father. Jaime and Robert would never let Lenora feel _less than_ , to feel inferior. They would raise her to be strong, to fight for what she wanted. They would give her everything Cersei never had but had always wanted. And what had the babe done to deserve it? What had Cersei done to earn the opposite?

But she couldn't even kill the girl correctly. And in the years to come she had realized that it would have been truly horrible if she had. Perhaps the Gods thought they were giving her a gift by saving her daughter. But all they gave her was a lifetime of guilt. Every time she saw her daughter's face, every time she heard her speak, or watched her train with Jaime, every time she helped her dress or do her hair she was reminded of what she had done. Of what she had almost succeeded at. There were days when she drank too much wine and she looked at her beautiful dark haired daughter and wanted nothing more than to wrap her hands around her delicate throat and kill her, if only to silence the guilt that was ever present at the back of her mind.

And Jaime took her side, the babe he barely knew over the woman he had loved his whole life. She lost any chance at Robert's love that night. And she lost Jaime's love as well. He fucked her just enough to give her three more children when he realized that she would never let one of Robert's come out of her womb alive. But when he had done the deed it was as if he were doing a duty he wished he did not have. There was no spark to it, no feeling. He was not _hers_ anymore. In saving her daughter, the Gods had taken her brother.

They had left her miserable with Robert for years. They had taken her eldest son from her. And for a moment, at the beginning of the trial she had thought that they were going to take away her vengeance on Tyrion.

She had seen Jaime sneak away during the break between witnesses. She had followed him toward their father's solar. She did not need to be in the chamber to know what was said. Jaime had gone there to make a deal. He only had one that their father would accept and she had no doubt that he would make it to save their brother. He would take off his white cloak, become Lord of the Rock and marry. And he would be truly lost to her then. As would Tyrion, safe on the Wall with the Night's Watch.

She could not stand the thought of it. And for the first time in years, she prayed to the Gods, specifically the Stranger. She wanted Tyrion to die, and if anyone would make that happen it would be the Stranger. And for the first time in her life, after all the cruelties the Gods had laid at her feet, they finally did her a kindness.

Tyrion demanded a trial by combat. And Cersei knew that this was the moment her life would get better. The Gods were finally smiling down on her.

Tyrion would want to name Jaime as his champion. And she knew that Jaime would want to do it. But he had a golden sword hand, he could not fight. And even if he could, his position as King's Guard would only have permitted him to be Cersei's champion, not Tyrion's. She regretted that he did not have a hand then, she could only imagine Tyrion's face if she had named Jaime her champion. What would he do then? He could hardly wish for victory as it would mean the death of his beloved brother.

But it would not be. She needed to find a different champion, a stronger one, a more terrifying one. A man that would make any sellsword think twice about fighting for Tyrion, even his pet sellsword Bronn. She had thought for a moment about asking Oberyn Martell, he was a vengeful angry man, she thought that he would like nothing more than to kill a Lannister. But when she spoke to him in the gardens he made it clear that he had no interest in fighting for her. Tyrion was not the Lannister he wanted to see dead. She thought for the briefest second that he might even feel sympathetic toward Tyrion. That was the last thing she wanted.

She needed to find someone else. She thought about asking Bronn, himself, she would offer him double whatever Tyrion did. But the man almost seemed like he was loyal to Tyrion, despite being a hired sword. She did not want to give him the chance to turn her away. And he was not strong enough.

It was then that she remembered her father's stories of his time at Harrenhal and the Mountain. He was a Lannister man with no loyalty to Tyrion. And she would not need to pay him. He liked to kill people. Any fighting he did as her champion would be for the sport of it. She sent word that she wanted him in the capitol and she waited for him to arrive.

She found him a day after he had arrived. He was on the tourney grounds, standing tall and shirtless in front of a line of prisoners. He wielded a sword that was almost as long as she was tall. One by one guards forced weapons into the prisoners' hands and shoved them toward the larger man. And one by one he used his large sword to cut them clean in half, to behead them, to open their bellies and spill their innards.

Cersei had never been one to revel in bloody fights. But she was pleased by this. She approached him, smiling as she gathered her skirts in her hands to step over a pile of intestines. "Ser Gregor," she greeted him, waiting until he turned away from his latest corpse to look at her. "Welcome to the capitol. Thank you for riding here so quickly." She glanced at his sword arm, he was holding the large blade easily, in one hand as if it weighed nothing at all. "You seem to be in good form," she complimented.

"Who am I fighting?" he asked her, getting straight to the point. She appreciated that.

"Does it matter?" she asked him.

She already knew the answer. Ser Gregor lived for the fight, for the kill. And with the war finding its way to an end he was running out of men that he would legally be able to kill. It did not matter to him who he was fighting, as long as he was allowed to kill them.

Perhaps, once he had won the trial by combat she would give him the right to behind Tyrion instead of leaving the monster to Ilyn Payne.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She was still not certain of Roose Bolton's plans for her. She wondered if she would ever be certain of anything when it came to that man. _No_ , she realized, there was one thing that Lenora was certain of when it came to Roose Bolton and that was that she could not trust him. And that whatever he panned to do with her would be cruel. He had not saved her from all the death at the Red Wedding to provide her with a happy life. He had told her, more than once, that he planned to bring her back to Winterfell.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when she had wanted nothing more than to return to Winterfell. But at the time she had thought of it as a homecoming. And she had always pictured Robb at her side when she did. That was not a possibility now. Robb was dead, he would never ride at her side again. And _if_ Roose Bolton succeeded in returning her to Winterfell it would be as a prisoner in chains rather than a homecoming.

He had told her, when they were leaving the Twins that he meant to make her Lady of Winterfell again. Perhaps that was a lie, perhaps he meant it to soothe her. But she worried that he had been speaking the truth when he told her that. The Starks no longer held claim to Winterfell, for all she knew there were no Starks left to claim it. No one had seen Arya since before Ned was beheaded. Sansa was married to Tyrion and in King's Landing, held captive by her family. Robb was dead. The boys were alive, but missing, lost somewhere in the woods and hunted. Perhaps even dead by now. And Jon was a bastard and a member of the Night's Watch.

But that wasn't right. Robb had legitimized him. The order was packed away, folded and hidden in her trunk. She still had it. And she was sure that she had heard stories, special circumstances where a Black Brother had been allowed to leave the Wall and reclaim his family name. It had only happened once, maybe twice, when the safety of the entire realm was at stake. Perhaps _this_ could be one of those circumstances.

Perhaps after the war and everything that had happened to the Starks it would be enough to be able to release Jon from his vows to the Night's Watch.

"And perhaps he would refuse," she whispered to herself, shaking her head as she dressed. Jon had been so happy to follow his Uncle Benjen into the Night's Watch, so proud. And he had been at the Wall for almost two years now. Perhaps the Black Brothers were now his family. Perhaps he had let go of his family and his House before they had even left the world. Perhaps he wouldn't even want to see her. "There is only one way to find out," she whispered.

"What, my lady?" the girl who stood in as a handmaiden asked her as she tied the laces of Lenora's gown. She was a pretty girl, soft-spoken, she seemed gentle. Her name was Miranda and she was the kennelmaster's daughter. She had not been trained as a handmaiden and though she was kind her fingers were clumsy. She pulled too hard on the laces of Lenora's dresses and was not gentle enough with her brush, as if she were brushing a dog rather than a girl. But she worked hard. And though Lenora did not particularly enjoy the girl's company, she preferred it over Theon's.

Lenora shook her head, "Nothing," she answered the girl. "I was just talking to myself."

"Who is _he_?" Miranda asked. "And what would he refuse?"

Her voice was soft, it sounded kind, but Lenora sensed a trap. She could not trust anyone here at the Dreadfort. No matter how soft or kind they seemed, they all belonged to Roose Bolton. She was sure that anything she said to this woman in confidence would be used to betray her at the first opportunity. She shook her head, "It's nothing," she repeated. "Nonsense, I was only thinking of a dream I had last night. Foolish, really."

"I've always been very interested in dreams," Miranda told her, her voice lilting like a song. "They can be so revealing, where a person's mind goes when they are not awake to govern it. I'm sure your dream last night was very interesting."

 _I dreamed of Robb_ , Lenora thought. _As I do every night. But I will not allow you to use his memory to hurt me_. She shook her head, looking around the chamber for something else to talk about, anything else that she could use to change the subject, to distract the girl. She found it when the door to her chamber was opened by one of the kitchen maids, bringing in her tray for breakfast. When the heavy door was shut Lenora had not been able to hear it, but with the door open she could just barely make out the sound of the other people moving around the keep. "There seems to be more than the usual amount of activity this morning," she mused, looking between Miranda and the kitchen maid. "Am I to guess that we will soon have a visitor at the Dreadfort?"

"Not a visitor," Miranda told her, her eyes glinting and her lips turning up at the corners, "a homecoming."

"A homecoming?" Lenora echoed, her throat dry, fear clawing its way out of the pit of her stomach. "And who will be returning home?" She was playing stupid, both she and Miranda knew that. But she didn't want to say his name, in case she was wrong and until Miranda answered her question she could believe that anyone else was about to arrive at the keep. Because if it was Ramsay who was returning home it would only mean one thing. That he had succeeded in reclaiming Moat Cailin.

"Lord Ramsay, of course," Miranda told her, her grin widening. It did not make her look more beautiful, this wide smile. It made Lenora feel uncomfortable, as if this kennelmaster's daughter knew more about her future than she did herself. "He sent a raven three days past that he was his way back. He said he and his men would ride through the night. He is most _eager_ to return."

" _Lord_ Ramsay?" Lenora asked, catching on the girl's words.

She bit her lip and blushed as she glanced down at her feet. "Forgive me," she asked, the color on her cheeks darkening to an even more noticeable pink. "I have always called him that. Since the first time I met him when I was a young girl."

Lenora stared at her, her mouth dropped open in a most unladylike way when she realized what the girl _wasn't_ saying. "You love him?" she asked, horrified that anyone, even this strange girl with her games and her schemes, could be attached to Ramsay Snow.

The girl looked up, still biting her lip when she nodded, "There was a time when I thought that I might be able to marry him," she told Lenora, whispering as if they were old friends. "He's a lord's son and I'm only a kennelmaster's daughter, but he was a Snow, it would have been allowed, proper even. But now," she shook her head. "I believe he won't be a Snow for much longer." She glanced up at Lenora and her eyes widened. "Oh! But forgive me! I should not be discussing this with anyone, least of all _you_ , my lady."

For a moment Lenora was too surprised by the girl's admission that she loved Ramsay that she did not think to question why she thought that she would be unable to marry him now. Or why she should not have discussed it with Lenora. It was only after the girl had left the chamber that Lenora's mind caught up with Miranda's words. A kennelmaster's daughter could marry the bastard son of a lord without causing much of a fuss. But if the son were legitimized it would be out of the question.

Lord Bolton had told her a little more than a week ago that if Ramsay succeeded in regaining control of Moat Cailin that he would legitimize his son. Roose Bolton was the acting Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. And with his men controlling Moat Cailin, there was little her family could do about it. With their trip south Ramsay and Theon had turned Roose from _acting_ Lord of Winterfell, to the actual Lord of Winterfell. Once he legitimized Ramsay, he would be the heir to Winterfell.

 _If all goes according to plan, my lady, you will still be the future Lady of Winterfell_.

That had been what Roose Bolton told her the morning after the Red Wedding. The morning after he had killed her husband before her very eyes and stolen her entire world from her. Lenora's blood ran cold. She wasn't from the North, but she claimed it now and it claimed her. There was ice in her veins. Did Roose mean to marry her to Ramsay once he was a true Bolton?

She shook her head, quickly pacing across her bedchamber, as if she could out walk the thoughts that were plaguing her mind. "No," she whispered loudly, as if saying out loud would make her words truth. "It's impossible." She was a princess of the realm, even if she were trapped far from anyone who would defend her. Even Roose Bolton wouldn't dare.

And she wouldn't do it willingly, even if it was his plan to marry her to his bastard son. They would have to force her to say the words. And even between the small folks a vow made to the Gods under duress was no true vow. If it counted for field hands and fishmongers it would count doubly for a princess. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself, hoping to believe what she was telling herself.

It worked for a moment, just a moment. And then the panic set back in. And her breathing quickened. No matter how ridiculous her fear seemed she could not completely write it off. Roose Bolton had already stolen her from her family, what would stop him from trying to marry her to his monster of a son?

"Nothing," she answered her own question. "Nothing would stop him."

But she could stop it. They had taken her sword, they did not even allow her a knife when they brought her her meals. She could not hope to fight her way out of the fortress. But she could escape. With most of Bolton's army south of the moat, many of his men had traveled with Ramsay. The keep was almost empty. Lord Bolton spent most of his days in his solar with his cupbearer and his leeches. And with Ramsay returning today she only had a small window of time.

She ran to her trunk and opened the lid. She could take nothing with her. After weeks of remaining in her chambers, it would be strange enough that she was wandering the halls of the keep, that would raise enough eyebrows, it would be stranger still if she did so with a pack of her belongings on her back. She had no weapons, she had no money. Lord Bolton had had his men go through her trunk before it was returned to her, they had removed anything that could have been used as a weapon and all of her money.

No doubt he thought she would not be so foolish as to runaway in the North once winter was coming with nothing to defend herself with and nothing to buy provisions with. But luckily for her, she was just foolish enough. And, as luck would have it, he left her most of the jewelry she had traveled with. She would not part with the ring Robb had given her, but there was some Lannister gold necklaces that she would be able to sell or trade for food, cloaks, a blade.

Her fingers brushed over the dark wolf fur that made up Robb's cloak. Lord Bolton had pretended to be well-meaning and kind when he brought it to her. He had pretended that it was for her own comfort rather than a silent reminder that her husband was dead. She had slept with it for many nights, locking it up in her trunk only when she realized that it was starting to smell more like her than _him_. She wanted to take it with her, but it was too bulky, too big, too noticeable. She would not get far past her own chamber door if she wore that cloak.

She took it out, wrapping her arms tight around it before she buried her face in the fur. She cried and smelled him for the last time. And then as the tears dried she prayed to his Gods, the Old ones, and her New Ones, she prayed to him, she prayed to anyone that would listen to give her strength for what would come next. She refolded the heavy cloak and placed it back in her trunk. Then she grabbed a small satchel, one that could be hidden under the light, summer cloak that she would wear when she left and she slipped the order legitimizing Jon and as much jewelry as would fit in the bag. Then, as an afterthought, she grabbed the fork the kitchen maid had brought with her breakfast and she walked toward the door.

When she left the chamber, she did not look back. There was nothing for her behind her. Not any more.

The upper corridors were quiet, most of the castle folk were on the lower floors, preparing for Ramsay's return. Lenora stuck to the shadows, moving quickly and quietly, turning down corridors she did not intend to use whenever she saw someone coming, hiding in doorways when she had no where else to go. Despite all of her hiding, it was almost simple to escape the main keep. It would not remain that easy. She could feel her heart beating in her throat, choking her as she stepped out into the courtyard.

With shaking hands she lifted her hood over her head, pulling it forward as much as she could so that it hid her face in shadows. If anyone saw her now, they might not even recognize her. She moved forward across the courtyard, walking with as much confidence and purpose as she could muster. She hoped that anyone who saw her would pay her little attention, she prayed that they might think she was one of the maids, sent on some mission.

She could not walk out the gate, they would ask her name there. Her one chance was the walls that surrounded the keep. They were too tall to jump from. She paused for a moment at the realization and with a quick glance left and right she turned, walking toward the stables instead of the gate. She would not take a horse, but just in side the stable she found a coil of rope. "Please Gods," she whispered as she grabbed it off the wall and hid it under her cloak, "let this be long enough."

And then, she turned striding quickly around the edge of the courtyard toward a flight of stairs that would bring her to the top of the wall where the few guards who remained at the Dreadfort kept watch. There were no guards at the top of the stairs, but it did not feel safe there, too easy to get to. She looked left, she looked right, and then making a quick decision she turned to the right and walked along the wall. She would walk as far as she could and at the first glance of a guard she would walk back a safe distance and figure out how to get down.

But the man-at-arms caught sight of her before she saw him. "What are you doing up here?" she heard the man growl as he came up behind her, dropping his hand on her shoulder and spinning her around to face him. The movement caused her hood to drop from her head and Lenora gasped when he recognized her. "The little princess," the man almost sneered. "What are you doing? Last I heard you refused to leave your tower." His eyes darted down her side, the cloak did not cover her satchel or the rope as much as she would have liked. "Planning an escape are you?" he asked her, his voice more menacing now.

"Please Ser," Lenora begged, hiding one of her hands behind her back as she worked to get a better handle on her fork. She would only get one chance at this, she had to do it right and on the first try. "Please let me go. I'll do anything, just please?"

"You'll do anything?" the guard repeated, chuckling low and dark. "And what will Lord Bolton do when he realizes that I let you go?" Lenora did not answer. He laughed again, even darker than before, "I'll tell you, girl, he'll skin me alive. No. Save your _Please sers_ , you won't find help here." His grip tightened on her shoulder.

She didn't make a sound, she did not want to risk alerting other guards, or warn the one in front of her that she was coming. Quicker than she had ever moved before she shot her left arm out, toward his face, she grabbed the right side of his forehead and wrenched his head left and down so that the right side of his neck was exposed and tense. She had the element of surprise, but he was stronger than her and fighting her. If she didn't move fast he would overpower her. With her fork in her right hand she used all of her strength to ram the fork up to her fingers in the soft skin just behind and below his right ear.

He stopped fighting, his eyes were filled with fear. He opened his mouth to scream, but she silenced him when she quickly pulled the fork down and forward, toward herself, ripping through his veins and his skin.

It was a technique her uncle Jaime had taught her once. Though he had always told her to use it from behind. She thought perhaps it would be because she would have more strength from behind. But when she ripped the fork forward and his blood began to spill quickly, showering her and covering her face and the top of her dress and cloak in its warm, stickiness she realized that it was because of the mess.

The man could barely speak, let alone yell now. The blood gurgled in his throat as he tried to breathe. He was dying, and quickly. She grabbed the rope from underneath her now stained cloak and tied it tightly around his waist before she lowered him down to the ground, knowing he would not have the strength to stand up or untie it. Then she threw the rest of the coil over the wall. With a quick glance to make sure no one was coming she gripped the rope tightly with both hands and threw herself over the battlements.

She swung far out away from the wall before she swung back, loudly and painfully slamming her body into the wall. Her grip loosened and she slid a few feet down the rope before she was able to catch herself again, wrapping her hands and her legs around the rope and holding on as tightly as she could. Her hands stung and the rope beneath them turned red, she had torn open the skin on her palms but she did not care. She would gladly rip her skin open a thousand more times if it meant freedom.

She took a moment, just a moment, to catch her breath. Her ribs ached and she worried that she had broken them when she slammed against the wall. But there was no time to worry too long. It would be a matter of minutes before someone found the body and alerted Lord Bolton to her absence. All too soon she was forcing herself to take deep breaths as she worked her way down the rope, one inch at a time.

It took her less than five minutes to reach the end of the rope, but it felt like an eternity. The rope was too short, but only by a body length. She held on tightly to the bottom of the rope, extending her arms above her head and stretching her legs as much as she could toward the ground before she dropped.

She hit the ground hard, but she was up and running a moment later even harder. She would not stop until she made it to the tree line and she made it far enough away from the keep that they could not see her. It would do her no good if they brought the hounds out, and she had left them plenty of belongings to use so that the hounds could catch her scent, but it made her feel safer.

After running for almost a quarter of an hour she stopped. She had a head start, now she had to figure out where she was going. She had only been on hunts with her father a few times, but she had learned some things when she did.

She needed to find a stream, nothing would throw the hounds off her scent more than water. It would be cold, but it would be worth it. But none of that would matter if she moved in the wrong direction. She wanted to go north, to the Wall, to Jon. She paused, glancing at the trees around her. "Moss always grows on the south side of the tree," she whispered to herself when she spotted a tree trunk with moss on it. The moss was facing her, facing south. She was going the right way.

Now to find a stream.

...

She had been walking in the stream for two hours when she heard the horse hooves behind her. They were too close, too fast, she had no where to hide.

She struggled in the knee deep water, trying to run. If they were going to catch her and she was going to die she was going to die running.

His voice stopped her.

"Where do you think you're going, my lady?" his voice was a soft, teasing sneer.

* * *

Author's Note:

Gods, I hope the FBI isn't monitoring my google search history. Because as of right now _how to stab someone in the carotid artery_ is one of my most recent searches. Oops.  
Anyway, how are you guys? Are you ready for tonight's episode? I'm still not sure if I am, but as always with Game of Thrones, it's gonna happen whether I'm ready or not.  
My husband and I are betting on whether or not Dany and Jon fuck before they realize who he is. I've got high hopes for this episode.  
And I had high hopes for this chapter, I've been waiting for it for a while now. Did I disappoint? Please let me know!  
As always my friends, thank you so much for reading. For favoriting. For adding this story to your alerts lists. But most of all thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. I know I say this a lot, but I am honestly blown away by your response to this story. Every day.  
So thank you!  
And to the all stars who reviewed on the last chapter. You guys are my favorites. Keep that shit up. It motivates me more than you can imagine.

 _Cairbou5150:_ I'm so glad that you love this story! Thank you so much for reading. And for taking the time to review and tell me! I think you're pretty great for that. And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _sltsky96:_ Good to see your name again, my friend! I'm so glad that you've still been reading and enjoying. And don't worry, I understand being busy so no guilt trip and blame from me. Especially not since you think what I'm doing with Robb is "exceptional." I was so sure that everyone would see it coming, and I've been so nervous that I was going to fuck up his return, so the encouragement is much needed and appreciated.  
As for Lenora rescuing herself ... she's sure as hell going to try.

 _darkwolf76:_ Oh my friend! Prepare for a **book** length response to all of your wonderful reviews. Sit on back and get comfortable, this might be longer than the chapter. Kidding ... almost.  
Chapter 60: I love that you picked up on all the truths in this chapter. I wish I could say that I am a good enough writer that the combination was completely on purpose. You have too much faith in me. But sadly, any common thread between the three points of view was unintentional. My outline put the three of them together because Jaime was sending help to Sansa, so then I went to Sansa who needs help, and finally to Cersei because Jaime sending Brienne after Sansa (even if Cersei did not know it happened) is just another indication of her rapidly declining control.  
Don't worry, Jaime will be on his way north very soon (wrote the chapter yesterday). He hasn't forgotten Lenora, but he also know that he would be very little help to her with his hand (or lack there of). And I would imagine he's a bit afraid to face her. After everything she knows and everything that's happened, it's not going to be a warm welcome. (Pun intended because it will be in the North ... I think I'm funny.)  
I had so much fun writing the Sansa and Littlefinger part. There will never be a Littlefinger point of view in this story because I think it would ruin him. He knows so much and has schemed so much that it would give away the game. So he teaches her with stories and riddles and thinks she's too stupid to pick up on half of it. But she spent almost two years with Cersei ... she's not as dumb as she looks. As for cannon ... it's gonna go cannon for a bit, and then ... Sansa's gonna deviate. I think you'll like it.  
And Cersei ... my idea with her being more worried about Tommen than Lenora and Myrcella all stems from the prophecy. _Gold shall be their crowns_ of her three remaining children, Tommen is the only one wearing a golden crown right now. So her paranoid mind is more worried about him than the others. That won't always be the case.  
Chapter 61: Will Sansa find Brienne? Eventually. I don't want to give too much away.  
I'm glad you enjoyed the part with Lenora and Theon and Roose. Theon gets so much hate that I am thrilled that I'm making at least some of you feel sorry for him (for at least a moment). And Roose respecting her was exactly the point of why he told her something. He's not going to give her everything, but her strength and her lack of fear in that moment was enough to make him tell her something. As for Lenora and a pregnancy ... you'll have to wait!  
I was being overly indulgent with the Hound and Arya. I adore the two of them together. So that scene was purely for me. But I'm so glad that you guys enjoyed it too. They're going to head north together, perhaps they'll kill a few people on the way. There will be a Stark sibling reunion, though you'll have to wait a few chapters for that. And don't worry, Arya will get no where near the Boltons. (I love her too much for that.)  
And finally chapter 62: Robb's having some trouble. He has his wolf dreams, he thinks she's north, but he doesn't really know what's going on. He's not _himself_ enough yet to trust them. Don't worry it's coming, probably around the time he starts belonging to his names. And I'm actually glad that you're upset that he wasn't more emotional when remembering Lenora. That was the point. He's still all dark and twisty from his time being dead. I'm going to keep him there a bit longer I think.

 _DatMatt:_ I love anti-Cersei Jaime. In-love-with-Cersei Jaime makes me uncomfortable which is why there is so little of it in this story, and why he's going to get so much more anti-Cersei by the end. And I have been screaming at television Jaime this entire season to become more like my Jaime. It's a bit embarrassing really, how much I wish he would listen.  
I'm glad you appreciate my review responses. I figure that if you guys take the time to write a review, I can take the time to respond. It's only fair.  
As for your question about _A Song of Fire and Gold_ , I don't think you're breaking any fanfiction etiquette so I'll answer. There's less action in it, mainly because Evelyne my OC is not as athletic or trained as Lenora and it follows her. _But_ it is set during the Mad King's reign, so there's definitely drama. And since I'm not the show timeline I have lot more freedom with that story which is definitely nice.

 _LokiLova:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. As for your horrible feeling about what is going to happen to Lenora between now and when she finds Robb ... you're probably right.

 _janaoliver:_ Another update, so soon! And this one after that. I hope you enjoyed it!

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ Hello again! I'm really happy that you enjoyed the last chapter. What did you think of this one? As for your question about Tyrion and Daenerys ... Tyrion's going to go somewhere, but not to the dragon queen. I like Dany, but she's not who I have as endgame on the throne if I'm being honest. And Tyrion's not going to back her when there's someone he loves more who might take it.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this one as well.

 _Guest1995:_ I've been playing around with the idea of actually having Robb warg and know it. Right now he's having wolf dreams where he sees through Grey Wind's eyes, but doesn't quite believe it yet. But in a later chapter, I've been playing around with a part where he _knows_. But it's up in the air with whether or not it will make it in or not. You are right, he is with the Brotherhood, and they might turn around. They might not. You'll see.  
I'm sorry that you hate the trial ... there was more of it in this chapter... and more still to come later. But there's a point for it all. I promise.

 _FairyFelicity:_ You got a lot of Lenora in this chapter. Not sure if you appreciate it though... she's in a spot.  
And I'm glad you appreciated the details in Tyrion's trial ... cause you got more of them in this chapter.

 _zecrayz:_ Hello new review friend! Thank you so much for your amazing review. It honestly made me grin like an idiot for a solid thirty minutes. Thank you so much. I'm glad that you've enjoyed the story so far and don't worry, your review more than made up for the 62 chapters worth of reviews that you owe me. In moments when I'm suffering writer's block or worried about how something will read I will probably look back on that review for a confidence boost. So yeah.  
I'm glad you're enjoying Lenora. When I started writing her I wanted to make her feel as real as possible. My goal, if I'm being completely honest, was to make it so that when you guys watch an episode of GoT, for a moment you wonder where she is. I'm not sure if I've succeeded, but just the fact that I did manage to write such a well-rounded character is a huge win. And the very act of making her real was enough to make it so that she doesn't always have that **HUGE** immediate effect on what's going on that you usually find with OCs (especially of the true Baratheon heir variety). As much as I would love for her to have an army and just take over Westeros ... she doesn't have dragons so she can't do that. But her struggles to try to make even the slightest difference, that's where I like to think the magic is.  
Shades of grey. That is the perfect description for almost every character in GoT. And I have read my fair share of stories that ignore that. It's so easy to label many of the characters (Cersei, Tywin, even to an extent Jaime at times) as _bad_ just like you said. But there also these human moments for all of them that you catch glimpses of on the show and in the books and when I started this story I really set out to expand on them. If you simply write Cersei off as bad, you miss so much of her story. And I didn't want to do that. With any of them. (Except Ramsay and Roose ... they're just bad, nothing worth saving or redeeming there.)  
And thank you for your constructive advice. This morning I went back and I read the chapter on the Red Wedding and I see what you mean. It was a bit rushed, I can admit that. Partially because I was afraid to write it. I spent such a build up on Robb and Lenora that I love them. And I was afraid to do it to them even though I knew I needed to, even though I knew I was going to bring him back. So I kept my distance and that came through. Hopefully that will not be a continued theme throughout the rest of this story.

 _Gamemaster77:_ Thank you for your review! You got it in just in time. I was about to post this chapter when I got the notification. I'm glad you enjoyed Lenora and Theon. They'll come to an understanding at some point, but it will take a while. And there will be revenge for **everything** Ramsay does to her.  
As for your question. There are definitely characters that are easier to write than others. Lenora is one of them, she's not based on me, but she's been in my head for so long that it's very easy to write for her. Jaime has always come easily. Robb when he wasn't all dark and twisty was very easy. Cersei comes and goes, there are days when she is so easy to write and others when it's like pulling teeth. On the days when it's hard I have a glass of wine (call it method writing) and that helps. Arya is surprisingly easy, which is why you guys have seen more of her as of late.

 _cvg_ : Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And yes ... I will update now!

That's all I've got for now my friends!  
I'm going to go hide in case you come after me with pitchforks and the like.  
Enjoy today! If anyone wants to get in on the bet about Dany and Jon let me know in a message!  
It's back to work tomorrow, so until next week,  
Chloe Jane


	64. Chapter Sixty-Four: Say It

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **A note on updates this week:** Hello friends, just as a heads up, I will only be updating once or twice this week. I have a wedding I need to travel to on Friday and that will take up the entire weekend so I won't be updating.  
Real life man, it's a bitch, but it happens.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Four: Say It_

 _Brienne_

"Up!" Brienne ordered, her voice cracking like a whip in the cool morning air. The maesters in Old Town had yet to send out their white ravens announcing the beginning of winter, but Brienne was not oblivious. They days were getting shorter, the nights felt darker, and there was a cold bite to the air. She had heard her father once, cursing the Starks during one of her childhood winters, the Starks were always right. No matter how long and bright and warm a summer was, winter always followed.

And out there, in the cold world, just out of her reach were the Stark girls. At least one of them. She still had no idea where Arya was, but she knew where Sansa was. And she did not trust the man she was with. She was angry that Sansa had not agreed to come with her, not at the girl. The Seven only knew how much suffering the poor girl had seen in King's Landing. She was suspicious and afraid, as she should be. Brienne only wished that the poor child had placed her trust in a more worthy companion. She only wished that she had done a better job at proving her loyalty to the child. But she had not succeeded and she had herself to blame for that.

And, though she hated to admit it, she took it out on Podrick.

"Lift the sword up, Pod!" she practically yelled at the boy. "How do you expect to fight me with the sword tip pointing down? Am I down on the ground?" She shook her head, "I'm up here. Your sword should be as well."

The boy huffed out a breath, they had been practicing for almost an hour now and Brienne had refused to give him a rest. "It's too heavy," he complained, looking down at the sword.

"It's as heavy as it needs to be," Brienne told him. She was surprised that he had complained. In all the time she had been traveling with the boy he had hardly ever complained. Jaime had told her the truth when he said that the boy was a good boy. He was, which only went to show her how hard she had been on him that morning. "You won't get stronger practicing with a lighter sword."

"Don't squires usually start with wooden practice swords?" Podrick asked her.

She nodded, "Yes," she told him, "boys of seven. Are you a boy of seven Pod?" He shook his head. "Then you will practice with live steel. Now lift the sword up. Higher. There. Now, attack."

This caught the boy off guard, in their daily practices she had been the one on attack so far. This was the first time that she had asked him to be on the offensive. But he knew better than to ask questions and he knew she would not be happy if she had to repeat her order. So he nodded and took a step forward, clumsily swinging his sword in her direction.

Brienne easily stepped out of the way of his sword and swung down, the flat of her sword catching him across the front of his calf. "Your feet are too close," she told him. "Hips distance apart. You'd lose your balance in a moment if this were a real fight."

Podrick nodded and looked down, quickly moving his feet further apart. Then when he moved forward, once again trying to attack her, he slid his feet across the ground, barely lifting them, just as she had once shown him. She had never wanted a squire and she had not particularly wanted to train the boy, but she was pleased to see that he was a decent learner. Very rarely did she need to show him the same thing twice. Most mornings he only needed a reminder. She nodded, silent praise, he had not done well enough yet to earn words of praise, but the nod had the boy smiling widely all the same. "Again," she ordered him, gesturing toward herself.

He charged quickly, with very little care or forethought. He was a bull on the attack rather than a wolf or a lion, stalking its prey.

 _Lion_ , unbidden her thoughts drifted to Jaime Lannister and the one time she had fought against the legendary knight. His hands had been chained and he had been weak from the many months he had spent in Riverrun's dungeons. But still, his skill with a sword had been unmatched. She was sure that if his hands had not been shackled he would have beaten her. His movements were beautiful and precise. He moved quickly, just like Podrick tried to do with his attack, but unlike her squire, Jaime was always thinking ahead, always one or two steps ahead of her. He didn't look tired as he quickened his swings. His breathing stayed steady, even as he taunted her.

It had been an honor to fight against him, even when she had thought that he was a man without it. And she had never told him that. She _should_ have told him that.

She should have told him that he had honor, so much more of it than she had ever realized. He had sent her away from King's Landing, to save her and he had given her his blessing to find Sansa Stark and return her to what little family she had left. That was going directly against what his father and his sister wanted. And she had not even told him that she thought it was the bravest thing he had ever done. And now, with her preparing to watch over Sansa Stark and he in King's Landing with his sister and King Tommen she wondered if she would ever be able to. They would be enemies from now until the end of their days.

The thought made her angry and with a yell she brought her sword swinging down to counter Podrick's attack. _Too hard._ It was unnecessary, a simple step to the side would have been all she needed and they could have kept practicing, but she was angry and without thinking she brought her sword down to meet Podrick's. The boy's grip on the hilt was too loose and the sword flew from his hand.

He looked up at her, watching her with his wide brown eyes before he quickly scrambled forward to grab the sword from the ground and spar again. But Brienne sighed, "That's enough for today," she told him, her voice quiet.

"I can still fight, my lady," Podrick told her, he had a habit of ignoring her when she told him not to call her _my lady_. "I'm not so tired yet."

She shook your head, "If you lose your sword in a fight then you don't deserve to have it," she told him, repeating the words Jaime had said to her on the bridge that day when he was mocking her for needing two swords. She only carried one now, the Valyrian steel he had given her, _Oathkeeper_. She sighed again, noticing the hurt shining in the boy's eyes, "Perhaps we will practice again this evening," she suggested to make them both feel better about what she had said to him.

Podrick nodded, "I hope we do, my lady," he told her as he moved away from her. He walked a few steps before he turned to look at her. "I know that you're upset about Lady Sansa," he told her. "But perhaps you don't need to be. You tried to keep your oath to Lady Stark. You found her daughter, you told her who you were, and you promised to keep her safe. You did everything you told Lady Stark you would do. Sansa said no, that fault is not yours to carry. Perhaps she released you from your oath?"

Brienne shook her head. "No," she told Podrick. "I swore to Lady Stark that I would see her daughters safely returned to her. I cannot do that, I do not even know if Arya is alive. But I know Lady Sansa is. And I know that she is not safe with Littlefinger. I cannot see her safely returned to Lady Stark, but I can see her safely returned home to Winterfell, or perhaps to her Snow brother, at the Wall, perhaps he would know what to do with her."

"But she told you no," Podrick murmured. "She said that she did not want to go with us. That she felt safe here with Littlefinger. Perhaps he really is bringing her to her aunt and she will be safe here. You can't return her to her mother, but she has been returned to her mother's sister. Perhaps that is safe enough, close enough."

"Her aunt who never even responded to Lady Catelyn's ravens asking her for help during the War of the Five Kings?" Brienne fired back at him. "Do you think she will keep her safe? Do you think, even there under her aunt's roof she will be _truly_ safe from Littlefinger? You were Lord Tyrion's squire, did _he_ trust Littlefinger?"

"About as far as he could throw him," Podrick murmured quietly. Brienne nodded, she had expected an answer like that. Podrick was quiet for a moment, "Then what will we do, my lady?" he asked Brienne.

"You will stop calling me your lady," Brienne instructed. "And we will wait. Lady Sansa will soon see that Petyr Baelish is no friend of hers. And when she does, we will be here. Where she will know where to find us."

"We wait?" Podrick asked her, _my lady_ on the tip of his tongue.

Brienne smiled, pleased that he caught himself. She nodded. "We will wait."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

"Have you chosen your champion yet?" Jaime asked, leaning against the wall and watching his brother with a practiced indifference. It wasn't necessarily that he was indifferent toward his brother, but it was easier to pretend to be then to yell at him for losing his mind at his trial, or telling him how much he would miss him once he was beheaded after his trial by combat. He knew who Cersei had chosen for her champion after all. He wondered, had someone bothered to tell Tyrion?

"I had thought to name you," Tyrion told him his voice soft and teasing as he brought up the impossibility. Even if Jaime _had_ his sword hand, he was King's Guard, he would only ever be able to fight for the crown.

Jaime scoffed and held up his left hand, "Even with all the work Bronn and I have put into it, I still couldn't beat a squire with this hand," he admitted to his brother. Tyrion was the only person in King's Landing that he would ever admit that to. And perhaps part of it was because he knew that it was a secret his younger brother would take to the grave.

Tyrion chuckled, "Lenora would love that," he murmured, shaking his head. "She'd use it as an excuse to get pay back for all those years of training."

Jaime chuckled and nodded, "I'd beaten black and blue," he agreed. "But perhaps I'd come out of it a better swordsman."

Tyrion nodded, "If you could take the insult of it all. Being trained by a _girl_."

Jaime knew that his smile did not truly meet his eyes at that one. He thought about Brienne, about how well she handled a sword, she had held her own against him the one time they had crossed blades, no easy feat. "There are worse things," he told his brother.

Tyrion's eyes danced around his cell, "You do not need to remind me of that fact," he assured his brother. "I am quite aware." He was quiet for a moment. "I had thought that if I couldn't ask you I would ask Bronn to be my champion, he did so well for me at the Eyrie and I would promise to make him a very rich man once he won, but," he shrugged his shoulders. "a dead man can't pay his debts, Lannister or no. And Bronn knows enough of Cersei's champion that he was smart enough to say no."

Jaime could feel the hatred settling deep in his stomach when he thought of Cersei and who she had chosen as her champion. Even now he could not believe how much his sister hated Tyrion. They were siblings, brother and sister, she shouldn't have hated him like that. He could still picture all the Starks during their trip to Winterfell, the trip that had put all of this into motion. They had stood together, strong and united and loving each other. He could not understand what had gone so wrong with his brother and sister.

Cersei always claimed that Tyrion had killed their mother. But that was as wrong as her hatred for him was. Their mother had died giving birth. Something that happened to women all over the Seven Kingdoms every day. Tyrion was no more guilty of killing their mother as he was of killing Joffrey. But Cersei would not listen to him. She would not listen to reason. At least not when it came to Tyrion.

"Who did she choose?" Tyrion asked when his hints did not gain him an answer. "Tell me, Jaime. Keeping me in the dark does very little to keep me from worrying me. I have a champion, I only wish to know who he will be fighting against."

"The Mountain," Jaime finally admitted, staring down at his little brother as he took in the information and processed it.

"Oh," Tyrion sighed, his brows furrowing. Jaime was sure that he was about to watch his brother sink into despair, whoever he had bribed or paid into being his champion surely stood no chance against a man like the Mountain. But, instead of fretting, or yelling, Tyrion smiled, albeit ruefully. "That makes sense."

Jaime arched an eyebrow, surprised at his brother's response. Because it made no sense to him what-so-ever. He did not know how Cersei had even thought of the Mountain. Or found him for that matter. "Who's yours?" he asked, wondering which poor soul he was going to watch die just so that Cersei would then have the right to kill their brother too.

"He volunteered," Tyrion told him quietly. "Though he would not say why. He told some story about the first time he met me and how I wasn't the monster everyone claimed I was. He said there were real monsters out there, ones he wanted to kill. He told me that he was after revenge, but that _I_ was not the Lannister he wanted. Now I see it, he wants the Mountain. He must have known and that's why he came to me."

"Tyrion," Jaime started, watching his brother underneath furrowed brows. "You're not making any sense."

Tyrion nodded, "It's better this way though," he assured Jaime, still not explaining what was going on in his mind. "He has no attachment to me, no reason to fight his best. He certainly has no care for my life. But he's after revenge for her then he'll fight his hardest. He'll come out victorious. This is better." He chuckled to himself and shook his head, "It's better still that I won't have to pretend we're friends after this. It's a mutually beneficial situation, that is all. That's good, because I find the man insufferable."

"What man?" Jaime asked again, still worried for his brother's sanity.

"Prince Oberyn, of course," Tyrion told him. "I understand it now. Father sent his men into the city and the Mountain scaled the walls of Maegor's Holdfast. He wants revenge on him for what he did to the prince's sister and her children."

Jaime flinched at that, it wasn't a particularly happy story, what had happened to Princess Elia and her children Rhaenys and Aegon. Their father liked to pretend that he did not know _who_ killed them, that if it was one of his men it had not been under his orders. But it was a well-known secret throughout the Seven Kingdoms that it had been Armory Lorch and the Mountain. Armory had dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father's bed where she had been hiding and stabbed the small child fifty times. And the Mountain had smashed Prince Aegon's head against the wall in front of his mother before he had raped her and crushed her own.

Somewhere in the tomes that filled the Lannister library at Casterly Rock there was a book that detailed the Lannister's role in Robert's Rebellion. Though it did not name Armory Lorch or Gregor Clegane in their deaths it went into great detail about how the princess and her children had died. He had made the mistake, when Lenora was just learning to read at the tender age of six of letting her have free reign of the library. She had picked that book one day when he wasn't watching, eager to learn all about the war that had put her father on the throne.

He had found her, screaming in the back corner of the library, hiding under a desk, the book thrown away from her as if putting distance between herself and the story would be enough to save her. It had taken her three days to believe him when he told her that no one would ever come and tear her out from under a bed to stab her and kill her. He could still hear her scared little voice when she whispered to him, _but that's what they do to princesses, Uncle Jaime_.

Jaime shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory. "Are you sure that you trust him?" he asked his brother. "Can you truly be certain?"

Tyrion smiled ruefully, "If there is one thing that all of this has taught me it is that there is one thing one can be certain of: _vengeance_ and how far some people will go to get it." He was speaking of Cersei as much as he was speaking of the Dornish prince. "He'd gain nothing from losing," he continued. "He'd lose his life and I was a barely a man when that happened. He's not out for revenge on me."

"But Father, perhaps," Jaime pointed out. "Perhaps he thinks that the Mountain would never have acted those deeds out if he hadn't been ordered to by his Liege Lord."

"If he's looking for revenge on father, he'd be trying to get the wrong son killed," Tyrion told Jaime, smiling a bit in his gentle teasing manner. "He'd have a better chance of that by murdering you in your sleep. Anyone that knows father knows that he only has eyes for you as far as his children are concerned."

"That's not true," Jaime tried to assure him. "Father loves you as well."

Tyrion chuckled, "If he does it's buried very deep," he told Jaime. "Somewhere he can't even find." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "I'm sorry that he tricked you into agreeing to leave the King's Guard," he told Jaime. "Will he still hold you to that even though there is no chance now that I will be allowed to join the Night's Watch?"

Jaime chuckled in spite of himself, it was so much like his younger brother to worry about _him_ while Tyrion was facing down death. "I wouldn't know," he told him. "I haven't spoken to him since he had you removed from the throne room. I'd like to see him try though, to try to force me into holding up my end of that ridiculous bargain after he allowed your sham of a trial to end the way it did. I wonder how he would try to persuade me."

"He could call your honor into question," Tyrion suggested.

Jaime smirked, "We both know I never had any honor to begin with, he'd have nothing to stand on."

"You had honor," Tyrion assured him, for a moment Jaime thought his brother was being serious and then Tyrion smirked wickedly at him. "It was shit. Shit honor. But it was honor all the same."

Jaime chuckled, there were few people in the Seven Kingdoms he allowed to speak to him in that way. Two really, his little brother and his niece. It seemed that Tyrion was going to take advantage of that in his last hours. "Why'd you do it?" he asked his brother with a sigh when his laughter faded away. "You were safe, I had saved you. Why did you lose your temper and shout the way you did? You could be on your way to the Wall by now, safe from Cersei."

Tyrion chuckled, "Black was never my color. And you're a fool if you think for one moment that I would have been safe from Cersei, even at the Wall. She could have paid _anyone_ to travel north to kill me and it wouldn't be that hard. Perhaps I would already be dead by the time her assassin arrived. Can't imagine there's much use for an imp on the Wall, after all."

He was turning Jaime's question into a joke. And ignoring the part that Jaime really wanted to know. He sighed, "But why did you do it?" he asked again. "Why did you throw away your last shot at living? Even if it was in Black, it would have been _life_."

Tyrion wouldn't meet his gaze. That was how he knew that he was going to tell him the truth. "I couldn't watch it anymore," he admitted after a long, silent moment. "I could not stand there and watch _her_ lie anymore."

"Cersei?" Jaime asked him. "Come now, Tyrion. You knew that she was going to lie and pay off witnesses. _You're_ the fool if you thought she wouldn't. You shouldn't have let it bother you."

"Not Cersei," Tyrion cut in, shaking his head violently. "I expected nothing less from that bitch. No," he sighed, bringing his eyes up to meet Jaime's, "I couldn't watch _Shae_ lie anymore. I could not bear it."

"Shae?" Jaime asked, not quite connecting the dots. "The whore?"

"Don't call her that!" Tyrion yelled at him, quickly jumping to his feet. "I barely allowed her to call herself that. I will not let you use that word when speaking about her!"

Jaime watched his brother for a moment before he cursed, shaking his head, "You fell in love with her?" he asked his brother. "You did it again and you fell in love with a who -" he paused when Tyrion glared at him again. "A woman like that?"

Tyrion nodded, "I fell in love with her. And I thought she loved me too."

"You paid her," Jaime deadpanned, wondering how his brother always seemed to confuse paying a woman to fuck him and having a woman willing make love to him. Were the three Lannister siblings really so far gone that it had come to this? The eldest, Cersei, who would willingly kill the youngest. The middle, Jaime, who had allowed himself to be tricked into thinking that fucking his sister was alright. The youngest, Tyrion, so desperate for someone to love him that he didn't realize paying for it did not make it real. It was a small wonder that Joffrey had not turned out more of a monster than he already was, what with a family like theirs. He shook his head, watching Tyrion sadly. "I've failed you," he whispered to his brother.

"No," Tyrion would not listen to it. "I am the one who will be on trial tomorrow, Jaime, _you_ are not allowed to sit in my cell and feel sorry for yourself. I will not permit it."

"Then what would you have me do for you?" Jaime asked.

Tyrion smiled sadly, "Get me very drunk."

Jaime could not stop the smile that spread across his lips at that answer. "I thought you would say that," he told Tyrion. "You're becoming predictable in your old age, little brother."

"And you're wasting valuable drinking time, older brother."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

Tyrion Lannister had never attended many trials by combat. Until his first trial by combat at the Eyrie he had never understood the appeal of watching two men fight to the death so that another man might live. It had worked in his favor at the Eyrie, he could only hope that the Gods would be as kind to him this time as they had been then.

A small, childish part of him, held out hope that Prince Oberyn would win, that because he truly was innocent in Joffrey's murder the Gods would guide Oberyn's hand and his spear.

A larger, more cynical part of him knew that this would be his last day on earth. That his father and sister had wanted him dead since the day he was born and that no one's luck, especially a dwarf's was good enough to successfully evade death twice by the same means.

Maybe if Jaime had two good hands and was able to fight for him. Maybe then.

Gods, he wished Jaime had brought him a whore along with all the wine they had drank the night before. He did not want to leave this world without having been fucked well before he did.

It was too late now though. The sun had risen, the judges had assembled. And so had the court. When he was led toward the tourney grounds where his trial would be, the lists were the only place large enough to accommodate the crowd he was drawing, Tyrion wondered at the feeling in the air.

If he hadn't known any better. If he had not known that _his_ life was on the line that morning. He would have thought that he was walking to a tournament. The lords and ladies of the court were dressed in their finest. They laughed and they sang, they made merry as they walked to their seats. They were treating his potential death sentence like a celebration. He felt his fists clench and his jaw tighten. Perhaps he should not have saved King's Landing from Stannis, perhaps they hadn't been worth saving. If he died tomorrow for this, he hoped the Gods would at least be kind enough to let him watch while the rest of the monsters were sent to the Seven Hells after their own, well-deserved deaths.

Only then would he be satisfied.

There seemed to be only two people at this affair who were not in a celebratory mood. Jaime, who was to be seated in the king's box with Cersei and the rest of the Small Council, and Tyrion himself. Varys, to his credit, did not seem pleased with what was going on around him, but he had also sworn that he was a friend to Tyrion and he had turned on him during his trial just to save his own _ball-less_ hide.

Oberyn was kissing his lover, the Sand woman, when Tyrion approached him under the tent on the edge of the lists. "That looks like very _light_ armor," he said, his voice flat as he approached them. He had told Jaime that he had faith in the man the night before, but now as he looked at him, he wasn't so certain. Did the man expect to go up against the Mountain and win while wearing almost nothing by way of armor or protection?

If so, Oberyn was a fool for thinking it. And Tyrion was a fool for trusting him.

 _Both_ of their lives were on the line this morning.

"I like to move around," Oberyn defended himself as he moved away from Tyrion and toward the table on the far end of the small tent.

"You could at least wear a helmet," Tyrion scolded as he looked out over the brightly dressed, excited crowd that awaited the fight. _We both know that Gregor Clegane enjoys crushing skulls after all_ , he thought to himself as he turned back and saw Oberyn taking a healthy sip of a goblet of wine. "You shouldn't drink before a fight," he added, his heart falling a bit.

He was the fool who had enlisted the help of a _drunk_ champion to fight the Mountain. This could only end one way, and it would not end well for him. That much he was certain of now.

"You know this from your years of experience in the fighting pits?" Oberyn teased, taking another mocking sip from his goblet. The Sand woman laughed.

 _I know it because I have a brain, you fool_ , Tyrion thought. He bit his tongue, he did not want to anger Oberyn to the point where the man refused to fight for him. There was no way that Tyrion would be equipped to fight the Mountain on his own and there was no turning back from this trial by combat now. All the lords and ladies of the court had showed up, and they were expecting blood.

"I always drink before a fight," Oberyn explained.

"It could get you killed," Tyrion growled at him. "Which would get _me_ killed."

Oberyn glanced at him, a self confident smirk resting on his lips, "This is not the day I die," he assured him.

The crowd in the stands began to cheer, alerting Tyrion to the fact that his sister's champion had arrived. He had seen the Mountain before, but it had been under completely different circumstances. Now, that Tyrion's life depended on this fight, the Mountain looked much larger than he had the last time Tyrion saw him. And Oberyn looked much smaller. He turned toward the crowd, there were so many of them cheering for the Mountain, cheering for _his_ death.

He cursed them all.

"You're going to fight _that_?" Oberyn's lover asked, staring wide-eyed at the Mountain.

"I'm going to kill _that_ ," Oberyn answered her. He barely looked at his opponent. Tyrion wished that he had even half of Oberyn's confidence in the man's abilities.

"He's the largest man I've ever seen," she told him, still not taking her eyes off Cersei's champion.

"Size does not matter when you are flat on our back," Oberyn told her with a grin.

"Thank the Gods," Tyrion murmured without thinking. Oberyn turned his grin on Tyrion. Perhaps, they could be friends after this. Their temperaments were very much alike.

The court herald blew his horn, calling the audience to silence as Grand Maester Pycelle made his way to the center of the lists. Tyrion groaned, it was not normally the Grand Maester's job to oversee a trial by combat. _This_ was a special gift from Cersei, the last one he would ever receive. She wanted him to stand here and listen to Pycelle slowly, painfully slowly, explain the rules.

His sister, she was kind woman, if he managed to make it through the next two days alive he would make sure to return the favor to her.

"In the sights of Gods and men, we gather to ascertain guilt or innocence of this," the old bastard paused, glancing at Tyrion as if he could not think of the correct word to use, " _man,_ Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. May the Warrior guide the hand of our champion -" he was cut off by the horn sounding again. Lord Tywin had waved him off, even Tyrion's father was ready for the blood.

It did not escape Tyrion's notice that the Grand Maester only prayed to the Warrior on behalf of _one_ champion, the crown's.

The people cheered as the Mountain walked to the middle of the lists. His sword, the length of an average man, promised a good fight. They were silent when Oberyn walked out, spear in hand. But after half a minute of fancy twirls and leaps and Oberyn tossing his spear from one hand to another to hide his strong arm from the Mountain, the people cheered for him too.

It was then that Tyrion realized they did not all wish for his death. They were hungry for a fight, they wanted blood. They wanted a show. They did not care who bled or who died as long as _someone_ did. Everyone but his sister and his father would be just as happy to watch the Mountain fall as they would to watch Oberyn die.

 _Has it been that long since the Battle of Blackwater Bay?_ Tyrion thought as he looked out over the crowd. _Have you all forgotten how terrified you were then? Have you forgotten that war and death are not a game?_

On the list in front of him Oberyn finally stopped twirling his spear and faced the Mountain, "Have they told you who I am?" he asked, standing still, waiting for the larger man to make his move.

"Some dead man," the Mountain responded as he stepped forward, swinging his large sword.

The crowd gasped, no doubt half of them thought that the fight would be over just like that. That the Mountain would slice Oberyn clear in half. Tyrion thought that for a moment. But Oberyn was still smiling as he stepped easily and quickly out of the way, still twirling his spear.

The next time the Mountain swung his sword Oberyn blocked it with the long handle of his spear. The wood did not even crack.

In spite of himself, Tyrion began to hope.

"I am the brother of Elia Martell," Oberyn told the Mountain, walking around him, just out of reach of the brute's large sword. "Do you know why I came all the way to this shit hole of a city?" he asked. "For you." And then the smaller man lunged forward, first right and then left, smacking opposite sides of the Mountain's helm.

Gods he was fast, no wonder they called this Dornish prince the Viper. He moved quickly, suddenly, he struck like a snake. He moved away from the Mountain again, out of his reach. He was playing with the larger man, drawing the fight out. Tyrion wished Oberyn would be more sympathetic to his nerves and finish the fight quickly. "I'm going to hear you confess before you die," Oberyn teased his opponent. "You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick."

 _Say it_ , Tyrion thought, staring at the Mountain. _Please Gods, say it_.

The Mountain did not say it. Instead he lunged forward, running at Oberyn. The crowd cheered loudly. Oberyn stepped out of the way of the first attack. He met the second, third, and forth head on. Even now, his spear did not break. On the Mountain's fifth parry he walked slowly and casually under the large man's outstretched arm and attacked from behind. He knocked Ser Gregor's helm off.

He was embarrassing the man when he should have been killing him.

Still, Tyrion was feeling even more confident. Oberyn was still alive. That was very promising.

"Say it," Oberyn ordered as the Mountain began another series of attacks in quick succession. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." With each attack the smaller man blocked the Mountain's attack, hit his armor with the flat side of his spear, or stayed _just_ out of reach.

In the king's box Jaime leaned past Lord Mace to smile at their father and Cersei. Jaime was the only one smiling.

Tyrion reminded himself, that if Oberyn won this fight, he would have to tell Lenora all about it when she was finally returned to them. Perhaps he would even arrange for his niece to travel to Dorne and learn from Oberyn herself. She would appreciate it.

"You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."

The two fighters continued their dance. They seemed equally matched. After a series of failed attacks the Mountain grew tired of swinging his sword and he kicked Oberyn in the chest, sending him flying to the ground on his back. Before Tyrion could even worry that this might be the end Oberyn was back on his feet and facing the giant again.

The Mountain swung his sword and finally, hitting a soft spot, he cut Oberyn's spear handle in half. Tyrion felt his shoulders tense, but Oberyn did not seem worried in the slightest. He flipped and jumped and twirled his way away from the Mountain, grinning as his squire passed him a new spear.

Jaime turned his smile on Tyrion, sure now that his brother would be alright.

Tyrion did not smile in return. He would not smile until he was sure that they had won.

The Mountain attacked again. This time when the Viper struck, his aim was true. The tip of his spear found a weak spot in the Mountain's mail and tore through.

The crowd's cheers got quieter.

Perhaps Tyrion had been wrong. Perhaps they had been cheering for _his_ blood all along.

"You raped her!" Oberyn yelled. "You murdered her!"

The Mountain charged at him. He brought his spear up, knocking the large sword away from him and stepped out of the way. The Mountain was too big, he moved too fast, he was unable to stop as quickly. Turning, Oberyn lunged forward, this time the tip of his spear tore through the Mountain's boot and embedded itself in his leg. He tore the spear down toward the ground, ripping the skin and muscle down to the Mountain's ankle then he stepped away as the large man fell to his knees.

He took a breath, his back facing the king's box before started to run forward. "You killed her children!" he roared. With a leap he embedded the top six inches of his spear blade into the Mountain's chest.

The Mountain fell, the spear still in his chest.

Tyrion allowed himself to smile. Jaime nodded at him as he turned to their father, waiting for Lord Tywin to announce that Tyrion had been found innocent. The crowd cheered.

But Oberyn was not finished yet.

"What?" he asked, walking closer to the fallen man. "Oh no, no, no. You can't be dying. You can't. You haven't confessed." He pulled his spear out of the man's chest and continued to walk tight circles around him. "Say it," he ordered.

He paced, like a caged animal. "Say her name," he ordered. "Elia Martell. Say it."

The crowd did not make a sound. Tyrion was sure that he had never heard so many people stay so silent. The smile fell from his lips. Jaime did not look as certain anymore.

"You killed her," Oberyn told the dying man. "Elia Martell. Say it." He turned, pointing toward the king's box. Pointing directly at Tywin. "Who gave you the order?" he asked. "Who gave you the order? Elia Martell. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children!" He moved closer to the Mountain now. "Say it," his voice was softer, as if he were begging the man. "Say her name." Then he yelled, "Say it!"

He was too close, the crowd gasped as the Mountain's arm swung out, hitting Oberyn's ankles and knocking him flat on his back beside him. Then he grabbed Oberyn by the neck and pulled him closer, lifting him into the air above his chest. He punched Oberyn with a mailed fist and teeth and blood splattered across the ground. Then he threw the smaller man back down on his back, rolling on top of him and reaching for his face.

"Elia Martell," he growled, sticking his thumbs in Oberyn's eyes and pushing down toward the ground. Oberyn screamed. There was so much blood. "I killed her children," the Mountain confessed. "I raped her. Then I smashed her head in like this!" He pushed very hard and from where he stood Tyrion heard a popping sound. And then there was blood everywhere. On the ground around Oberyn's head, on the Mountain's face and armor, in the air.

The Sand woman was screaming as the Mountain rolled onto his back, still dying from the Viper's wounds, but it did not matter. He had killed Oberyn first.

Tyrion could barely lift his head up to look at the king's box. Jaime looked horrified. Cersei sat, a proud smile on her face. His father stood, glaring down at him. "The Gods have made their will known. Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of his name, you are hereby sentenced to death."

Perhaps Jaime had not needed to bring him a whore. With or without one, Tyrion Lannister was well, and truly, fucked.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends, welcome to our first Game of Thrones-less week. How are you all surviving? I'm drowning my sorrows by throwing myself into several Fantasy Football leagues and making my way through a Buzzfeed list of shows that I should watch while waiting for GoT to return.  
I'm doing it wrong though. _Black Sails_ was on that list. And if I were smart I would watch an episode a week. That way the four scenes of the show would last me almost half a year. But instead I binge watched it and now I'm already on season four. I'm an idiot.  
An idiot who is completely in love with Billy Bones and already working on an OC for him. So if you're a Black Sails fan (which really you should be, I give that show a glowing recommendation) be on the look out.  
Anyway, enough babbling. Thank you for stopping by and reading this update. I hope you enjoyed it. And thank you for your reviews on the last chapter. You guys truly are amazing. And this story would not be what it is without you. So everyone, give yourselves a pat on the back or something.

 _snoowbunnie:_ haha. And because I'm a bitch I gave you a chapter without Lenora. Suspense! Who is it who found her? You'll have to wait one more chapter to see! (Evil laughter!)

 _BrittStar1199:_ Cersei is pretty bitter. And quickly going insane. And I love writing it!

 _pewpewpewpppp:_ Hello and welcome! Thank you for giving this story a chance. I'm so glad that you are enjoying the story so far and I hope that this chapter did not disappoint. (Though you will have to wait one more chapter to see if your prediction about Grey Wind is correct.)

 _DatMatt:_ I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. It took Lenora a while to start to comprehend what Bolton wanted for her, she probably always knew, but didn't want to admit it even to herself. But now she knows. And she had to escape. (Plus it had been a while since anyone had gotten bloody, so I needed to fix that.) I'm so glad that you enjoyed the Cersei section of the last chapter, as much as I loved Len's escape, it was Cersei's section that I was happiest with. I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much!

 _writingNOOB:_ Oh no! And the suspense! I'm purposefully keeping you guys waiting for the aftermath of Lenora's escape. Because I'm a bitch who loves all of you, but also enjoys keeping you on your toes.

 _salvatoresister887:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story. It's nice to hear that the updates are a highlight for you! As for your question, of course there will be a Jon POV, I wrote it today, though it will be another two or three chapters before you guys get to read it. But yeah, it's time to bring him back into the story, he's been freezing his butt off at the Wall for too long.

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you so much! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well! No Lenora though, I gotta let you guys worry a bit longer about her.

 _RHatch89:_ We still don't know. Maybe it's not Ramsay behind her ... but let's be honest, this is GoT. It's probably Ramsay. The one bit of good news is that like you said, Lenora is not Sansa. He will have a harder time with her.

 _bellaphant:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed it! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter too. I was not ready for the end of last week's episode. I was not prepared at all. And then I almost cried when I read that the new season might not be out until **2019**. That was tough to hear.

 _Kimberley:_ Of course I left on a cliffhanger. And I purposefully scheduled that cliffhanger ending for my last post of the week. Because I'm a clever, cruel writer who likes to make all of you nervous. How am I doing? Still nervous?

 _janaoliver:_ I'm happy that you were happy about the last update. As for who the _he_ is, you'll find out in the next chapter! Enjoy!

 _North:_ Thank you for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. You are right, it should have been obvious that was Roose's plan, and I think Lenora always knew that, there were hints of it. Hints that she might have purposefully ignored because she did not want to accept the truth. Until she absolutely had to that is.

 _sltsky96:_ I LOVE YOUR CAPITAL LETTERS IN YOUR REVIEW! You're freaking out which is exactly what I wanted you guys to do! Still freaking out? I purposefully left Lenora out of this chapter for freak out purposes. As for your wish about who kills Roose. I won't tell you who does it, but I will tell you this ... It's not Ramsay. That's not enough revenge for what Roose did to Robb, you're right.

 _Lulu14168:_ Lenora and Robb's chapters are the best. I agree. Which is why after this chapter at least one of them will be showing up in every update until the end of the story (sometimes even both!).

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ Well, I am glad that I was able to supply you with an alternative to the Red Wedding. I have always viewed fanfiction, first and foremost, as a way to right the wrongs done to my favorite characters. (Not that the Red Wedding was bad, it was a wonderful, heartbreaking twist, but one that I could not allow to fully exist in Lenora's world.) And the girl from _Reign_ is actually a wonderful example of Lenora's looks, not the one I picture, but a wonderful choice.  
And yes ... Dany and Jon!  
So my husband doesn't read the books. So he was completely surprised when it was revealed that Jon was a Targaryen (even though I **told** him so) and he was completely surprised when Jon and Dany got it on (even though I **told** him they would). Eventually he's going to have to start listening to me regarding GoT. I spend every other week in Westeros, I know what I'm talking about.

 _Guest1995:_ I'm not going to tell you who caught Lenora. Not until the next update. But I will say this, we're not quite to the point of season seven where the characters seem to travel across Westeros on fighter jets, so I think it's safe to say that it is not the Hound.  
And we're getting close. To where Lenora starts to really fight back. I think you'll enjoy it almost as much as I enjoyed your _out of the woods_ pun.

 _FairyFelicity:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. And I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. I don't want to give too much away, but you are right, Lenora's escape was quick, and relatively easy. Which probably means something is about to go very wrong.

 _DannyBlack70:_ I thought about having her escape last longer before someone found her. But it's in the North, and it's cold, and she's only got a thin cloak. If I made it last too much longer she might freeze to death, especially in a stream. So she had to be found pretty quickly. At least that was my reasoning. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _Cvg:_ Thank you for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed it! Here is your new update!

 _Ishouldprobablybedoinghomework:_ Two reviews. Back to back. I'm honored. I'm sorry that you were so angry at me when Lenora didn't get away. But I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and are slightly less upset with me now.  
As for Dany ... she's growing on me now, but she was never one of my favorites either.

 _TINABELCHERISMYSPIRITANIMAL:_ That's another good one! I personally fancast Lily Evans with her dark hair from _Romeo and Juliet_ in London. And someone else has suggested Adelaide Kane from _Reign_. But I just looked up your girl and she's a good fit too! Well done.

 _Bella-Macabre:_ Thank you so much for leaving me a review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope this chapter was worth the wait!

 _Pups2love:_ And I just want to thank you for your wonderful review! I'm glad you're enjoying this story and that you love Lenora. (Between you and me, I sometimes get disappointed when I watch an episode and she's not in it. Then I remember that I wrote her so of course she's not in it! Still disappointment though.)

 _Gamemaster77:_ Three reviews. Wow! Thank you. I will try to address all of them to the best of my ability in this response. But if I miss something important let me know.  
You are right about Lenora and Robb. They're reunion is very far off. And when they do meet, they'll be happy, but they won't be the same. They'll probably have to learn to love each other all over again, if that's even possible. (But because it's me writing this, they will.) And I'm glad that you're enjoying the Grey Wind parts. (They're probably hardest to write, but I like the challenge and since I don't have the budget issues that GoT has I can keep the direwolves up front and center instead of having to choose between giants and wolves, so that's good.)  
I am keeping the story contained inside Westeros. Bran will appear once he gets back from his trip over the Wall, Jon's parts will all be at the Wall or further south. Dany won't show up at all. I like her now, and I would love to take a crack at her, but she doesn't really fit with where I want this story to go. So if I were to attempt a story about her, it would be it's own separate thing. I'm glad you think I kill it when it comes to Cersei's sections. That makes me smile like an insane person!

 _Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:_ I'm glad! Did you enjoy this chapter as well?

 _darkwolf76:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last update and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well.  
Tyrion's point of view in the last chapter was one of my favorites ever. I'm trying to branch a little more away from the cannon or to tell scenes from a different point of view, but sometimes it can't be avoided. And when that happens I try to delve as deeply into the character's thoughts as I can to give you guys something new. And with Peter Dinklage especially it's very easy to do. So I'm glad you enjoy it. (And that it breaks your heart a bit.)  
And I'm glad that I made you feel somewhat bad about Cersei. If you guys can't tell ... I love shades of grey (not the horrible book, but people). I hate characters that are completely good all the time (with the exception of Captain America ... I love that goody two shoes) and I hate characters that are completely bad all the time. I like the ones that you want to hate, but it's hard because at some level you understand them. Cersei is one of those characters for me. So I'm delighted when you guys feel sorry for her.  
As for Lenora... you'll have to wait one more chapter to find out if you're wrong about who the sneerer is. I'm mean like that.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _Stevie Jazz:_ I'm so glad that you found this story and that you enjoy it! And your gushing was completely appreciated! Thank you so much.  
And I'm happy to have somewhat changed your opinion on stories with changing narratives. I'm very careful when I add a new one. I knew from the beginning that I did not want to focus solely on Robb and Lenora, there's too much going on to focus on all of them, but I didn't want to go crazy either. Whenever I add a new POV I have to make sure that there is a reason for it. What is _this_ character going to tell that another one couldn't? How does it help the story? And even though it is not Lenora's point of view, how does it apply to what has happened, is happening, or will happen to her? Lots of questions, but I'm glad that they're working.  
I'm glad you enjoy Jaime and Lenora. This story started out because I wanted a paternal Jaime. And I hadn't found any and it broke my heart. So I wrote one. Totally selfish, but I thought if I wanted a Jaime like that, others would too.  
And the slower build between Robb and Lenora, I get it. A part of me wanted them to jump into loving each other right off the bat, but when does that ever happen in real life? And how could it feasibly happen with everything happening between their two families? In order for this story to work, they had to feel real. There are so many stories out there where Robb has a love interest, but it happens too quickly, too easily. They don't hold my attention for long. And I wanted this one to be different.  
As for my opinion on Jon and Dany ... I'm torn literally in two. I'm pretty against incest. Cersei and Jaime make me feel really gross and squirmy. Jon and Dany ... I mind and I don't mind. I don't mind them because they don't know they're related, and historically speaking and aunt and a nephew isn't _that_ weird of a match. At the same time, I would think it was really gross if someone I knew started dating their aunt. So yeah ... torn.  
Though I have a feeling I won't have to be for long. I have a theory that Jon is going to have to kill Dany. Putting that out there into the universe right now.

 _BehindGrayEyes:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying! And I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well.

That's all I've got friends! Have a fantastic day!  
I'll be back soon!  
Chloe Jane.


	65. Chapter Sixty-Five: The Heir

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Five: The Heir of Winterfell_

 _Lenora_

It felt as if her feet were stuck to the ground, no matter how much she wanted to keep moving, to keep running. She couldn't. Her feet would not budge. Her heart started beating quickly, erratically. The back of her neck broke out in a sweat. A shiver ran down her spine. Her blood turned to ice water, colder than the stream she was standing in. She knew that voice. No matter where she went in the world, she would know that voice.

"Why don't you get out of the stream, my lady?" he asked her, his voice still taunting her quietly. He was playing with her, just as Joffrey had always played with Myrcella and Tommen. "I'm sure the water is terribly cold. We wouldn't want you to fall ill." When she didn't move, didn't even turn around, he tried a different tactic. His voice was harder when he spoke again, "Reek," he called out, his voice commanding. "Why don't you help the lady out of the water?"

Lenora closed her eyes and took a shaky breath as she heard Theon shuffle toward the bank. A moment later she heard him enter the stream and stumble his way through the knee deep water toward her. He did not grab her from behind, that surprised her. Instead he moved around her until he was standing in front of her. He looked cleaner than the last time she had seen him. He may have been _Reek_ , but he was still dressed like _Theon_. He held his hand out to her, "Come with me, my lady," he told her, not meeting her gaze.

She wanted to say no, she wanted to push past him and keep moving. She should have. She should have been willing to die rather than be taken back to the Dreadfort. But she was terrified. And she knew that no matter what she did, Ramsay was not going to leave without her and he would not kill her. It would only be worse for both Theon and herself if she fought. Her right hand was shaking when she placed it in Theon's hand.

His blue eyes darted up to her face when he felt her shaking. It was just a momentary glance before he looked away again. But before he started to walk her out of the stream she felt him gently squeeze her hand. It was that action that gave her the strength to stare Ramsay in the eye once she was standing on the bank. If her defiant gaze made him uncomfortable, he did not let on. But she knew it made him angry, she could see it in the way his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He had liked it better when she was frozen in the creek than when she stood before him, unashamed.

He was sitting atop his horse, towering above her. All of the men he had brought with him to Moat Cailin were behind him. They hadn't even made it back to the Dreadfort yet. "How did you know to come find me?" she asked him, her voice shaking a bit. Theon dropped her hand and moved back toward his own horse. "I don't think the Dreadfort even knows I'm missing."

"They most likely don't," Ramsay told her, his lips quirking up at the corners. He had not liked her defiant stare, but he enjoyed the way her voice shook when she spoke. "I expect it will be quite a surprise to them when I bring you back."

"Then how did you know to find me?" Lenora asked again.

"Find you, my lady?" he asked, chuckling a bit as he echoed her question. "We weren't looking for you. We were riding home when Reek spotted you."

"But you were coming from Moat Cailin," Lenora argued, glancing at the trees. The moss was still facing her which meant that she had been running north. Ramsay and his men were riding from the South. The Dreadfort should have been between her and Ramsay.

Ramsay's pale eyes watched her, taking in the way her gaze landed on the moss covered tree trunks. As sadistic as the man was, he was intelligent. It did not take him long to follow Lenora's train of thought. "Ah," he said with a nod. "You determined which direction to run by the moss?" She didn't need to nod, he already knew he was right. He smiled, "Moss is a funny thing, my lady," he told her as he swung down out of his saddle and moved closer to her. "You see, in the South moss always grows on the southern side of the tree." He was standing directly in front of her now, so close that his chest was practically touching hers. It felt like he was towering over her, though she knew he was only a few inches taller than her. Her fingers itched for her fork, she knew where she would stab him. But her fork was still in the guard's neck at the Dreadfort. And with all of his men around them she would only get so far. "But here in the North," he continued, smirking down at her. "The moss grows on the northern side of the tree." He shrugged his shoulders, "It's always the less sunny side, you see?"

Her blood ran cold. She hadn't been running north at all. She had meant to run to the Wall. And instead she ran away from it. And straight into Ramsay.

He chuckled, watching her anger play across her face. "King Robb should have taken you hunting more often, Lady Lenora." She winced when he mentioned Robb. Just as he knew she would. His eyes darted down to the satchel he could just barely see from under her cloak. "That's an awfully small bag, my lady," he told her. "And you're not at all dressed for winter. You should be grateful that we found you, you would have frozen to death out here in a matter of days."

"That may have been preferable to running into you," Lenora bit out, raising her gaze to stare at him. If he was going to play games with her then she was going to do her best to win. He didn't like her when she was strong, so she would become stronger.

His eyes narrowed and quick as a snake he reached out and grabbed the satchel. It was looped around her neck and under her cloak, there was no way he could take it from her without taking off her cloak and lifting it over her head. He smirked at her before he tugged on the satchel, hard and fast. For a moment the strap dug into the skin on her neck and right shoulder, she gasped in pain, and then the strap broke and he had the satchel in his hands.

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, Robb's decree legitimizing Jon was in that bag, Ramsay could not find it. But then she clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes. The only way to keep Ramsay from snooping was to pretend there was nothing to find. "Perhaps you should keep the contents of that bag," she told him. "I am sure that the necklaces will look much lovelier on you. Your neck is so fine, and pale. Like my sister's."

He glared at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he threw the bag to Theon. "Take that back to my chambers," he ordered Theon. "And the rest of you return to the Dreadfort. I would spend some time with Lady Lenora alone. I have missed her _sweet_ smiles."

Lenora swallowed the lump of fear that was rising in her throat. She had meant to throw him off the scent, to tease him, to show him that she was not as afraid of him as he thought she was. She had not meant to anger him to the point that he sent his men away. The men, not a single one of them dared to argue with him, almost simultaneously they spurred their horses and galloped away. Only Theon remained, glancing over Ramsay's shoulder at Lenora, his brow furrowed, as if he were debating something with himself.

"Reek!" Ramsay called out, his voice hard as steel. He didn't even turn around, somehow he _knew_ that Theon was still behind him. He took his sword belt off and held it out behind him, handing Theon his sword as well. "Did you hear me the first time? Take these and bring them to my chambers. _Now_. I have no need for you at present."

Lenora's gaze flitted to Theon, silently begging him to fight Ramsay, to stay. Whatever Ramsay meant to do to her, she thought it would be better for her if Theon stayed. He held her gaze for a moment before his blue eyes dropped to the ground and he shook his head. He grabbed Ramsay's sword belt and he climbed into his saddle and rode away, slower than the rest. But just like them, he abandoned her.

Ramsay smiled at her and took a step away from her, turning his back on her. For a moment she thought he wouldn't do anything to her. But it was just a momentary thought. "Shall we begin?" he asked her, swinging back to face her, the back of his right hand striking her cheek with so much force that she spun away from him and fell face first back into the icy stream.

...

To add insult to injury, when he finally brought her back to the Dreadfort he had Theon bring her to her chamber and see to her wounds. Most of them were bruises and the broken man could do very little for them except for pressing ice wrapped in fabric against them to try to stop them from getting darker. She hadn't looked in the mirror yet, but she could imagine how she looked and from where Theon pressed the ice she knew which bruises were the worst.

She had a bruise under her right eye from his first strike and a cut across her cheek from his ring. It had bled quite a lot, that cut. Theon had quietly cleaned the blood off her cheek and bandaged it as well as he could, but it still stung.

Then there were the matching handprints wrapped around her wrists where Ramsay had grabbed her hard enough to make her scream as he shook her before he threw her onto his horse and rode back to the Dreadfort. He knew he was in control, but the open woods seemed to make him nervous. Quietly, without catching anyone's notice he had dragged her to the Godswood and pushed her from his horse, practically throwing her into a tree.

Once he pulled her back up to stand and face him she had spit in his face and called him a coward for striking a woman. That was how she had ended up with her back pressed against a large tree trunk, the bark digging into the skin on the back of her neck as he squeezed her neck with his right hand, bruising her there and hissing, "If you don't learn how to control your tongue, I will cut it out of your mouth."

Then he had let go of her neck and dropped her to the ground only to grab onto her hair and yank her back up, dragging her by her hair toward the entrance of the Godswood, where Theon was waiting for her.

Theon had pressed ice against the handprint on the front of her neck and used warm water to clean all the scrapes the tree bark had left on the back of her neck. Then just as silently as he had done everything else he had pulled out any splinters he could see. He had even bandaged up her palms, taking care of the wounds she had received while climbing down the rope during her escape.

"Are you going to say anything?" Lenora asked him, her voice croaking out. She winced, it hurt more to speak than it had to have Ramsay's hands around her throat.

Theon was walking away from where she sat on her bed, gathering all the supplies he had used to treat her wounds. "You shouldn't speak," he told her, his voice a whisper. "It will only hurt more than you already do."

Lenora shook her head, that was not what she had meant by her question. And Theon knew that. "Theon," she rasped out. "Are you even going to say anything?" She meant about him leaving her there in the woods, alone with Ramsay. She meant about him abandoning her. She meant about what he had allowed Ramsay to do to her.

He glanced up at her, his blue eyes filled with fear. She wondered if he was afraid for himself or for her. "You shouldn't have run away," he told her, his words coming out quickly. "I tried to -" he shook his head, cutting himself off. "Theon tried to run away once, Reek came back."

She wanted to ask him to help her. She wanted to promise him that if they worked together they would be able to escape and make it to the Wall, to Jon.

But before she could say anything her chamber door swung open without so much as a knock and Ramsay entered, he was carrying her satchel in one hand and a small wooden chest in the other. He smiled at her as he threw the satchel onto her bed. "You may keep this," he told her. "And everything in it, I have gone through it and there seems to be nothing in there of any importance."

Lenora bit back a sigh of relief, he had not found the proclamation. "What's in the chest?" she asked instead, her gaze never leaving the wooden box as he set it on the table in front of her fireplace and began to open it.

He smiled at her, still playing his games. "I couldn't help but notice while going through your satchel that you had packed quite a bit of jewelry. A strange thing to bring along with you for a run through the Wolf's Wood, but I have heard that ladies do enjoy bracelets and other shiny things. It was then that I realized that I have been a most dreadful host. I have given you nothing since you arrived at the Dreadfort."

"Nothing," Lenora rasped out. She would not wince. Ramsay seemed to enjoy the way her voice sounded when she spoke. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that it hurt as well. "Nothing, save a few new bruises."

His smile faltered a bit, he had expected her to be quieter around him, meeker, more afraid. He was disappointed. He shook his head and forced the smile back onto his lips, "All the same, my lady, I thought it was time that I give you some jewelry myself." It was then that he lifted a pair of iron shackles from the chest and started to move toward her.

Lenora shook her head and moved her hands so that they were no longer on her lap, but underneath her. "If you think I will allow you to put my hands in shackles, you are mistaken," she told him.

He smiled at her, kneeling in front of her and grabbing a strong hold on her left ankle. "Oh my lady," he sighed at her. "You are mistaken, these are not for your wrists. These are to keep you from running away again." Lenora struggled against him as she felt the cool metal of one of the shackles close around her left ankle. She kicked at him with her right leg, catching him in the stomach. He groaned before ordering Theon to hold her down, to get control of her kicking right leg.

Theon did not hesitate to follow the orders.

Within a minute both of her ankles were in shackles, the heavy chain between them no more than four inches long. She wouldn't be able to run, she would barely be able to walk. Ramsay smiled at her, "I saw the work you did on the guard during your escape," he told her. "Father kept knives away from you, but neither of us saw the harm in a fork." He shook his head, "I'm afraid we will have to return to hand-feeding you, my lady." He glanced at Theon, his gaze dismissive, "You may leave now, Reek, I have something to discuss with the lady."

"Theon!" Lenora croaked out. "Please stay!"

But he had already left her chamber.

Ramsay smiled at her, playful and proud. "You will get no help from Reek, my lady," he told her as he stood from the floor and moved back toward the table. "I am to be legitimized tomorrow," he told her, his voice light and happy as if this were news that she would celebrate. "There will be a small ceremony where Father will read the proclamation in front of all of our people and then there will be a feast. _You_ will be there, of course, I'll send Miranda to you tomorrow afternoon to bathe you and help you dress. Once I have been legitimized we will all travel to Winterfell. Father says that you have been homesick lately."

For a moment Lenora thought that was all Ramsay had wanted to tell her. That he had wanted to gloat that he would no longer be a bastard and break her heart by telling her that they would be dragging her to Winterfell soon enough. But then he reached into the pocket of his doublet and pulled out a small piece of folded up parchment. "When I first saw you running through the stream I thought that you knew that you were running south, that you meant to run to Winterfell. But then I found _this_ in your satchel. You meant to run to the Wall, to Jon Snow." He started to unfold the parchment, his pale eyes darting over it even though he knew what it said. "Or should I say Jon _Stark_?"

He shook his head, watching as Lenora quickly stood from her bed, she tried to walk toward him but the chain between her ankles allowed for little more than small, shuffling steps. He smirked and waited until she was just an arm's length away from him. Then he spun and dropped the parchment into the fire. Lenora screamed as she watched the parchment burn. She lunged forward, meaning to grab Ramsay and shove his own face in the fire, but the chain pulled taut and she was falling, hard to the stone floor.

Ramsay's hands were gentle as he helped stand her up. His voice was soft and almost comforting when he spoke. "Jon Snow must remain a bastard, my lady," he told her. "If only for your sake. If there's another heir to Winterfell, then why would Father need you?" He shook his head as if he were explaining something to a small child and slowly, carefully walked her back to her bed. "And you will get no help from him," he told her. Once she was sitting he turned to leave her chamber, "Do be careful when walking, my lady," he called out over his shoulder. "I would hate for you to hurt yourself."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

The mountains at the Eyrie were dizzying. When she had first arrived in King's Landing she had thought that the Red Keep, set high above the city on the top of Aegon's Hill was the highest she would ever be. She and Arya, in one of their rare moments of getting along, had run all over the Red Keep. There was no hallway safe from them, no dark corner, no twisting staircase. They had quickly found the tallest tower in the keep and had run up the staircase at full speed, giggling and squealing as they had. Then, when they got to the top, they had laid down on the floor, laughing breathlessly, their hair in wild tangles around their heads, their fingers knotted together, as they stared up at the clear blue sky.

They had been _true_ sisters that day, in a way they had never been before. And in a way they never would again. Arya had forgotten about the butcher's boy, she had forgotten to be angry at Sansa for lying to the king. And Sansa had forgotten, if only for a moment, about Lady, she had forgotten how Arya had embarrassed Joffrey. They were together, the two Stark girls at the top of the world.

And then Sansa had ruined it. Without thinking she had sighed, "One day all of this will be mine," she whispered to Arya. She spoke the truth, as far as she knew, she was betrothed to the prince and when the fat king died, Joffrey would be king and she would be his queen. And the Red Keep and King's Landing, and the Seven Kingdoms beyond it would all belong to her. Her and Joffrey. And they would be happy, and joyous, and in love. And everyone would say there had never been a kinder and more generous King and Queen.

Arya had disentangled her fingers from Sansa's so quickly that Sansa barely noticed it. All she knew was that one moment her fingers were clutching her sister's and the next ... thin air. Arya had some biting comment about Sansa's _beloved Joffrey_. And Sansa had said something cruel back and just like that, the magic had disappeared. They were angry at each other from then on, both too stubborn to reach out to the other, to apologize or offer comfort or guidance. Even after Father had been arrested and throne in the Black Cells. Even then they had not banded together.

At the time Sansa had written it off as Arya being a stubborn, stupid little girl who did not yet know the way the world worked. At the time Sansa had trusted the queen. At the time she had believed that she loved Joffrey and that he loved her. And that would be enough.

At the time she had been a fool.

She realized that now, now that she was safe and far removed from King's Landing. Just as the sky had seemed so much brighter and the air so much cleaner at the top of the tower in the Red Keep, the distance from the capitol and the life she had lived there allowed her to see in a much clearer, cleaner light.

Once again, she stood at the top of the world. But now she was the last Stark left.

Gods help her.

The tall mountains gave her something else too, something that she appreciated far more than the perspective they allowed. She had woken up one morning, almost a month after she had arrived at the Eyrie to a blanket of freshly fallen snow in the courtyard. This was the first time she had seen snow since the late spring snows at Winterfell so many years ago. It reminded her so much of home that she had wanted to cry.

She would not allow it though. She had seen too much, _lived_ too much to cry now because she was homesick. She was a Stark, the last Stark, and she had known for as long as she could talk that the world was a harsh, unforgiving place. Her House words, _Winter is coming_ , were not just a warning that summers never lasted. They were a reminder that just like winter, the world could be cruel. She had no right to be surprised when it was.

She spent that morning, carefully and lovingly making a snow replica of her home. She wasn't sure if it was completely right, it had been so long since she had been in Winterfell that she could hardly remember it. The day they left she had not even looked back for one final look at her family home. She had been too in love with the idea of riding in the wheelhouse with the queen. She regretted _that_ now. Not the wheelhouse and the queen, but her foolish decision not to take one final look back on the last place she had ever truly been safe.

She was using a small leaf to remove some of the snow from one of the walls, making the South Gate and considering building a tiny Wintertown or Wolfswood when she heard the footsteps on the stairs behind her. They were too loud to be Lord Petyr and too unpracticed to be her aunt Lysa's. There was only one person those footsteps could belong to and she wished that he would simply leave her alone.

Robin had become attached to her the moment he met her. She knew that Robin did not have siblings and Littlefinger had explained to her that there were no other children at the Eyrie, at least none that were allowed to interact with the Lord of the Vale. She was the closest person to his age that he had ever met and he wanted so desperately to be her friend. A small part of Sansa's heart warmed at that, he reminded her a bit of Rickon. Even though he was much older than her youngest brother, he was just as sheltered, just as innocent. But that was as far as her kind thoughts went. Because Robin was not a boy of seven. He was almost old enough to be considered a young man. He was older than Arya was when they had left Winterfell. And he was Lord of the Vale. He had no business being so innocent. He had no right.

And that same innocence that reminded her of her brother grated on her nerves. And when she spent too long with him she would become angry when she remembered that Petyr and her aunt Lysa planned to have her marry Robin. They claimed it would keep her safe. Petyr promised that she would be happy. But how could she be happy with such a simpleton for her husband? How could she be _happy_ married to this man child?

Still, she always remembered her courtesies. And she would be kind. She had to be. And so with a sigh, she greeted him when she sensed him standing in the archway behind her, watching her. "Hello Robin."

He moved closer, to stand near her and look down on her carefully constructed creation. "What are you doing?" he asked her, moving even closer.

"I'm building my home Winterfell," she told him. "At least I think I am. I haven't been back there in a very long time."

He knelt in the snow, beside where she had just finished carving out the East Gate. "Why did you leave?" he asked her.

 _That innocence_ , she thought as she smiled in spite of herself. Aunt Lysa kept the boy so sheltered that he did not even know that there was a war going on around them. He did not realize that her home had been torn from her family. Perhaps she should have explained it to him, but he would only tell his mother and then Aunt Lysa would be angry at her for frightening her son. "It's a very long story," she settled on instead.

He leaned closer to her snow castle now, studying it. "Does Winterfell have a moon door?" he asked her, squinting as he looked, no doubt thinking it would be in one of the taller towers.

Sansa laughed, "No," she told him. "It doesn't. It's not high up in the mountains like the Eyrie, Winterfell is down on the ground."

Robin's eyes widened, "That sounds dangerous," he told her. She nodded, though it was a lie. His dark brows furrowed, "How do you make people fly?" he asked. "What do you do with all the bad people? And the scary people? And the people you didn't like?"

She laughed again, "I never did anything with them at all," she told him. "Girls didn't take part in that sort of thing where I came from."

"Well, I am Lord of the Vale," Robin told her. "When I grow up I will be able to fly anyone who bothers me. Or _you!_ " He was excited now, talking louder and faster, "When we get married you can tell me if you don't like somebody and we can bring them back here and _whoosh_ through the moon door!"

It was a silly, childish concept, but it made Sansa smile all the same. "I like the sound of that," she told him.

"Let's put a moon door in your Winterfell!" he suggested.

"Alright," she agreed with a nod. She was sure that she had made a mistake when she had built this version of Winterfell, it would not matter if they built a moon door in it. It was not a true likeness.

"It can go here," Robin decided, reaching out for the main keep, where she and her family had slept and ate and lived.

"Be careful!" she warned, but it was too late, he had already knocked the tower over and the tower next to it as well. Her chest tightened. "You've ruined it!" she told him, leaning away from it and the boy. "Now I'm going to have to rebuild the whole thing."

"I did not!" the boy argued. "It was already ruined because it didn't have a moon door. I was fixing it."

"Knocking things down isn't fixing them, it's ruining them!" Sansa told him.

"I didn't ruin it!" Robin yelled.

"You're being stupid," Sansa told him, angry that she felt tears filling her eyes. This was so stupid to cry over, even more stupid than being homesick. But she was, crying over a snow castle.

"I didn't ruin it!" Robin roared at her. And then, he was ruining it. He stomped on it, knocking over the God's Wood, and the glass gardens. There went the kitchens and the stables. Before he could touch the Broken Tower, the one Bran had fallen from Sansa pulled back her hand and slapped him across the face.

The entire courtyard seemed to fall silent after that. Robin, Sansa, the snow falling. It was all silence. And then, with one long look at her of mingled outrage and pain Robin had run away crying. She tried to call after him, to apologize and bring him back before he ran to his mother, but he could not hear her. She heard a second set of footsteps from the opposite side of the courtyard and she turned to see Petyr Baelish moving toward her. "I hit him," she told him, her voice soft.

"I saw," Petyr told her, not giving away whether he blamed her or not.

"I shouldn't have done that," Sansa continued, her mind flashing to the moon door. Would her aunt stop Robin if he decided that he didn't like her and he wanted to make her fly?

Would Littlefinger?

"No," Petyr agreed with her, still slowly walking toward her. "His mother should have many years ago. Consider it a step in the right direction."

"If he tells Aunt Lysa -" Sansa started.

"Let me worry about your aunt Lysa," Petyr interrupted her. His eyes fell to the ruined snow replica at their feet.

Sansa looked down too, she could feel a blush rising on her cheeks. "I was trying to remember what it looked like," she explained to him, shaking her head. "I'm never going to see it again."

"A lot can happen between now and never," Petyr told her. His blue eyes were on her face, she could feel his gaze even as she kept her own on the ruined Winterfell on the ground. "If you want to build a better home you must first demolish the old one," he told her. He was teaching her one of his lessons again.

His words were the reverse echo of what she had just screamed at Robin. _Knocking things down isn't fixing them!_ But here was Petyr Baelish telling her it was. She thought about everything Littlefinger had done in King's Landing. Hadn't orchestrating the death of Joffrey been a bit like demolishing a home to build a better one?

She lifted her gaze from the snow to his face, "Why did you _really_ kill Joffrey?" she asked him.

"I loved your mother more than you will ever know," he told her by way of answering her question. "Given the opportunity what do we do to those who have harmed the ones we love?" Sansa's lips quirked up at the corners, a smile. She did not believe him, she was sure that Littlefinger loved nobody as much as himself. But she wanted to encourage him. He continued, "In a better world, one where love can overcome strength and duty. You might have been my child. But we don't live in that world." He was whispering, it made her uncomfortable. He looked down and ran his fingers through her hair, staring at the red that was so similar to her mother's. "You're more beautiful than she ever was," he whispered to her, looking back up at her face.

Not her face. Her lips.

"Lord Baelish," she whispered, suddenly breathless.

His hands came up to frame her face, "Call me Petyr," he commanded.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Arya_

"Stop your fucking twirling!" the Hound ordered her, bringing the flat side of his sword down hard on Arya's outstretched arm. She winced, it hurt and there would be a bruise, but what frightened her the most was that she was sure the Hound thought that he was being gentle with her. No doubt he could have broken her bone clean in half if he had hit her with his full strength. "How many times do I have to tell you?" the Hound growled. "If you twirl and turn your back on me I will kill you."

"You won't though," Arya argued, dancing forward on quick feet and stabbing the man's boiled leather with the tip of her sword. He growled and dropped his sword, opening both of his arms as if he meant to catch her between them. She quickly darted away. "I am swift as a dear."

"And as brainless as your butcher's boy," the Hound countered.

He was trying to make her angry, she knew it. He wanted her angry because angry people made mistakes. _You're troubled_ , she remembered Syrio Forel telling her one day. _Good. Troubled is the best way to train_. She did not lunge at him, or hack. Instead she twirled, smiling to herself because she knew how much it would bother him. He groaned and bent to pick up his sword again, she laughed as she danced forward on the tips of her toes, just like her dancing master had taught her, and poked the large man in his backside. She tore his pants a bit. But by the time he had straightened cursing, to notice, she had already darted out of reach.

He wanted to teach her the Westerosi way of fighting. But she was not a Westerosi knight, she was a water dancer. He would soon learn what that meant.

They practiced for three hours that morning before he had finally had enough. And then, as she was dancing past him he reached his arm out, catching her across the middle and slamming her to the ground.

She looked up at him, breathing heavily as she stared at him. She had been teasing him all morning about being slow, but when he had reached out for her, she hadn't even seen him. How could such a large man be so fast? "How'd you do that?" she demanded, still breathing fast. "How did you catch me?"

The Hound chuckled, "What?" he asked her, turning his back so that he could walk toward his horse Stranger and begin to saddle the beast. "Did you think I got my position as Joffrey's personal guard because of my handsome face?" he asked her.

If she hadn't spent so much time with him she might have been afraid to answer. She might have worried that he would get angry at her. But she knew him now. And she knew his moods. This morning, despite his curses and his growling he was in a good mood. "No," she told him sarcastically as she pushed herself up from the ground and followed him toward her own horse. She had her own horse, but next to Stranger, the beast looked like a pony. "I thought it was for your winning personality."

The Hound barked out a laugh, Arya giggled in response. She had often wondered if the Hound was hurt by the name people had given him, but when he laughed it reminded her of a bark, harsh and threatening. Perhaps he embraced it. "You've got the wrong Clegane," the Hound told her. "My brother is the one who wins."

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "I remember at the Hand's Tourney," she paused for a moment, very rarely did she or the Hound bring up her father. She never did, he did only when he wanted to hurt her or shock her. She shook her head, "I remember. He went up against Loras Tyrell and all his pretty flowers." The Hound snorted. "And he lost," Arya added.

"He lost because Tyrell cheated," the Hound interrupted her. "His horse was in heat, it distracted Gregor's mount."

"He cut the head of his horse off in one strike," Arya continued. "As if it were made of parchment. I remember thinking that I had never seen someone so strong."

"Wish he was here to look after you?" the Hound growled. He was saddling Stranger, his back to her. But she could see the tight set to his shoulders, his spine was rod straight. His good mood was gone. "Didn't see enough of him at Harrenhal did you? Would you rather me return you to him instead of heading north with me?"

"No!" Arya interrupted before he could ask her any more stupid questions. "I _thought_ that he was the strongest fighter I had ever seen. And then I watched you jump out from behind Joffrey and fight him. You were smaller, your sword was smaller. But you were faster, more skilled. Where the Mountain hacked and jabbed and used his size as if it were the only advantage he had. You held him off and made it look easy. You weren't even afraid." She paused, she knew this last part would mean something to him, even if he never admitted it aloud. "I used to run around the Tower of the Hand pretending I was you," she told him.

His shoulders relaxed, his spine slumped a bit. And when he turned to look at her, he seemed to be smirking, "Until you met your Syrio Forel, first sword of Braavos," he teased her.

She smiled, "I'm not built to fight like a Westerosi knight," she told him. "I'm not big enough. I'm not strong enough. But I am fast. And Syrio Forel taught me to use it to my advantage."

The Hound shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose _water dancing_ is an appropriate style for you," he told her as he swung up into his saddle. "You are a lady after all. And ladies dance."

"Fuck you and your _ladies_ ," Arya answered as she finished saddling her own horse.

The Hound roared with laughter and began to ride away. He did not look over his shoulder once, he did not need to. He knew Arya would follow him.

...

"Why are we going north?" she asked him the next afternoon. He turned to look at her, raising his eyebrows but not saying a word. She sighed, he was going to make her beg for the information, she knew it. "I understood why you wanted to bring me to the Eyrie. Aunt Lysa, if she accepted me, would give you a reward for finding me. It might have even been enough to get you across the Narrow Sea to the free cities. The Lannisters would not waste their time or money looking for you there."

He had never said anything to her about it. But she had listened to him and the Lannister soldiers when they were talking the day they got Needle back. He had done something wrong at King's Landing. Something that Joffrey would have killed him for. And he was scared to return.

"What did you do?" she asked him, her brows furrowed. "Take away his favorite toy?"

The Hound smirked, "No," he told her. "The Imp did that." This caused Arya's brows to furrow even more. What could the Imp have taken from Joffrey. "I ran," the Hound admitted, not meeting her gaze. She realized that he was embarrassed. "At the Battle of the Blackwater. I ran."

She wondered how bad it had to be to frighten the Hound. He seemed so fearless. Her eyes danced over his face, catching on the scars, "Tyrion Lannister set the bay on fire," she whispered, finally remembering the rumors she had heard. "And Joffrey expected you to fight on it."

The Hound nodded, spurring his horse forward. "And any King worth fighting for wouldn't have asked men to do that."

Arya was quiet for a moment, "Any king worth fighting for would have inspired you to do it on your own," she replied.

...

They were eating supper that night when the Hound finally gave her an answer to her question. "We're going north because that's where the little princess is," he told her around a large bite of food.

Arya smiled, she had suspected as much, though she still did not understand why. "Lenora is being held captive," she told him. "You heard the man at the inn. She boarded a ship with Roose Bolton, Roose Bolton killed my brother and his men. She will not have money to pay you for me."

"Aye," the Hound agreed with her, "I expect she won't. And I expect even if she did she would not want to saddled down with you. You're an annoying traveling companion, girl." She smiled at that and stuck her tongue out. She couldn't be that annoying, he kept her around after all. The Hound was quiet for a moment, focused on eating. She was about to give up hope, perhaps that was the only answer she would get from him.

But then he spoke again, "The little princess is a lot like you," he told her. "She believes she's strong. And she's stronger than most women, I'll give her that. But she needs help, more than she would like to admit. Her father dragged her north and left her with a stranger. Your brother dragged her south and left her with the Boltons. Roose Bolton is dragging her north again. She doesn't deserve that. And if I am close enough to help her, shouldn't I do it?"

Arya groaned, "Shit. So that's what all of this about? _Knightly duty_? Saving the maiden fair, rescuing the princess?" She rolled her eyes, "Perhaps you should have brought Sansa along on this ride with you. She has always loved those stories."

The Hound's eyes were distant as he took a large bite of bread, "I tried," he admitted to her, his voice little more than a whisper. "The little bird wouldn't come."

They did not say anything else for the rest of the night. But as Arya laid by the fire after dark and whispered her list to herself, she left his name off of it.

And she would leave it off every night after.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! How is everyone's week going? Well, I hope! Mine got off to a really great start when I walked my dog barefoot this morning and stepped on a rusty nail. So it was off to my doctor to get a T-dap shot because it's been like twelve years since I've had one.  
But I'm back now. And updating.  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for the reviews that you're going to leave me that I know I'm going to love.  
You guys are wonderful.

 _Vulcran:_ I would almost agree with you about the trial by combat being a win/win for Oberyn. But Tywin doesn't see Tyrion as an heir. So if he dies, as far as Tywin is concerned, he doesn't lose much. Except for the embarrassment to his family name. Almost seems like a win for Tywin.

 _bellaphant:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one just as much! As for Tyrion's path to Daenerys ... she's not really going to show up in this story, but it will send Tyrion on a path to _someone_.  
Vikings, huh? I might have to start that this week. That was also on the list of shows to watch to fill the GoT void. It just got bumped up to the top.

 _Lou467:_ It took forever to update. And I'm so sorry for that. But here it is. At least now you know what's happened to Lenora. Though it wasn't good.

 _DatMatt:_ I thought about saving Oberyn. Because I love that sex crazed man. But I couldn't, because I needed it. Sadly all the things that I need for this story are always the heartbreaking ones. Although I am glad that I almost made you laugh with the last line. There was a reason I ended the chapter there. Could have gone further, but that seemed like the perfect ending.

 _janaoliver:_ I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And I very much hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you for reading!

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I hope this one was just as awesome.

 _Stevie Jazz:_ Oberyn's death was a bit of a challenge. Because I like him. So the whole time I was killing him, I was like, my fingers control the keyboard, I can just backspace this whole section and let him live! But then my brain said _NO!_ because Tyrion needed him to die to get where he's going in the next couple chapters.  
Oh you want to hear my theories ... they're a little bit tin foil hat so strap in.  
 **Jon kills Dany** : I think that Jon is the Prince that was Promised. Have you read the books? Because if not I'm about to lay some spoilers on you. When Dany goes to the House of the Undying she has a vision. They kind of showed it on the show, but not very well. The book's more in depth (duh). She sees her brother and a woman with a baby. Rhaegar names the baby Aegon and tells the woman "He is the Prince that was Promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." When I first read the book I thought that was Aegon(1) and the woman was Elia. But now that we know that Rhaegar had a maester annul his marriage to Elia and marry him to Lyanna it's different. He named Jon Aegon(2) because Aegon(1) was made a bastard by the annulment. I'm pretty sure in Dany's vision she saw Rhaegar, Lyanna, and Aegon(2) (Jon).  
Now look at the Prince that was Promised legend. How he tempered Lightbringer in water and the sword broke. The second time he tempered the blade by capturing a lion and driving the sword through its heart and the sword broke. The third time he tempered it he drove the sword into his wive's heart. And it worked.  
So I think Jon is going to marry Dany, or at least get her pregnant (they've been talking a lot about children when it came to her this season) and then he's going to have to kill her to become the prince that was promised.  
Now, to go one level further ... before he kills Dany, he might need to kill a lion. Oh look! We have three lions left on the show. (Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion.) But since I have a theory for Jaime and Cersei (read below) I'm going to say that Jon might also have to kill Tyrion.  
 **Jaime kills Cersei (or one better):** I've written about Cersei's prophecy in this story (again more in depth than the show did) how the valonqar will kill her. In this story, she thinks it's Tyrion (since the word is High Valyrian for little brother). But she forgets that Jaime is also her little brother. They're twins, but she was born first. It would be a pretty nice end to his redemption path to have him kill her.  
 **But let's go one step further...** What if _valonqar_ is like the valyrian word for prince that was promised ... not gender specific. What if valonqar could mean little brother or little _sister_. There's a little sister in Westeros who has Cersei's name on her list. And I think honestly everyone wants Arya to kill Cersei. That'd be pretty great.  
 **What would be greater?** Is if she wore Jaime's face when she did it.  
Because I'm evil and sadistic like that.  
Anyway those are my theories, we'll find out (relatively) soon if any of them are more than just craziness.

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ I love your reviews because I never really know where you are in the story! Are you rereading it? I don't know! I love it.  
Don't worry, Davos, Tormund and Sam are definitely entering the fray. (Sam a little less than the others though.) I love the thought of Tormund and Brienne too much to not play with their interactions. As for Jon being *cough* you know who ... he might be. I haven't decided if I'm going to play with that or not. (My outline of this story accounts for both scenarios, but the deeper I go into this story the more I think I will leave that storyline for an actual JonxOC story.)  
I'm glad that you're enjoying that this story isn't a "fix-it" fic. Because I am all about fixing things, that's why I write fanfiction. When I see something on a show or a movie that I'm a fan of and I don't like it my brain starts writing fanfiction to fix it. But I try to be as real as possible. Lenora's great. I love her. But she's a woman in the GoT universe. There's only so much she can change just by being there. And you're right, the castles aren't made out of gingerbread. Death happens, to beloved characters. And while I saved Robb, I cannot and will not save them all.  
You think it should be a companion piece to the show? Oh my God! That is one of the best compliments I have ever received!  
And yes, go ahead and picture Kit and Ella in Cinderella, that is where the dance came from. I had to throw that easter egg in, though you are the first to pick up on it! Bravo!

 _Gbv:_ Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it! Did you enjoy this one?

 _purple-pygmy-puff16:_ Hello! I'm glad you listened to me and you stuck around past the Red Wedding! I hope that this update did not disappoint.

Alright guys, that's all I've got for now. You may now start to fill my email inbox with review notifications. (And also shows that I should watch to fill the GoT void. The wonderful bellaphant suggested Vikings, but if that's as good as Black Sails... it won't take me long to finish and then I'll be looking for something else.)  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	66. Chapter Sixty-Six: Here We Are

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

 **Aahhh!** I hate myself. I've fallen down another rabbit hole again. And what writing I did this week was completely consumed by another fandom. And I'm sorry for that. I'm ten chapters into a completely different story that has nothing to do with GoT and completely seems to have my heart and brain at the moment.  
But never fear!  
One - I swore to myself that I wouldn't start posting the new story until it was completely finished. Completely. Until all it needed was editing.  
Two - the other story is actaully **really good** if I do say so myself. And I think those of you that read it will really enjoy it.  
Three - I have not given up on this one. Though I am going to have to slow down the updates a bit. I'm thinking closer to one update every other week. I know, I hate doing it to you guys. But these chapters are monsters. And I want to continue giving you the best I can, and I can't keep doing that if updating starts to feel like a job.  
So have no fear, **HHNF** will continue, albeit at a slower pace, which might work out in the end ... seeing as there are only seventeen chapters left...  
I'm with you guys till the end of the line ( **hint at the next fandom I'm going to tackle** )

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Six: Here We Are_

 _Sansa_

She could still hear her aunt Lysa's screams. She thought that they were echoing through the halls of the Eyrie, but she knew they were only in her head. She wondered if her aunt's screams would haunt her for the rest of her life. Would she ever be able to close her eyes without hearing them?

 _Liar! Whore! He is mine!_

She wondered what had happened to her aunt to make her so unstable, so jealous. Surely she had not always been like that. Perhaps it happened when Jon Arryn died. Or when she got news of Lord Hoster Tully's death. Or maybe even when she heard about what happened to Catelyn and Robb. Maybe it was the guilt from knowing that if she had allowed the knights of the Vale to fight for Robb her nephew and her sister might still be alive. Sansa did not know.

And now she never would.

When the handmaiden had first sought Sansa out and told her that her aunt wanted to speak with her Sansa had thought that it was about Robin, she was sure of it. There was no way the young, spoiled, coddled boy would not tell his mother that she had slapped him across his face. But Petyr had promised her that he would deal with Lysa. What if Robyn had gotten to her first though? As much as Lysa loved Littlefinger, she would not be able to ignore her son's tears.

Lysa had been standing, still and quiet by the open moon door when Sansa found her in the hall. The door, open, cold air blowing through should have been her first clue that something was wrong. She should have run, hidden, found Petyr and asked him to speak to Lysa with her. But against her better judgement she had walked forward when beckoned.

"It's fascinating what happens to bodies when they hit the rocks from such a height," Lysa had told her, her voice eerily calm. A shiver ran up Sansa's spine. "Sometimes you find a head sitting by itself, intact," Lysa turned slightly, lifting her right hand to brush a loose strand of Sansa's hair behind her ear. "Every hair in place. Blue eyes staring at nothing."

Sansa's heartbeat quickened. She could not ignore this. She could not explain it away. She did not understand why, but she knew that her aunt was threatening her.

Lysa had been so calm when she told Sansa that she knew what she had done. Her aunt barely looked at her, her voice was flat and emotionless. But within seconds her face had contorted with rage, she was screaming and spitting and grabbing at Sansa, at anything she could reach. She grabbed her arm, her dress, the back of her head and pushed her to lean over the opening.

Sansa's hands scrabbled against the smooth stone that encircled the moon door, it served as a barrier except for this one spot, this one hole where she and Lysa stood. Tears sprang to her eyes and she screamed, adding to the noise of Lysa's screams as she begged her aunt to let her go.

 _Look down! Look down! Look down!_ Lysa had screamed in her ear, her grip loosening with each scream. Sansa was sure that this was it; after everything she had survived in King's Landing, after all of Petyr's promises that she would be safe with her aunt in the Eyrie - she would die here. She would die today. She could only pray to the Gods that she would die before her body hit the rocks.

And then _he_ was there, calling out to her aunt and quietly ordering the older woman to release her niece. Time seemed to stand still as Petyr bargained with Lysa, begging her to release Sansa. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, perhaps it was even years that she waited, crying and praying that her aunt would listen to the man behind her. She was so frightened, so terrified that she could not even breathe a sigh of relief when Lysa finally pushed her away from the hole in the floor, shoving her body to the ground.

She wanted to run away. She wanted to get as far from her aunt as possible, but she did not want to draw attention to herself. She worried that if she moved too much, too quickly her aunt would turn on her again and _this_ time Petyr would not be able to save her from the fall.

"My sweet, silly wife," Petyr whispered softly as he walked closer to the distraught Lysa, crying beside the moon door. She wasn't silly, Sansa wanted to yell at him from her place on the floor. She was insane. Petyr gently, carefully pulled Lysa to her feet, "I have only loved one woman my entire life," he told her. "Only one." Lysa thought that he was talking about her, Sansa could see it in her bright smile. But Sansa knew better, Petyr had told her in the courtyard only that morning. "Your sister," Petyr told her and then, with both hands he pushed Lysa's chest and she feel through the wretched moon door.

She was screaming again.

...

For a day Sansa had been inclined to think of Petyr as he hero, her savior. She had no doubt that Lysa would have thrown her through the moon door if he had not come to her rescue. She knew that it would have been her body on the rocks, her bones smashed, her blood. But Petyr had come to save her, just as he had done in King's Landing. It had been a choice for him, between Lysa and Sansa and he had chosen Sansa.

But then, that night she remembered what Littlefinger had told her when Joffrey first put her aside for Margaery Tyrell. _We're all liars here, and every one of us better than you_. She had known from the first that Littlefinger lied to get what he wanted. Many people had warned her of that. Even Petyr himself. It occurred to her that the choice had not been between Lysa and Sansa, but between Lysa and himself. And Littlefinger had chosen _himself_. If it would have served him better to allow Lysa to throw Sansa through the moon door he would have done it in an instant, without blinking an eye.

But as it was, it served him better to have Lysa gone. Now Robin would need a new guardian. And naturally people would look to Petyr Baelish, the boy's step-father, the grieving widower. She knew now that she was not safe in the Vale, she never had been. And she had definitely not been safe with Littlefinger. Her mind flashed to the blonde woman knight with Jaime Lannister's sword. She had sworn to protect her and Sansa wondered if perhaps she should have allowed it.

Brienne of Tarth had promised that she would remain at the inn until she heard from Sansa. Would she still be there? Would she keep her word? There was only one way to find out, and Sansa was sure that under the cover of darkness she might be able to escape the Eyrie without Littlefinger noticing.

But fear stopped her. If there was one thing she had learned from Cersei in King's Landing it was that the easiest way to be safe was to know everyone's secrets. To know them and to be able to use them against the person. Littlefinger knew that as well. And between the two of them Sansa had been studying at the feet of the masters for almost two years. Petyr was being questioned by the High Lords of the Vale. She should not leave until she used it to her advantage.

She would wait until they asked to speak to her. She knew they would.

She would tell them her version of the events. And she would show Petyr Baelish that, perhaps, he had taught her _too_ well.

"I'm sorry, Lord Baelish," she whispered to him, tears in her eyes as she fiddled with her hands nervously. She knew he would be nervous, worried about what she would tell the council. She also knew that the two lords and the lady who sat before her would be hanging on her every word. "But I _have_ to tell the truth." She turned back to the council. "I'll tell you everything."

"Please Elaine, leave nothing out," the lady had ordered.

She wouldn't.

She told them who she was, who she really was. And when it seemed that they might not believe her she looked to Lord Royce, they had met once at Winterfell. She told him the circumstances of their meeting and she could see it in the old man's eyes. He believed her, he didn't want to, but he believed her. "Lord Baelish has told many lies," she told the council. "All to protect me. Since my father was executed I was a hostage in King's Landing. A plaything for Joffrey to torture or Queen Cersei to torment. They beat me, they tortured me, they married me to the _Imp_ ," tears sprang to her eyes at that. A part of her hated using Tyrion like this, but there was no turning back now. "I had no friends in the entire city, except one." She turned to look at Petyr. "He saved me."

At least that last part was not a lie.

She told them her tale, allowing her tears to fall down her cheeks without check. She was calm at first, almost as emotionless as her aunt Lysa had been that day in front of the moon door. She told them how Petyr had smuggled her from King's Landing and brought her to the Vale so that she could live safely with her aunt. She told them that Lysa loved Petyr, that she had always loved Petyr, and that she had told her niece as much. There was truth to all of those statements. But then came the lies. She told them that Lysa had seen Lord Baelish kiss her cheek. She told them that the innocent kiss between an uncle and his niece by marriage had sent her aunt into a jealous rage. She cried harder, her voice got louder, more hysterical as she told them that aunt Lysa screamed and called her a whore, threatened to throw _her_ from the moon door. She stared at them through her tears, willing each in the council to feel her fear. Then she told them how Petyr had tried to calm Lysa down, but that her aunt would not listen, could not listen.

"She struck him. She said she didn't want to live in this world anymore. He tried to reason with her, promised her that she was the only one he had ever loved, but she stepped through those doors -"

She stood, shaking her head violently, as if she could no longer talk. As if the memory was too fresh, too hard for her to think about. The lady stood, comforting her and promising her that it was not her fault. They believed her.

She was not as bad of a liar as Littlefinger had thought.

He was watching her when she opened her eyes. He seemed weary. He knew that he had met his match.

Now that he knew that. She could leave.

And that night, after dark had fallen, she did.

...

"Why do you carry the Kingslayer's sword?" Sansa asked as she sat down across the table from Brienne. The woman looked up from her breakfast, her blue eyes wide and getting wider when she recognized who sat before her.

"Lady Sansa?" she asked, as if she could not believe that Sansa was truly there.

"Why do you carry the Kingslayer's sword?" Sansa asked again. "You ask me to trust you while you carry a Lannister's sword in your hands. I need to know why?"

"Ser Jaime -" Brienne started.

"The Kingslayer," Sansa interrupted.

Brienne winced and shook her head, "Ser Jaime," she corrected softly, "he made a promise to your mother when she released him from the dungeons at Riverrun. He promised her that in exchange for his freedom he would go to King's Landing and he would find you and your sister and return you to your mother."

Sansa shook her head, she didn't want to believe it, but the knight's blue eyes were so sincere that it was almost impossible to deny what she was saying. "But the Lannisters killed my mother," she whispered.

Brienne's blue eyes fell to the table in front of them and Sansa knew, she could feel how sorry the knight was for that. "But not Ser Jaime," she promised. "He was angry when we returned to King's Landing and his father would not let him return you. He was angrier when he found out about what happened at the Twins. He _wanted_ to fulfill his promise to Lady Stark."

"Then why did Littlefinger steal me from the capitol?" Sansa asked. "Why not him?"

Brienne looked up at her again, "Ser Jaime is in no place to be fighting at the moment, my lady," she told Sansa. _Of course,_ Sansa realized, _his hand_. Brienne continued once she was sure that Sansa understood what she meant. "But he sent me after you, to find you and bring you to wherever you would be safe. I cannot return you to your mother. But I will keep you safe, as she would have wished."

"But why do _you_ have his sword?" Sansa asked again.

"He gave it to me, my lady," Brienne told her. "Lord Tywin had your lord father's great sword melted down. They used the steel to make a sword for Joffrey and one for Ser Jaime. He gave it to me so that I might use your father's sword to protect you."

Sansa stared at her with wide eyes, "That's _Ice_?" she whispered, nodding toward the sword belt that sat on the bench beside Brienne. The woman nodded silently. "May I see it?"

Without saying a word Brienne unsheathed the sword and laid on the table between them. Sansa's eyes darted over the sword, taking in the way the lights danced off the folds in the steel. There was red folded into the sword now, but she could still recognize the dark steel she had seen so often during her childhood. Hesitantly, as if the sword would bite her she reached out and ran a finger along the flat side of the blade. She closed her eyes as the steel cooled her skin.

 _This_ was the closest she had felt to her father since the day Joffrey took his head.

With her hand still on the blade and her eyes closed she asked Brienne where they would go now. "That is up to you, my lady," Brienne told her softly. "I serve you."

It was a strange feeling, to have the decision be up to her. She had been brought to King's Landing. She had been forced to stay there. Littlefinger had taken her to the Vale. This was the first time someone was letting her choose. _I want to go home_. She glanced up at Brienne, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Where do you think we should go?" she asked.

Brienne smiled at her, soft and gentle. "To the Wall perhaps?" she asked. "You have a brother there."

"Jon," Sansa whispered with a nod. She was suddenly filled with a longing to see the bastard half brother she had always looked down on. He was all she had left. "I would like that very much."

She stood from her seat, ready to leave right then. Brienne laughed, "Sit my lady," she commanded gently. "Break your fast, we must wait for Pod."

"Pod?" Sansa asked, the name bringing back memories from King's Landing. "Podrick Payne?"

Brienne nodded, "Ser Jaime asked me to bring him with me, my lady," she told her. "He was not safe in the capitol. And he's a good lad. A bit clumsy, but well meaning."

Sansa smiled, she remembered that from when she had watched him with Tyrion. "We are truly a wonder, Lady Brienne," she told the woman. "A stark, a woman knight carrying a Lannister sword, and Lord Tyrion's squire, traveling to the Wall."

Brienne smiled at her, "You'll be safe with us, my lady," she promised.

And Sansa knew that she could believe her.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

From afar Winterfell looked the same to her. If she closed her eyes and ignored Lady Walda she could almost imagine that the last horrible year had not happened. She could almost imagine that she was seeing Winterfell for the first time. That she was arriving to meet her betrothed and that when she was handed out of the wheel house it would be to the Starks lined up in front of their keep, smiling and ready to greet the royal family.

If that were the case her father would still be alive. And Ned Stark. Her uncle Renly. Catelyn. Robb. There had been so much death in such a small time. And the only one she could not bring herself to regret was her brother's. The only regret she felt when she thought of Joffrey's death was that she had not been the one to kill him. Her heart tightened at the thought that if she and her family had never come north, if Robert had not asked Ned to be his Hand none of this would have happened. Both of their families would have been alive and whole.

 _But would you give up Robb for that?_ a voice sneered at the back of her head.

She wanted to say yes, the Gods knew how much she wanted to say yes. But the answer was no. No matter how much death and destruction the Seven Kingdoms had faced since the last time she was in Winterfell, she would welcome it again. If only for the short few happy months she spent with Robb.

She wasn't certain, but she thought that made her just as bad as the rest of them. If not, perhaps worse.

"How does it feel to be returned home to Winterfell, my lady?" Lady Walda asked her, watching her carefully. Lenora wanted to punch her, she was sure the Frey woman had meant to be friendly. But she was so stupid. She was as large a fool as she was a woman if she thought that this was anything close to a happy homecoming for Lenora.

She glanced out the window, the walls were getting closer now. The closer they got the more she noticed. Some of the walls were charred black, much like Harrenhal. For all the work Roose Bolton's men had done to the keep, it was still obvious that someone had set it to the torch. "Winterfell was never truly my home," she whispered, never taking her eyes off the keep.

"But it was meant to be," Lady Walda told her. "You were meant to be the Lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North."

She sounded so happy, so hopeful. It set Lenora's teeth on edge. "And I was meant to spend my days married to Robb Stark," she growled, finally turning from the keep to glare at the large woman. "That proposal turned out well, did it not?"

Walda looked as though she wanted to say something, she seemed to be biting her tongue. Lenora sighed, perhaps if they had still been at the Dreadfort she might have been more sympathetic to the woman. She might have been kinder, more forgiving. But she could not do that here. She could not do it in the shadow of Robb's family house. She could not lie and be proper, not to the Boltons.

"Besides," she bit out. "This is your home now, is it not? Are you not married to the current Lord of Winterfell?" It hurt to say, it felt as if she needed to pull each word from her mouth, painfully, ruthlessly.

Walda's gaze fell to her lap. Lenora had shamed her. The woman's bottom lip began to tremble and her cheeks began to blotch, red. Lenora closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath. The woman was going to cry. It was hard for her to remember sometimes, but Lord Walder, for all his faults and betrayals had worked hard to keep his daughters and his granddaughters, his _innocents_ as he had called them, safe and hidden from the harsher truths of the world. That fact had never been more obvious than now as she sat across from a crying woman who whimpering out an apology to her. One she did not owe, because the only thing Lady Walda Frey was guilty of was being fat enough to tempt Roose Bolton's greed.

Still, any apology or sympathy toward the woman felt like a betrayal to the northern man she had made her family. And though Lady Walda did not have any of Robb's blood on her hands, she certainly benefitted from his death. Lenora could not forgive or forget that.

"The North remembers," she whispered quietly as they drew closer to the Winterfell

...

Roose waited until well after the sun had set before he arrived in her chambers. By some cruel trick of fate she had been given the chambers that once belonged to Robb. The furs on the bed no longer smelled like him, but his books were there, the first wooden play sword he had ever been given, and even a small chest, barely longer than a book that held every letter she had ever written to him.

That had brought tears to her eyes. She had never thought to keep the letters he had sent her much longer than the amount of time it took her to write one in return. But he had kept every single one. When she had found them in their box, carefully folded and placed in order of how he had received them she had sat down on the seat by his window and read each and every one. Pausing only long enough between letters to fold them back up as carefully as he once had and return them to their box.

Most of the letters had been silly. They were filled with the daily routines and ponderings of a young girl who had spent too much of her life being told that she was important, and that every thought she had was important. She had laughed, in spite of her current circumstances, at how much her younger self had _tried_ to sound important and interesting. As she got older the letters got longer, the facade disappeared. They were no longer two children writing to each other about their days. They were friends, discussing dreams and futures and how they would change the world if given the chance.

In one of her last letters she had written to him about her apprehension and fear when she thought about her approaching travels to Winterfell. She was excited, she could not wait to see Robb and speak to him in person. They had spoken so much about their life together that she wanted nothing more than to get it started right away. But she had also written that Winterfell seemed very far from her family. And all she had heard about the North from other people was how cold and empty it was. She was worried that Winterfell would never feel like a home to her, that it would never feel like _her_ home.

 _In short_ , she had written, _I worry that no matter how many years I live there. I will always feel like an outsider, alone in a keep that does not love me_.

Even though she had thrown his response away she could still remember it. If she closed her eyes she could still picture his messy hand writing scrawled across the page. He promised her that he would do anything and everything he could to make her love the North as much as he did. He promised her they would travel south whenever she felt the least bit homesick for King's Landing. Or Casterly Rock even, _I would travel straight into the lion's mouth if that's what you needed_. And he had promised her that no matter what he would always be there.

 _In short_ , he had written back, echoing her own words, _you need not worry about the keep not loving you, because its Lord will_.

Lenora sighed, slowly folding up her last letter and putting it in its spot at the back of the chest. "Where are you Robb?" she asked him, her voice a whisper. "You promised you would never leave me alone here. But, where are you?"

In the distance, outside the window, she heard a wolf howl.

She turned toward the window, throwing open the shudders so that she could hear better. It was a silly hope, a vain hope from the young girl she once was, the one who still believed that good men could triumph over bad ones. But for a second she had thought that she recognized that howl.

Just then, a knock sounded on her chamber door. She started, jumping a bit in her seat and quickly shut the lid of the small chest in her hands. She hid the box behind a pillow before she called out to whoever wished to enter that they could come in. She had thought it would be a servant with her supper, or perhaps Miranda to help her undress and get ready for bed, maybe Lady Walda because despite Lenora's harsh attitude in the wheel house she seemed to think Lenora was her friend. She might have even expected Ramsay before she would have thought to expect to see Lord Bolton standing in her doorway.

He smiled at her, but the action did little to comfort her. Some men's faces were made for smiling. Her father's for example. Her uncles Jaime, Tyrion, Renly. _Robb's_. But Roose Bolton smiled too infrequently for the look to ever seem at home on his face. And it always seemed to her that the man smiled because he felt he _ought to_ rather than out of any true emotion.

And so, she did not return his smile. She barely looked at him. He had allowed his son to beat her in the woods not so very long ago, some of Ramsay's bruises still clung to her skin. He had allowed his son to put her feet in chains so that she could not escape. He had stolen every ability she had to fight. The only armor she had left now was her courtesies and her disdain. She would let him feel all of it now.

"Ah," she greeted him, her gaze on the fireplace to his left. "Lord Bolton. I was wondering when you would come to see me. I would stand, but," she gestured toward her ankles and the chains that still encircled them. "I much prefer sitting these days."

If he was displeased by her attitude or lack of respect the only hint at it was a slight clenching of his jaw. But it was there for just a moment, if she had blinked she would have missed it. "You are quite forgiven, my lady," he told her with a deep inclination of his head. He moved further into the room, glancing around. "I hope these chambers are to your liking." His pale blue eyes fell to the open window behind her and he moved forward, invading her personal space as he reached over and around her to close the shutters, "Not too warm or too cold, I hope," he continued once he had latched the shutters.

"I imagine everything is too cold up here once winter falls," Lenora answered him. She waited until he had stepped away from her before she took a breath and brought her gaze to his face. "I take it that it was not an accident that I was given Robb's own chambers?" she asked him.

Roose inclined his head to her again, "Ramsay thought that it would make you feel most at home here, my lady. To be surrounded by his belongings."

Lenora shook her head, she would not allow him to lie to her, not here in Robb's old rooms. "Your bastard meant to torment me, Lord Bolton," she corrected him. "My comfort has never been one of his priorities. We both know it, so please do not play coy." His jaw clenched again, and this time it remained clenched. He had named Ramsay his true and legitimate heir before they had left the Dreadfort, but Lenora had not accepted it. And she still called Ramsay a bastard every chance she got.

She took a deep breath, she was neither afraid nor intimidated by Roose Bolton's irritation, though perhaps she should have been. "What is your game here, Lord Bolton?" she asked him. "I've been trying since we left the Twins, but I just can't work it out."

Roose smirked as he drew on of the chairs by the fire closer to her window seat. "Why don't you tell me where you get trapped, my lady, and I will try to help you understand?" he suggested as he sat down.

His use of the word _trapped_ did not go unnoticed. _Yes_ , Lenora thought, _I am trapped indeed_. "At the Twins you told me that if all went according to plan that I would _still_ be the future Lady of Winterfell," she told him. "But it is _you_ , Lord Bolton who currently holds the keep," she would not say that he held the North, she prayed to all the unnamed old gods that none of the stubborn northern lords would ever consent to Roose Bolton being their liege lord, especially after he had killed their king. "And you already have a lady wife, a new Lady of Winterfell. If her father's vast amount of children and grandchildren are anything to go by I can only assume she will bear you many children. You would have no reason to set her aside, especially for a woman who has, to this point, remained unproven in her ability to bear them herself."

Roose smiled again, she did not trust it. In fact, she trusted this smile even less than his first. "You are mistaken, my lady," he told her. "It is not _I_ , you will be marrying."

 _Ramsay_ , she thought. That very thought had sent her running from the Dreadfort and now to have it confirmed. She felt her hands start to shake and she clenched her fists to hide it from Bolton. His pale-eyed gaze fell to her hands anyway, he knew. "The Northern Lords will not bend the knee and follow a bastard," she told him. She thought of Jon and she winced, "at least _yours_."

His voice was calm, but his face was a storm. "Ramsay is no longer a bastard," he told her. "He has been legitimized by your brother. A decree from a dead King is still a decree from a King." He was quiet for a moment, "And they won't bend the knee and follow Ramsay," he told her, his voice softer than the wind moving outside the keep. "They will follow _you_."

She shook her head. "I am not from the North."

Roose smiled at her and for the first time it almost seemed a real one. "But you claimed it when you fell in love with Robb Stark. And it claimed _you_ when he did the same."

She shook her head again, grasping for anything she could fight this with. She had no weapon, only her mind and her words. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell," she told him. "The North knows that and they will not look kindly on your son here, legitimized by my bastard brother or not."

Roose's smile widened as he stood from his seat, " _You_ are the Stark of Winterfell now, Lady Lenora."

"I won't do it," she told him, angry at herself when it came out as a yell. She did not want him to think that she was a spoiled child who thought that yelling would get her way. "I won't do it. And you know as well as I that a vow to the Gods made under duress is no true vow."

Roose chuckled, "I don't much care about vows to the Gods, my lady," he told her, his voice as soft as the silk of her southern summer dresses. "I only care about the vows men will hear and follow. And they _will_ believe yours."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

He could hear them, out in the hallway beyond his door. It was a quiet, lonesome place, the black cells beneath the Red Keep and sound traveled. Tyrion imagined that these cells were worse than what Jaime had experienced at Riverrun, they were worse than anything the Lannisters had under Casterly Rock, and far more terrifying than the thought of falling from the sky cells at the Eyrie had been. He could only thank the Gods that he would not be here for long. As Hand of the King his father had told him that his execution would come fast, within a day; the trial and subsequent trial by combat had been embarrassing enough for House Lannister, Tywin did not want to draw this affair out any longer than he had to.

But from the sounds out in the tunnel he imagined he would not live to see his execution. Perhaps Cersei had sent one of her men down to kill him, slow and painful. Maybe having his head cut off would not be satisfying enough for her. It would be like his sister to think death was not enough, to want someone to suffer first.

The struggle ended in the corridor, whoever the victor was moved quietly toward Tyrion's door. He could not hear their footsteps, but he could see the light of the torch in the crack underneath the door. After so many hours of so much darkness, the torch was almost blinding. Tyrion turned away from it and closed his eyes. Quietly the assailant opened the door to his cell and stepped inside.

Tyrion's fist clenched, he could still remember how it felt to hold the war hammer in his hand during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He wished he had it now. He was not much of a fighter, but he would try if it meant saving his life. Or at least saving himself from suffering. His new visitor did not say a word. "Get on with it, you son of a whore!" Tyrion growled without looking away from the wall he was curled against. He was done being patient.

There was an almost pregnant pause and then, "Is that anyway to speak about our mother?"

Tyrion turned over and sat up so quickly his head spun. It was hard to make his face out, the torch was in front of it, but there was no mistaking that voice. It was his brother. It was Jaime. He was so happy to see his brother that he did not even think to hope this meant escape. "Jaime," he breathed, a whisper as he stood up and moved closer to him. He reached out a trembling hand for his brothers coat, he needed to make sure this was real and not a vision. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Jaime asked him before he nodded toward the open cell door. "Follow me." Now Tyrion knew he was dreaming. There was no way that Jaime hoped to free him from King's Landing. Even his brave brother could not be that stupid. He dropped his hand from Jaime's coat and turned away from him, headed back to his spot on the floor so that he could lay down again. Then he felt Jaime's golden hand fall on his shoulder. "Tyrion," his brother whispered, practically begging him to listen.

It was the golden hand that did it. That proved to him that he was not dreaming. In his dreams Jaime always had both hands. He turned back to his brother and felt his face split into a grin. Jaime tried to smile back, it looked scared and worried. It was not a look that he was accustomed to seeing on his brother's face. "What's the plan?" he asked Jaime as he followed his long-legged brother from the cell as quickly as he could.

"There's a galley waiting for you in the bay," Jaime whispered as he led Tyrion through one twisting tunnel into the next. It was dizzying, if given a thousand chances Tyrion was not sure if he would have ever been able to find his way out of the cells on his own.

"Where is it bound?" Tyrion asked, his voice little more than a breath.

"The Free Cities," Jaime told him, his voice emotionless. "At least that is where it is logged to go. You are welcome to tell the captain that you wish to truly sail there, he will bring you."

"But I can go anywhere?" Tyrion asked, hearing the unspoken words in his brother's answer. Jaime hardly looked back at him as he nodded. "To White Harbor?" Tyrion asked, his brows raised.

This time Jaime turned to smile at him, "I was hoping that you would want to sail there," he whispered.

Tyrion smiled, they still did not know where Lenora was. But if he had to guess, he would guess Winterfell. White Harbor would be the closet port city. "Who's helping you?" he asked. He loved his brother, Jaime was brave and good despite what people thought of him; but his brother could not play the game, he was not good at scheming. And _this_ was a scheme.

"Varys," Jaime told him. "You have more friends that you thought."

Tyrion smiled in spite of himself, _the Spider and his webs_.

They ran together, much too fast for Tyrion's small legs and much too slow for Jaime's long ones until they came to a narrow, twisting set of stairs. Jaime moved forward to place his torch in the wall bracket, it would only light Tyrion's path to end of the first spiral, the rest of his climb would be in darkness. "There's a locked door at the top of the stairs," Jaime told him. "Knock on it twice," he paused, "and twice again. Varys will open it."

And then, because his brother had never been good at goodbyes he stalked past Tyrion and started to leave him. He didn't even look back. Tyrion turned away from the torch to watch after his brother, "I suppose this is goodbye then," he said softly. Even if he found Lenora, even if he somehow managed to help her and send her south. He would not be able to come with her, not while Cersei and their father controlled the boy who sat on the throne.

Jaime paused and turned to look at him for a long moment. And just when Tyrion thought that he was going to turn to leave again Jaime stepped forward, dropping hard to his knees. He wrapped his arms tightly around Tyrion and pulled him into a hug. Tyrion held on just as tightly. He felt his brother's left hand come to his head, his fingers carding through his hair and he swallowed a lump in his throat. They had not hugged like this in many years, not since he was a small child afraid of the monsters under his bed. He wished he could go back to the world where the monsters were under his bed and not in his family.

Jaime pressed a hard kiss to his temple, leaving his lips against Tyrion's skin for a beat longer than necessary before he pulled away. And then, still holding tightly to Tyrion's shoulders he whispered, "Farewell, little brother." And with an affectionate shake to Tyrion's shoulders he let go, stood up, and started to rush away.

"Jaime," Tyrion called out, stopping his brother one last time. He waited until Jaime had turned before he continued. "Thank you. For my life."

Jaime nodded, he looked like he wanted to say something, but then he glanced over Tyrion's head toward the burning torch. "Quickly now," he scolded.

And then he was gone.

Tyrion remained where he was, watching Jaime turn a corner before he turned toward the torch. He took three steps forward, toward _freedom_. But then he stopped, turning back toward where Jaime had just left him. He could not leave the Red Keep yet, he realized, he had unfinished business with his father.

...

He snuck into the Tower of the Hand using the tunnel that Varys had told him about when he first moved in as Hand of the King and needed a way to sneak out to see Shae without his sister or her spies seeing him. It felt so familiar, so easy, that for the first moment when he saw her laying in the bed he thought that he had been transported back in time. _Of course_ she was there, she had used the same tunnel and trap door that he had used. She was waiting for him.

And if she had laid still he might have left her alive. But her sigh pulled him from the past, and her moaned words of _my lion_ , meant for his father, not for him, drove him over the edge. He strangled her with a necklace he had given her. He cried only once. But apologized three times. Perhaps he should have left her with the Lannister soldier. It certainly would have saved him a great deal of pain.

Then, taking Joffrey's crossbow off the wall he dragged it down the hallways of the tower, looking for his father. Tywin was not the sort of man who would leave a whore in his bed if he meant to be gone long. He was still in the tower.

The door to the Hand's privy was partially open, there was a candle burning inside. Tyrion leveled the crossbow and used the front of it to push the door the rest of the way open. If Tywin was surprised to see him, he barely let on. He did not even get up from the wooden box that covered his chamber pot. "Tyrion," he greeted. "Put down the crossbow."

Tyrion stared at him, the man he had spent his life trying to impress. He felt nothing but a mild curiosity. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms believed the Lannisters shit gold, he wondered what his father's shit looked like. It certainly did not smell like gold. Unbidden, Tyrion's lips turned up a bit at the corners.

"Who released you?" Tywin asked, his voice was harder now. Tyrion did not need to answer him. They both knew Tywin knew the answer. "Your brother, I expect," Tywin answered himself after a minute. "He always had a soft spot for you. You're not saying much, that's unusual." He moved to stand up, but Tyrion took a step forward, his borrowed crossbow trained on Tywin's chest.

It was then that Tywin realized there was a bolt loaded and ready. "So this is how you want to speak to me?" he asked. "Shaming me has always brought you such pleasure -"

"All my life you've wanted me dead," Tyrion interrupted, voicing the thoughts he had held many times. He wondered if Tywin would deny it.

"Yes," Tywin told him, denying nothing. "But you refused to die. I respect that, even admire it. You fight for what's yours." Tyrion's jaw clenched, all his life he had wanted to hear this from his father, but now that he was he could not believe it. The great Tywin Lannister was telling him what he thought Tyrion _wanted_ to hear because his son had a crossbow to his chest. It was silly really, his lies when all Tyrion wanted was the truth.

"I never would have let them execute you," Tywin assured him. "If that's what you're worried about." But he wasn't worried about that. _Jaime_ had made sure they would not execute him. _Jaime_ had saved him. "You're a Lannister," Tywin continued. "And _my_ son. Now, enough of this nonsense."

He started to stand, but Tyrion took another step closer, crossbow still lifted. His father sat back down. "Joffrey, the monster you sentenced me to die for, used this crossbow to torment Sansa Stark once," Tyrion told his father, watching as his father's green eyes darted to the weapon in his hand. "He held it trained on her while he order Ser Meryn Trant to rip her dress off and beat her. _That_ was the only truth from my entire farce of a trial. _I_ saved her from him. _I_ saved King's Landing from Stannis Baratheon. And _I_ am saving myself from you."

Before his father could say another word he pulled the trigger and released the first bolt into his father's chest. He was surprised at his aim. He was even more surprised that the kick back did not send him falling to the ground. He grabbed the second bolt and began to load it. His father grasped the first, tugging feebly on it. Tyrion thought to warn him that pulling it out would only make him bleed faster.

He kept silent.

"You shot me," Tywin whispered, lifting his gaze from the bolt in his chest to Tyrion. He glared, icy and hard. "You are no son of mine."

"I am your son," Tyrion whispered to him. "I have always been your son."

He released the second bolt.

His father slumped against the wall, silent. Tyrion had brought three bolts, but he did not need the last one. Tywin Lannister was dead. He dropped the crossbow as he walked away.

...

He had not been long in the Tower of the Hand. But he did not know if his galley had waited for him. He did not want to try his luck by traveling to the bay to see. And the tunnel underneath the Tower of the Hand, if he walked it all the way to the end, would dump him out in Flea Bottom.

He had no idea how late it was, he only knew it was dark. But perhaps there would be a blacksmith shop that was still open, an apprentice who might sell him a dagger or small sword without asking any questions for the right price.

He had no hopes of getting a horse, but he would need something to protect himself with when he traveled north on foot. His days of having Jaime protect him were far behind him. He wished that he had not sent Pod away.

He found several shops that were still open, the smiths let their apprentices work at night, the cooler evening air made the work more bearable, perhaps. He went to the emptiest one and what he found there was more surprising, more valuable than weapon he could have purchased.

A boy, barely younger than Lenora, but so much taller. So much stronger. And as much the spitting image of Robert Baratheon as she was.

"The Others take me," Tyrion whispered, watching as the boy swung his hammer, easily shaping the steel he was working on.

He had whispered, but the boy must have been as on edge as Tyrion was. It was not difficult to recognize another soul who had spent much of his recent time looking over his shoulder. The boy turned, glaring at Tyrion, his hammer no longer a tool, but a weapon. "You're a Lannister," he said by way of greeting, his eyes narrowing.

"And you're one of Robert's bastards," Tyrion replied.

The boy took a step forward, Tyrion kept his eyes trained on the hammer in his hand. "You're not safe here."

Tyrion's lips quirked into a smirk, he was not safe anywhere. "And neither are you. But here we both are."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Full confession, I've been waiting for this chapter for a while. The scene with Tyrion meeting Gendry was written months ago, just hanging out in my chapter outline until I finally got to this chapter and fit it in. And I'm really happy with how it turned out. I really like the almost symmetry of this chapter.  
It starts with Sansa deviating from her plot line on the show, becoming more of her own woman. Realizing everything she has learned since leaving Winterfell and meeting up with Brienne and Pod, two people Jaime Lannister sent to protect her.  
It ends with Tyrion deviating from his plot line on the show. Instead of getting on a ship bound for the Free Cities with Varys, he's headed North. With a young man who spent way too much time rowing as far as I'm concerned.  
And both groups will probably meet some fun characters along the way.  
But I'm done gushing about my own story now. It's time for you to gush! Did you like it? Review! Those reviews will make my work week so much more enjoyable!  
As always ... **HUGE** thank yous to all of your wonderful, kick ass souls who reviewed on the last update. You guys are perfect.

 _Vulcran:_ I've got to say, I'm actually kind of going to miss Baelish. I mean he was a scheming bastard and none of GoT would have happened if it weren't for him. But at the same time, he's a scheming bastard and none of GoT would have happened without him. What I love about him is also what I hate about him. And while his farewell from the show was truly fantastic and left me screaming on my couch ... I'm gonna miss him next season.

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ You are pretty awesome for rereading the story. Most people do that once the story is finished. I really appreciate that you are rereading while this is still very much an active story.  
And thanks, I think? I think it's a compliment that I manage to capture Ramsay's creepiness. It might also just be because my mind is a twisted, evil place ... but I'm going to chalk it up to my talent as a writer. :D

 _taterbug0491:_ Oh I'm so sorry friend! If it helps, I want a Robb and Lenora (Lobb? Renora?) reunion too! Unfortunately ... that's still a bit off. But it will be worth it when it comes, I promise. Enjoy.

 _Vgb:_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last update and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!

 _Janaoliver:_ I'm so glad that you're glad I updated! Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the dose of Lenora you got in it as well!

 _Someone:_ Thank you! I'm pretty sure that the Boltons aren't going to lock her up because while _they_ know she's a prisoner Bolton hopes the rest of the North will follow her. They're not going to follow her from a cell.  
And Lenora won't learn to keep her mouth shut, it's the only weapon she's got left at the moment.

 _matrixboy122:_ I'm happy to be back. No need to worry, updates might come a bit slow, but I can guarantee at least one every other week (if not two like this week) and I promise they will keep coming till the end.

 _DatMatt:_ I did! I did deliberately write about Theon taking Ramsay's sword and the satchel. I desperately wanted to play with your emotions! There was that moment of hope when you thought maybe Theon would use the sword against Ramsay, and then that other moment when you thought maybe Ramsay didn't see the decree, maybe Theon saved it. And then both came crumbling down. Because Theon is still Reek. And I giggled while writing it.  
I also giggled for a completely different reason while writing about Arya and the Hound. I love the two of them.

 _RHatch89:_ You needed reminding about why you hated Ramsay? I guess he's been gone from the show for a while. So I'm happy to have reminded you!

 _Guest1995:_ Screw is completely not an offensive word. Do not worry. And yes, screw Ramsay! As for who's going to find Lenora and help her escape? You'll just have to wait and see. Though I imagine, just knowing me, that she's going to do a bit of work. This is very much a _the princess saves herself_ story

 _ZabuzazGirl:_ The Hound is going to help her! Yes he is! The question is what will happen to her before he gets there!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Things are looking pretty bad for Lenora, but as they say in _Les Mis_ ... even the darkest night shall end and the sun will rise. We're going to reach a point (sooner rather than later) where things can only go up for her.

 _bellaphant:_ Ramsay's kind of growing on me. Roose too. It's strange. I hate them. And I feel super slimy while writing about them. But it's an interesting challenge. And I'm ridiculously happy that I'm getting it right enough that the reviews are so full of Bolton hate. That means I'm doing something right. So that's cool.  
Fingers crossed that this story helps redeem Sansa for you. I'm not just in it to redeem Jaime after all, but all the characters I love that seem to get a bit of a bum rap or are dragging their feet in their own redemption arcs on the show.

 _darkwolf76:_ Hello friend! Don't worry, I'm more than thrilled to sit back and read your catch up reviews! They're wonderful.  
I'm happy you're enjoying the Jaime scenes. They are some of my all time favorites to write. He's just got so much _good_ in him and I'm enjoying playing with it. As for your wish about Tyrion, you appear to have gotten it ... he is indeed heading north, though with a very different character. And yeah ... Jaime and Brienne are going to be on the same side much faster in this story, because I can't take them separated anymore. I won't do it. They need to be friends!  
I love what I'm doing with the Hound. He and Arya have always stood out in my mind from the show. They're these two characters that are so much alike and seem to hate each other for it and I adore that. I'm not going to lie, I may or may not have sent fanmail to the show runners asking for a GoT spinoff that was the adventures of Arya and Sandor. I would watch that every day and twice on Sundays. The show runners aren't going to do that so I had to include a lot of it in my own story instead.  
And yes, Sansa is finally getting smart. She's with Brienne and Pod now. And while they might be a cute couple, I think I have someone else in mind of her.  
No Robb in this chapter, but I promise he will be in one very soon. (Two updates away I think without checking my outline.) And it's roughly ... fourteen chapters until their reunion. So not ... so far away. But not close either. Because I love you guys, but I'm still mean.

And that's all I've got.  
Have a fantastic week friends! I'll see you back here soon!  
Chloe Jane.


	67. Chapter Sixty-Seven: This One's For You

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Well, you guys wanted some Jon Snow, so here he is ...

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Seven: This One's For You_

 _Jon_

His brothers had not wanted to believe him when he warned them that the wildlings were going to attack. They couldn't see the point, they couldn't understand why they would want to get south of the wall. _To be fucking warm for once_ Jon had thought about yelling at them. But the last thing he needed to do was make a joke out of his warning. He could still remember one of his many conversations with Ygritte, she had made him see the Wall and the Night's Watch differently.

Growing up he had always believed that the Night's Watch was full of honorable men like his uncle Benjen, men that had given up their futures and their lives to guard the realm against whatever was behind the Wall. Wildlings, giants, wights, and the walkers if there were any left. He had believed all of Old Nan's stories about how horrible and dangerous the wildlings were.

His first assumption had been proven to be a disillusion on day one. There were honorable men in the Night's Watch, there was Benjen and Lord Commander Mormont, Maester Aemon, and even Sam when he wasn't being a craven, and so many more. But for every good, honorable man there was a criminal. A thief, a rapist, a murderer who had taken the Black not out of a sense of duty, but to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

Jon had never been so disappointed. Everyone had known what the Night's Watch was; his father, his uncle most of all and no one had told him the truth. No one except Tyrion Lannister.

Given the horrible truth of the Night's Watch, he shouldn't have been surprised when he met the wildlings and realized that they weren't the monsters Old Nan had made them out to be. They weren't some great threat ready to tear the realm apart. They were just like him, just like his friends. They were _people_. People with the blood of the First Men running through their veins, same as the Starks.

People who just happened to be too far _north_ when Brandon Stark started to build the Wall. It was not their fault. And he could not blame them for wanting to move further south. He might even welcome it, except for the Thenns. They could freeze their asses off and die in that frozen waste land and Jon would have celebrated.

When he came back to the Wall after being held captive the brothers had not wanted to listen to his promise that the wildlings were coming. They thought it was a lie. The wildlings were made up of many different tribes, they had never been united. They _would_ never be united.

 _You don't know the King Beyond the Wall_ , Jon had thought to himself. If there was one man who could unite the wildlings, it would be Mance Rayder.

But he had finally gotten them to listen to him. They finally started to prepare for a battle. And it had come, just as Jon had expected.

Though he had never in his wildest dreams expected it to come from both sides.

And he had never realized that it would cost him so much.

...

 _Two horn blows meant wildlings._

Jon wondered why they bothered to sound the alarm. Mance was burning the tree line and in the glow of the flames, even from the top of the wall, Jon could see the wildlings. _All_ of them.

"Archers nock!" Allister Thorne ordered, his voice calm. "Every one else hold!"

Jon stood quietly behind him, waiting. He was no good with a bow and arrow and even if he was, he was a _steward_ , and Thorne hated him. He would not want Jon to see any glory from this battle. Still, his sword hand clenched, reaching for Longclaw's pommel. The men on the Wall were his family, the only family he had left, but some of the men attacking the Wall were his friends. He couldn't help but wonder, if given the chance to fight, who he would fight for.

To Thorne's left one of the new Rangers tripped and knocked a barrel of torch fuel off the top of the wall. There was a pause, Jon winced, there would come a time, all too soon when they would need that barrel, and now it was lost.

"I said nock and hold, you cunts!" Thorne yelled at them. "Does nock mean draw?"

"No, Ser!" everyone on the top of the wall yelled, everyone save Jon.

"Does fucking hold mean fucking drop?"

"No, Ser!"

"Are you going to die here tonight?"

"No, Ser!" Jon finally added his voice to the others.

Thorne nodded, "That's very good to hear! Draw!"

Before he could order the archers to loose their arrows the horn sounded again, two more times for a wildling attack. Jon thought it was stupid, they already knew the wildlings were attacking, was the horn blower going to tell every five minutes throughout the entire battle? Still, he turned away from the fire on the North side of the Wall and he glanced south. It was too dark to see, but the men down below guarding Castle Black were firing flaming arrows on something - something attacking from the South.

He heard Thorne's whispered curse behind him.

A moment too late Janos Slynt ran from the elevator, "They're attacking the Southern gate!" he yelled.

"Now?" Thorne growled, glancing between the storm of arrows flying from the castle on the south and the large fire and larger group of wildlings to the north. Slynt nodded. Jon could practically hear Thorne's thoughts, he was trying to determine which was the greatest threat. There were more wildlings beyond the Wall, but they would have to get _through_ it or _over_ it before they became much of a problem. The smaller group south of the Wall, it would be easier for them to attack Castle Black and get inside. "I'm going down there!" he announced. "Brother Slynt, you have the Wall."

 _One man on the Wall is worth a thousand beneath it_.

The archers on the Wall stood still and silent, arrows were nocked and drawn, but not released. They were waiting for the command that Slynt did not seem to realize he needed to give them. Thorne turned back around yelling, "What are you fucking waiting for? _Loose_!"

"You heard him!" Slynt yelled, finally finding his voice and his command. "Loose!"

The arrows flew.

...

The wildlings had no fear of death. And they had the numbers. For every man that fell there were five more to take his place. They were advancing on the Wall, teams with ropes to climb the Wall, a giant on a mammoth. Now that Thorne was no longer there to command him to command the men Janos Slynt was afraid. "No discipline. No training," he said, glancing around the men on the top of the Wall. For a moment Jon thought he was trying to be inspiring, that he was talking about the wildlings. But then he continued. "A gang of thieves, that's all this is. I commanded the City Watch of King's Landing, those men obeyed orders!"

He had no faith in his men. Jon wanted to point out to him that if he had been such a good commander of the City Watch, than Tyrion Lannister would not have sent him to the Wall. But now was no time to fight amongst themselves, not when the wildlings were attacking the gates. He stepped around Slynt, moving closer to the edge of the Wall. "We can't just let them attack the gates!" he shouted, hoping to anger Slynt into taking command again.

Slynt turned to look at him, "The bars of those gates are four inches of cold rolled steel," he told him, as if that would be enough to keep them out.

"Those are giants riding mammoths down there!" Jon pointed, as if they could not all see. The gate would not last long against them. "Do you think your cold rolled steel is going to stop them?"

Slynt shook his head, "Giants aren't real," he assured him, as if they could not all see them from where they stood. "They're only stories used to frighten children."

Grenn watched him for a moment, his eyes narrowed before he turned and walked quickly toward the elevator. For a moment Jon thought that he was going to abandon them, but he should have known better. A second later Grenn was back, "Brother Slynt," he called out, his voice loud and strong. "Ser Allister says that he needs you down below. You're the most experienced man he's got. He says he needs you!"

"Needed below?" Slynt asked. He didn't look at Jon. "Yes," he nodded already turning to run toward the elevator. "Yes." And then he was gone.

Grenn and Edd smiled at him, Grenn nodded and winked. The men on top of the Wall were silent, they all looked to Jon. And then Jon realized the reason behind Grenn's lie. They meant for him to command them. He took a deep breath, thinking about his father and what he would do. "Archers," he called out, his voice did not shake. "Nock your arrows!" They nocked their arrows. "Draw! Loose!"

He had made his decision. He knew who he would fight for.

He had always known.

He was not the boy he used to be, mistreated and ignored by Lady Catelyn, wishing for nothing more than to be anything but a bastard.

He was not the naive recruit who had showed up at the Wall expecting the men to be strong, brave, and honorable.

He was not the man who had traveled with the wildlings; breaking bread with them, sharing stories, laying with one of their women.

He was Jon Snow, a brother of the Night's Watch. And his brothers on the Wall had trusted him with their lives. He would do everything he could to make sure they lived to see the sun rise the next morning.

No matter what the cost.

...

And it had cost him. It had cost him so much.

Thirty men from the Night's Watch. Pyp and Grenn among them.

He felt those two worse than the others. And not just because they were his friends. Pyp had been shot by Ygritte, that death was on him. And Grenn, he had sent Grenn down to hold the gate against the giant. That death was on him as well.

And then there was _her_ , Ygritte, he was sure that she wouldn't have killed him. But he would never know now, Olly had killed her. To protect him. That death was on him as well.

And for what?

They had a thousand wildling prisoners, Tormund and Mance among them. And a castle full of Stannis Baratheon's men.

The rest of Mance's wildlings, the ones who were neither captured nor dead had scattered, separating into their tribes, running from the Wall, just as Jon had known they would.

When Stannis and his men arrived at Mance's camp, having ridden all night from Eastwatch By the Sea, Jon had thought that he would kill Mance right there in the woods. He had thought it mercy when Stannis had brought him back to Castle Black, but as he stood with his brothers now, facing a stake in the middle of the courtyard he knew it was not mercy.

Stannis wanted the Free Folk. He wanted them to fight for him. And for that he needed Mance, their king, to kneel.

Mance Rayder was not the sort of man to bend the knee, especially to Stannis Baratheon. And for that he would die.

Traitors were not burned to death, not since the Mad King, but Stannis Baratheon worshiped a fire god. And Mance would be killed with flames.

It was eerily silent when the prisoner king was brought before the Baratheon king. "Mance Rayder," Stannis greeted him, his voice flat and emotionless. "You have been called the King Beyond the Wall. But there can only be one true King. Bend the knee and I will show you mercy."

 _Bend the knee_ , Jon willed him. He had spent months as Mance's prisoner. He liked the man, he respected him, he had learned a great deal from him. _No_ man deserved to be burned to death in front of what was left of his army, but especially not Mance.

But Mance was stubborn and his knee would not bend. "Kneel and live," Stannis urged him when he remained silent.

Mance took a step away from him, glancing around the courtyard, his gaze landing on the Black Brothers, he recognized some of them, Jon could see it in his dark eyes. "This was my home for many years," he told Stannis, his voice thoughtful and calm. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

And with that he turned away from Mance, waiting for the soldiers to bring him to the stake and chain him to it. Once they were done the strange foreign woman who traveled with Stannis stepped forward, the men had started calling her the Red Woman. A shiver ran up Jon's spine. "We all must choose," she started, addressing the wildlings and the Night's Watch instead of Mance. "Young or old, man or woman, Lord or peasant, our choices are the same. We choose light, or we choose darkness. We choose good, or we choose evil. We choose the true God, or the false." She turned, grabbing a torch from one of the guards, when she spoke again, it was to the wildlings only, "Free folk, there is only one true king and his name is Stannis. Here stands your king of lies. Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness."

And then she brought her torch to the wood at Mance's feet.

Jon watched as the flames rose, slowly and quickly all at once. On moment it looked like it would take an hour for the flames to take, and the next they were licking Mance's boots. He tried to be strong, his men were watching. But even the strongest man can only stay silent for so long. As the flames began to burn through his clothes he began to whimper. His whimpers became moans. Soon his moans would turn to screams.

 _This_ was not why Jon had fought to protect Castle Black. _This_ was not what he had lost so many friends for. _This_ is not what the Night's Watch stood for. When they swore their vows each Black Brother promised to stay neutral to the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms. It felt wrong enough to have Stannis at Castle Black, but standing and watching while one King burned another alive did not feel neutral to Jon.

And it did not feel right.

Jon had gone with his Father when he had to execute someone enough times to know that Ned Stark did his duty with strength, and speed, and honor. He did not enjoy it. Mance would burn for hours, and Stannis would have them all watch the entire thing. He was watching now, his eyes never leaving Mance's face.

But Jon would not watch. And he would not leave Mance to suffer or to die screaming in front of his men and enemies. He pushed past his brothers, heading toward where they had stockpiled their weapons after the battle. And with everyone's eyes on Mance, no one saw as he picked up a bow, nocked an arrow, or loosed it. But they all saw it when it struck Mance in the chest, killing him.

And they all knew where it came from.

Both sides had lost many good men. And if _this_ was how it was going to end, Jon wasn't sure if it was worth it.

Any of it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jamie_

This was occurring much too frequently for his liking. He wondered how many more times he would have to stand guard over the body of one of his loved ones. He wondered how many more times he would have to stare at the stones that covered their eyes and wish that they were painted in another color. _Green_ rather than blue. He wondered how many times he would be left alone in the Great Sept standing watch over someone he knew with the stench of their rotting flesh in his nose.

Joffrey had been easier than he expected. He had never spent much time with the boy, he had never been inclined to, and even if he had Cersei would never have allowed it. If Jaime spent too much time with Joffrey, someone might have figured it out. She wouldn't have risked it. She barely let the boy near Robert, lest someone question why Joffrey had none of the king's coloring. And so, guarding Joffrey had been much like guarding a near stranger, someone he recognized, but did not know. He felt sorry for the boy, killed so young, but he was not saddened by the death.

Tywin was harder. Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, and Hand of the King was no stranger to Jaime. He was his father, a hard cruel man who Jaime had not always agreed with, but family still. He could not guard his body with quiet disinterest. He could not keep his distance. He stared at Tywin, equal parts hating and loving the man. And always knowing that it was Jaime who was to blame for his death.

He hated Tywin for his harshness. He could not remember a time when Tywin had looked at him with kindness or love. Tywin had children because he needed them, not because he wanted them. He took an interest in Jaime when he was a child because Jaime was to be his heir. He turned his back on his son when he joined the King's Guard. He had ordered the death of his granddaughter's husband before her very eyes. He had watched Joffrey's funeral without blinking. He had sentenced his youngest son to death without a moment's hesitation. Jaime would not miss _this_ man.

But he would miss the one he could barely remember. The one who smiled softly at Jaime's mother before she died. The one who sat him on his first pony. He would miss the man who had been softened by Lenora when she lived at the Rock. He could remember him, sitting in his solar with the small girl on his lap, planning imaginary battles and teaching her how to be strong. He would miss the man who went to war because Catelyn Stark kidnapped Tyrion. He would miss the man who would do _anything_ for his family.

But the two men went hand in hand. Jaime could not have one without the other. And as he stood, staring at his father's face, so very much like his own, he realized that all the things he loved about his father were tied with the ones he hated. He had loved Lenora because she was clever and bright and because she worshipped him, and because he could use her for alliances. He had gone to war for Tyrion because Catelyn's kidnapping had been a slight on House Lannister. He would do anything for his family, including murdering his grandchild's husband. And he would leave her in the North because it was not worth the risk to send men after her.

All his life he had felt Tywin Lannister judging him. All his life he had come up wanting. But now he was free of it. Tywin could judge him no more. And Jaime would not have to spend the rest of his life trying to please his father. They were both free.

The bells of the Great Sept were ringing, they pulled Jaime from his thoughts. The funeral would begin soon. But no one had entered yet. He wondered what they were all waiting for. He knew that Tommen was not coming to the funeral, so they could not have been waiting on the king.

The doors opened, he did not turn because it was not many people entering the Sept. Only one.

Cersei.

He stood, silent and still, matching his breath with each of her slow, purposeful steps. It took her almost two minutes to reach where he stood in the middle of the floor. Finally she was standing beside him. She did not look at him, her green eyes remained resolutely on their father's face. "He never wanted you to be a King's Guard," she growled at him, "and yet here you stand, protecting his dead body."

It would seem he was not yet free from judgement, it had simply moved from one Lannister to the next. Unbidden his mind went to the last time he and his sister had stood side by side in the sept. They had been with Joffrey then. She had tried to kiss him. He took a small step away from her, putting distance between them. She was saddened by their father's death, angry even, he could feel it radiating off of her. And when Cersei was angry she lashed out, like a caged lion. If he was not careful she would strike him.

And Jaime was not a careful man. He took a deep breath, "He spent his whole life worried about the legacy of House Lannister," he whispered. "He built it. And he meant it for us. All that to die in a privy. Who will carry on his legacy now?" He glanced toward the doors. "That's what they're all waiting for," he told her. "All of them of them out there. Vultures. They want to see the stones on his eyes, they want to know that he is truly dead. And then they will pick at the Rock and the West like vultures to a carcass."

"And whose fault is that?" Cersei asked him, finally turning from their father's face to fix her green-eyed glare on him. "Who created that carcass?" Jaime did not answer. _Me_ , he thought. "Tyrion is a monster," Cersei hissed at him. "I've been telling you for years and for years you have been defending him, protecting him, siding with him when you should have sided with me!"

"Tyrion is no mons-" Jaime started but she interrupted him.

"Our father is dead!" Cersei growled at him. "And that horrible creature is out there somewhere in the world, drawing breath, a free man." She took a step closer to him and Jaime knew in that very instant that he did not need to worry about Cersei trying to kiss him by their father's body. Though, she might try to kill him. "Did you set him free?" she whispered.

It was question, at least it was phrased as one. But the fire burning in her green eyes and the clench in her jaw told him that she already knew the answer. He wanted to look away from her, he wanted to hide from the betrayal in her eyes but he looked her straight on and answered. "Tyrion was innocent of Joffrey's murder," he told his sister. "I could not let him die for it."

"So you set him free so that he could murder Father?" Cersei bit out. Her voice was hard and cold. It sounded so much like Tywin that Jaime winced. He shook his head, he had not meant for Tyrion to kill their father, but he should have known. If there was one thing Lannisters knew how to do it was to get vengeance. _Lannisters always paid their debts_. And Tyrion had owed his father a debt. _I should have put him on the boat myself_ , Jaime realized. _I should have gone with him_.

It was as if Cersei could read his mind, as if she could see his thoughts playing across his face. She scoffed, "Tyrion may be a monster, but at least he killed our father on purpose. _You_ killed him by accident, by stupidity." She shook he head. "You're a man of action," she told him. "It was what I always admired and hated about you. When it occurs to you to do something, you do it, never mind the consequences. You push a boy out a window, you make a promise to Catelyn Stark you have no right to make, you free Tyrion." She turned away from him, nodding toward their father's body. "Well, take a look, here are your consequences."

She was walking away from him when she paused, "You wanted to know what will happen to Father's legacy," she told him, almost as if it were an after thought. "Uncle Kevan has looked into his will. He would have left the Rock to Tommen, if Joffrey had survived, but Tommen is king now."

"I suppose it goes to Kevan now," Jaime answered softly. "A little old to be inheriting the Rock. But Lancel will be a lucky young man."

"No," Cersei interrupted him. "It does not go to Kevan. Or Lancel. It goes to Lenora's first born son. You see, our father had plans, even when it came to his death. He had planned for the monster to have gotten Sansa pregnant, a Lannister grandchild ruling the North. Lenora's child ruling the West. And Tommen on the throne. We've lost Sansa, the only thing I would give Tyrion is a sword through the neck. And Lenora is held captive in the North."

"Did he have any plans to get her back?" Jaime asked. He had asked his father about her on many occasions, but if Tywin had any plans for Lenora, he had not shared them with his son.

"Not that he shared with me," Cersei told him. "But _you_ will." Jaime raised his eyebrows, unsure of what his sister expected of him. "I'm relieving you of your duty as King's Guard," Cersei told him, not even deigning to look at him. "You will leave within three days. You will not return to King's Landing until you have retrieved my daughter. And then you will go after Tyrion."

"And if I don't succeed?" Jaime asked her, thinking about his golden hand and his weak left hand.

"You better die trying," Cersei told him. "If you return without my daughter, I will hold you personally responsible for Father's death." She turned finally, her gaze dropping to his golden hand. "How do you think _you_ would fare in a trial by combat, brother?"

 _Not well_ , and they both knew it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"How are you, my lady?" Ramsay sneered in her ear. "You told my mother that you wished to ride out into the Wolf's Wood." He was laughing at her now, she could feel it rumbling in his chest that was pressed so close to her back. She could hear it in his voice, in the way he sneered at her as if they were playing some sort of game. "Is this ride everything you thought it would be? Everything you wanted?"

 _No_. The word came to her lips readily, almost bursting out. But she bit her tongue. She could not let him see how upset she was. How disgusted she was by what she had seen. By what he had done. By what she had played a part in if only because she had been unable to stop it.

She was riding sidesaddle, squeezed in front of Ramsay, his arms framing her body as if he cared whether she fell from the horse. Not that she had not tried. But Ramsay, it seemed, always thought of everything, he always seemed to be one step ahead of her. Her ankles were still shackled. And he had tied her wrists to the saddle horn. If she were stupid enough to try to throw herself out of the saddle she would have only hung from the saddle horn, at risk of being kicked by the horse's legs until he hauled her back up.

She had wanted a ride in the Wolf's Wood and Ramsay had given it to her. Though, he was not about to risk losing her over it.

He leaned closer to her, his chin resting on her shoulder. He was smiling, "It's a lovely day for a hunt, my lady," he told her, turning his pale blue eyes on her. "Wouldn't you say?"

She could hear the girl. Wherever she was in the woods, she was close. She was screaming, each wail pierced Lenora's heart in a way that made her breath catch in her throat. The poor girl was begging for help, for death, for the Old Gods, or the New. And she was never going to get any of it. She would not be able to outrun Ramsay and his men. Or his dogs. He was not going to grant her a quick death. He liked to play with his toys, and he would get double the pleasure out of this one. He'd get to torture the girl, and he'd get to torture Lenora by forcing her to watch it, to play an unasked for part.

He sighed, as if he had never been more content in his life. "The woods sound lovely don't they?" he asked her as the horse charged through the woods, the dogs were leading the way, barking and growling as they followed the poor girl's trail.

"Why are you doing this?" Lenora asked him, her voice a cold whisper as she turned away from the open woods in front of her to look at Ramsay. "Why?"

He smiled, "It's for you, my lady," he told her. "This whole time, since the Frey wedding you've been kept indoors. I thought that you would appreciate some time in the open air, a ride through the woods, a hunt. You've never been on a hunt have you?" He chuckled as he looked away from her, his blue eyes sparkling, "There's nothing like it," he promised. "Absolutely nothing. The dogs, the weapon in your hand, knowing that you are the only thing that stands between killing the beast and it living another day. The smell of the blood in the air, the fear in the animal's eyes. The way the light leaves the eyes at the last moment as the dogs tear into its flesh."

Lenora flinched away from him. She had always known that Ramsay was cruel, she had known that from the first. But this was something she could not understand, a cruelty she could not imagine. He was talking about the young, terrified woman they were following as if she were an animal. As if it were acceptable to ride her down, to hunt her as she ran through the cold woods in nothing but her shift.

"You're horrible," she whispered.

He chuckled, he had heard that. "Not as horrible as you, my lady," he promised her. "The last shot will be yours." She shook her head, she wouldn't do it. He could beat her all he wanted, she would not kill the girl. "It will be," he promised her again. "I promise you, Princess, it will be much worse for the girl if she dies by my hand."

Lenora shook her head, unable to do much more than that. Ramsay's chuckle got louder, darker. "You're caught in quite a predicament aren't you, Princess?" he asked, taunting her. "When we find the girl you have two difficult choices. First: shoot to wound, not to kill - you won't be the one to kill her, but it will be much worse when the dogs get their chance at her. Second: Kill her in one. She won't feel the dogs, but you'll have been the one to kill an innocent girl." She couldn't see him, but she could feel the way he shook his head behind her. "Whatever will you do?" he whispered, close to her ear.

"I could kill you," Lenora whispered, leaning forward to get as far away from the man as she could. "Kill you, grab the girl, and run away."

"And how are you going to do that, my lady?" he asked her, the laughter still coloring his tone. "I'm not carrying a sword or a dagger you could grab. And do you think you're in any position to turn around and shoot me from where you sit?"

He had a point. "How will I shoot the girl with my hands tied to the saddle?" she asked him, turning her head slightly to catch his eye. He might have had a point, but so did she.

"I'll untie you for that," he assured her. He leaned closer to her, his chin resting on her shoulder, his tongue flitting out between his lips to lick along the outside shell of her ear. "I don't think I need to remind you what will happen to you if you try to escape, my lady," he told her, grinning as she shuddered underneath his breath. He nodded, his pale blue eyes locked on her face, "You'll be a good girl," he told her, very certain of himself. "Because you know that whatever you think of doing to me I can think of something much worse for you." He was smirking at her, his eyes sparkling in excitement.

Lenora drew a shallow, shuddering breath. As much as she wanted him to believe that she was brave, that she wasn't afraid of him. It was impossible not to hear the unspoken delight in his words. He could think of something much worse than anything she could plan for him. And what was worse was that he would enjoy it. He would hurt her, torture her, try to destroy her and he would love every second of it.

She opened her mouth, to tell him that he was disgusting, but then she heard it. It started low, an angry rumble that she could feel running up her spine. A snarl that she could hear just above the wind blowing through the trees around them, just below the nervous yapping of Ramsay's dogs. "Did you hear that?" she asked, whipping her head around to glance at Ramsay.

"What?" he asked her. His smirk still rested on his lips, but he didn't look as confident as he had before. Something about her face or her question had unsettled him. "Did I hear what?"

She heard it again, louder, closer but from another direction. Her hair flew into her face as she turned away from the wind and turned to look to her left, her eyes narrowed as she studied the tress around them, looking for it. "It's a wolf."

Ramsay chuckled, though she saw his hand tighten on the reins in front of her. "And I'm supposed to be afraid of a wolf?" he asked her. "With all my dogs and men and a wounded girl out here? I should be worried that a lone wolf with single me out?"

"You should be worried about this one," Lenora promised him as the dogs began to panic. They were no longer tracking the girl, they no longer cared for the smell of her blood. They were yelping and whining. Noisily turning to their master for orders. She doubted that any of the dogs could see the wolf, but they could sense him, she wondered if they could smell him. She wondered if they knew they were no longer the hunters, but rather the hunted.

"And why is that, Princess?" Ramsay sneered.

"Because it's a direwolf."

"There are no more direwolves," Ramsay told her, his voice shaking slightly.

"Wager your life on it?" Lenora asked, her head quickly turning from side to side as she looked for the growling wolf. Her heartbeat picked up, it felt as if her heart was throwing itself against her ribs, trying to break free from her chest. A strange mix of fear and excitement coursed through her blood as the growl changed into a howl, echoing through the trees. She _knew_ that howl. She recognized it. "Grey Wind," she whispered.

"Robb Stark's dog?" Ramsay asked her. "He's dead."

Lenora shook her head, the right corner of her lips lifting into a smirk when she caught a single flash of grey moving through the trees to her left. The dogs moved closer to the horses and Ramsay's men, they knew something was out there now. They were afraid. "You forget, bastard," Lenora breathed quietly, "I have run with direwolves long enough to know the sound of their songs. And this one is for you."

His arms shook as he tightened his grip on the reins. The horse reared slightly onto its back legs, trying to throw its riders off. But Lenora was tied to the saddle and Ramsay was not going to let go of the reins. He turned the horse, back towards Winterfell and its high stone walls. "Forget the girl," he ordered his men, already nudging his horse into a gallop. "Stay here, round up the dogs, I shall see you back at the keep when you're finished."

And then he kicked the horse in the ribs, cruelly guiding it into a gallop.

"You're a coward," Lenora told him as the wolf in the woods behind them started its attack. She could not turn, and Ramsay's frightened horse had already put quite a bit of distance between his men and the two of them, but she could still hear that first human cry of fear as the wolf jumped. And the sudden silence when the man's throat was torn out.

Even in his fear Ramsay was unable to hide his pride. She felt him bristle behind her, felt him sit up a bit straighter. He did not appreciate being called a coward. "But I'm alive," he told her. "And I will take alive over brave any day."

"Robb would never have run," Lenora told him. It did not hurt as much to say his name now. Something about the wolf in the woods had given her just the smallest bit of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something.

"And he is dead now," Ramsay argued, kicking his horse again, it cried out in pain, but began to run even faster. A reckless, dangerous pace that left even Lenora feeling a bit winded. "So standing his ground did him a damn lot of good."

...

Ramsay lost eight men, half of his dogs, and the girl he had meant to hunt. The rest of the dogs had come tearing toward Winterfell as if the Others themselves were chasing them, the remaining men tripping over themselves as they followed. In the days since the wolf attack the men had begun to question their memories. They were no longer certain what had attacked them. They whispered the word _direwolf_ , but no one would swear to it.

All the same Lord Bolton ordered the gates to be shut at all times. The Wolf's Wood was off limits. Lenora was no longer allowed outside, she was to be kept inside the keep _for her safety_.

But that did not stop her from hearing the howls. Every night she sat in her chamber, the windows thrown open despite the cold northern air so that she could listen as the wolf moved around Winterfell's walls, looking for a way in.

She had been so certain in the woods that the howls had belonged to Grey Wind. And now, days later, she was no less certain. She had spent so much time listening to the wolf during battles. She knew the way his call would echo in her bones, the quickening beat of her heart was familiar.

It did not make any sense though. She had heard from the Bolton soldiers that they had killed Grey Wind when they killed Robb. She had heard that they had decapitated the wolf and sewed his head onto Robb's body. She had heard that they had paraded their monstrosity around all night as if it were something to be proud of.

Ramsay had taunted her with the idea for months, his eyes sparkling with joy as he explained to her how difficult it must have been to sew the large wolf head onto her husband's neck. Was he lying? Were the men? Or was she so desperate for hope that she was making a direwolf out of a regular one with an irregular bloodlust?

She could hear it again, rising over the wind, a long unending mournful noise. Whatever it was, wolf or direwolf it was alone, and looking for something. Lenora's hands clenched when she thought that perhaps it might be looking for her, searching for her. Robb had once told her that a wolf's howls had different meanings. She had never heard Grey Wind howling for his brothers and sister's, but if she had she was sure that it would have sounded like this.

Grey Wind had long since lost his direwolf pack, the loss of his human pack was closer, newer. What if he had followed her to Winterfell from the Twins? She wanted it so badly that she had to remind herself that it was unlikely. She wanted Grey Wind to be alive because that meant that there was a small chance that Robb had survived as well.

But as much as she wanted it she would not allow herself to get her own hopes up. Even if Robb had survived, most of his men were dead, and the northmen that were still alive had sworn loyalty to the Boltons. It was unlikely that he was alive, and even less likely that he would be able to do anything to help her.

But still, as the wolf howled in the woods outside Winterfell's walls Lenora could not help but feel less alone.

...

"A word, my lady?" a voice sounded from behind Lenora as she made her way toward the library tower. Lord Bolton had finally lifted his command about keeping her inside. She was allowed out in the courtyard during the daylight hours as long as she had an armed escort.

She turned now to see Lord Bolton himself standing in the courtyard behind her. Snow flakes clung to the collar of his fur cloak and Lenora felt her chest tighten as she thought of all the times she had heard Robb remind a man that _winter is coming_. He had been right, all the Starks were. Winter was coming, and she was alone. She arched an eyebrow at the older man as she nodded, "Lord Bolton," she greeted, her voice as cold as the winter air. "What do you want?"

His jaw clenched, displeased with her impolite question, but it was the best Lenora could offer and he seemed to understand that. He took a step closer to her. "It would appear that I have some bad news for you, my lady," he told her, his voice whisper soft.

She felt both eyebrows lift at that, "And you're to be the one to tell me?" she asked, surprised. "The last time you had bad news for me you let your bastard tell me. He seemed to enjoy trying to make me suffer." She shrugged her shoulder, "It was a pity for him, really, that the news of Joffrey's death did not upset me as much as I think he had hoped."

Bolton's jaw clenched again at the word _bastard_ , he liked that even less than he had liked her rude greeting. "My _son_ , wanted to give you the news as soon as we received the raven. But I told him that it would be best to come from me. You've already lost so many father figures in your short life, I thought _this_ news should come from one of the few you have remaining."

Lenora would have scoffed at Lord Bolton's assumption that he was anything that resembled a father figure to her, but his words caught up to her before she could. _You've already lost so many father figures in your short life_. She took that to mean that she had lost another one. In three quick steps she moved to stand directly in front of Roose, her hands reached out, clutching at his arm, her fingernails digging through the thick fabric of his doublet. She would have drawn blood if she could have reached his skin. "Jaime?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

Her heart stopped beating as she waited for his answer. She barely managed to draw in breath. She was certain that she could handle anything that Ramsay wanted to do to her, but she knew that she would be unable to continue on if she learned that something had happened to her uncle. She had still been so angry the last time she had seen him, but he was one of the few people she had left now. She would sooner kill herself than live in a wolrd where he was no longer there. "Has something happened to my uncle Jaime?"

Roose glared down at her, his pale blue eyes filled with distaste as he pulled his arm out of her grasp. "Your king slaying uncle is alive," he assured her. "I sent him on to King's Landing myself well before the Frey wedding at the Twins. He is safely returned to your family, you have my word."

His statement surprised Lenora. As long as she had known Roose Bolton he had been cruel, but proper. He had never called her uncle _Kingslayer_ , he still called her _princess_. She knew that his words, _king slaying uncle_ , were meant to hurt her, to remind her of _everything_ her uncle was. But it did something else too, the reminder of the Frey wedding. She took a step away from him now, relaxing a bit now that she knew that her uncle was safe. "You know," she told him, looking away as if the conversation bored her, but watching the older man out of the corner of her eye. "There was a time when every man in the Seven Kingdoms wanted to be like my uncle, but _you_ , Lord Bolton, have come the closest."

"And how is that, my lady?" Roose asked her, his eyebrows arched.

She shrugged her shoulders as she allowed her gaze to land on his face, "You both killed your king. _You_ have earned the name _Kingslayer_ as much as he has, perhaps even more so."

His jaw clenched, his eyes hardened. If he had felt any goodwill toward her when he began this conversation he did not feel it now. "You're uncle Tyrion was found guilty for your brother's murder after a trial by combat," he told her, his voice cold. "The night before he was to be executed he escaped and killed your grandfather before he disappeared from King's Landing."

That gave Lenora pause. Of all the possible outcomes from Joffrey's death, she would have never imagined _this_. Roose seemed to take her silence to mean something different. He sighed, "If you were hoping that your grandfather would ride north and take you from us, I would put that hope to rest, my lady."

Lenora shook her head, she had not thought that since the beginning. She would have been stupid to hope for it, even more stupid than hoping that Grey Wind and Robb might still be alive. "My grandfather was not a stupid man," she told him. Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "He would have known that you took me north after the wedding at the Twins. He would have guessed Winterfell. I gave up hope that he would come for me a long time ago."

Roose nodded, pleased with her answer. He turned, preparing to walk back toward the main keep, but Lenora stopped him when she continued speaking. "If I want to escape, I will have to find a way on my own."

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello friends! It feels good to be back. Even if this chapter was a bit of a filler chapter. It's setting up for some things, and as much as I hate filler chapters, I have to admit that they are a necessary evil.  
And I'm not sure how I feel about Jon's part. I love him and I've been waiting to bring him back into the story, but I don't know if I have a good command of his voice yet. What do you think? Any helpful advice? I'd love to hear it if you have any!  
Anyway, regardless of how I feel about this chapter ... how do you feel? I hope you loved it! Or at least liked it! Do me a favor and drop down to that empty box down there and let me know! Reviews are your best bet to get me to update faster so ... go crazy!  
Thank you for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts and favorites lists! And most of all, thank you to the wonderful beings who have reviewed on the previous chapters. You guys are my favorites! And as always, this update is for you.

 _Choco-Latte64:_ Oh my gosh! I AM WRITING ABOUT CAPTAIN AMERICA! (Or specifically Bucky, because I love broken bad boys with a heart of gold, and that's all the Winter Soldier is.) I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and cried with happiness when Tyrion set off North, happy tears are something I very rarely get with this story so it's a welcome change.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. Roose is very easy to hate, though I do enjoy playing with both him and his son (as evidenced by this update ...).

 _Spidey-phd:_ Thank you so much for your review, my new review friend! I'll admit that I'm not sure how to feel about the fact that I write about a sadistic psychopath so convincingly. I feel like I should be worried. But I'm glad that you guys are enjoying it!

 _HPuni101:_ Yes, things are going to start looking up for Lenora very soon. Within the next five or so chapters I think, though don't quote me on that. But first, things are going to get just a bit worse. Thank you so much for your review!

 _Guest1995:_ Tyrion and Gendry. I'm really excited about them. Because they're the two characters that are like, least likely to be together. And I've been waiting for their road trip North for a while. And you can safely bet that he's going to meet Lenora. That's the whole reason I had Tyrion walk into his shop after all. Don't worry, there will be hope for Lenora soon, but first ... a wedding.

 _taterbug0491:_ I hated how Robb died too. And then to have the characters just kind of forget him. I mean, I get that they've got **a lot** to cover in a short span of episodes. But they could have had one scene with any of the Stark siblings talking about him. He started a war for them after all. I'm shaking my head because he deserved better. And this story's going to give that to him.

 _Janaoliver:_ In the grand scheme of things a Robb and Lenora reunion won't be _too_ far away. But I'd say it's another ten chapters or so. Thank you for your review!

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ I've got to play with your heartstrings somehow, after all. Her finding that Robb had saved all of her letters seemed like a great way to do it. I love when my fandoms unite! And yes, the next story I tackle will be a Bucky/OC story. You're completely right though ... the Battle of the Bastards is by far the best episode I have seen. And I'm sincerely hoping that I do it justice when I try to tackle it in only a few short(ish) chapters.  
You were right ... Grey Wind is out there. And now Lenora knows it.  
The Red Wedding broke me too. Actually that episode was the one that got my mind running down this long road. I think I wrote my first draft of the first chapter the morning after the Red Wedding. I hated it, and I _needed_ to fix it. I was a bit obsessive about it really.

 _Stevie Jazz:_ CAPTAIN AMERICA! (And yes ... Bucky, of course Bucky.) I'm glad you're here for it! I'm glad you're happy about Sansa, there's always a lot of Sansa hate and while I understand it to an extent, I kind of love her (not as much as Arya, but she's up there) and I needed to get her away from Littlefinger as quickly as I could. I didn't like her there! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _bellaphant:_ I'm so glad that you're excited about Gendry. I adore him. I think he's wonderful and I want him and Arya to go on adventures all over the Seven Kingdoms together. And the show left him **rowing** for too damn long. And I wanted him and Tyrion to roadtrip. And I wanted him to meet his older sister. And I want so much for him, so I'm really glad you guys are on board!

 _Guest 4.0:_ Soon, my friend. Lenora will see Jon Snow again very soon. Think within the next five chapters or so.

 _Padfootette:_ Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you like this update too. It's going to be a bit before Robb and Lenora are together again, but just know that you're not alone. (The author can't wait for them to be together either!)

 _darkwolf76:_ So much death went down in that chapter! That is part of why this one became a filler chapter. I needed a break from all the death. So instead I went to play with my favorite psychopaths. After this story I'm going to have to spend a week reading/writing something fluffy and sweet. Or not, I quite enjoy death and battles apparently.  
I am really happy that Sansa is out of Littlefinger's grasp. And she's on he way to learning how to be a badass. She's learned a lot from Cersei and Littlefinger, and soon she'll be learning from Brienne, Arya (perhaps), and even from Lenora! It's going to be a party in the North. As for a romantic pairing for Sansa, there's going to be hints at one, but I'm going to leave most of it up to the readers.  
Yes, Lenora will be picking up the majority of Sansa's suffering. It is Game of Throne's after all. And I just could not bear to put Sansa with Ramsay, she's a child. Lenora's grown, and stronger. She'll come out better off. As for your questions ... there is another wedding coming up, but there will be no raping. I am, personally 100% against writing rape scenes. So that is off the table, though he might try.  
You got to see Grey Wind in this chapter. Or at least a glimpse of him. And some Bolton Red Shirts (Star Trek reference) got a lot more than a glimpse!  
As for Tyrion and Gendry. No one would expect them to travel together, and therein lies the magic.

 _Fcv:_ Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Gamemaster77:_ I'm glad that you're enjoying the plot deviations! There are still some points that will read pretty close to cannon partially because there is no way around them or because I just want to try my hand at them (Battle of the Bastards) for example. But now, a lot of the characters are going on their own paths now. And I'm happy to provide the mystery! Don't worry though, this story will have somewhere between a bittersweet and a happy ending. I'm a sucker for a happy ending, though I refuse to give you guys one that is all sugar sweet and rainbows. I'm thinking a dark chocolate ending instead.  
I'm glad that I crushed your hopes with Lenora's escape attempt. The show has this way of giving and taking. For every time that it gives the viewers something they want it takes something else away. And it was always my goal for this story to follow that same sort of pattern. I'm thrilled it's working out and I'm delighted that this is a story that you will reread. That is a **HUGE** compliment. So thank you.  
Don't worry about sporadic reviews! As long as you're still enjoying the story I am content!

 _HoneyBear94:_ Hi! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! And I hope that you loved this update as much as past chapters!

 _DatMatt:_ Good to know. I have found my fair share of stories where the author seemed to have lost steam or forgotten and just left readers hanging and they break my heart. And they never even delete the story. I understand writer's block but if it gets to the point where you're not gonna finish the story, delete it so that I know there's no hope, you know? So I refuse to do that to you guys. You might only get two updates a month, but **I will finish this story**. That's my promise.  
I'm glad that Sansa bit did not feel forced. I noticed that on the show too and I hated it. So I knew I wanted her lying to protect Littlefinger and leaving to be in her point of view so that you guys could see her thought process, but more than that I wanted to show her start to grow up _before_ she got to Winterfell so that it wasn't like, "alright guys, I'm the Lady of Winterfell and it's time for me to start playing the game" all in one go. I'm glad it worked out!

 _Kimberley:_ Thank you, dear! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one too!  
And yes ... I've started a Captain America fic. (Two actually, one for Steve and one for Bucky) though they won't be posted for a bit. I want them to be absolutely finished and just waiting to be edited before I post even the first chapter. But they're coming!

 _guest:_ I'm sorry that you hate all those things. But don't worry, Lenora's not going to be raped. And she is most definitely going to hold her own against Ramsay. And also, remember she was raised as a Lannister for her first five years, they always pay their debts.

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ Oh my goodness! Three reviews! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! I do have a question though, how did you find it if you don't watch Game of Thrones? I'm intrigued! And also astounded that you're rereading it while you wait for updates. There is a huge compliment to read that!  
As for updating, I used to have a very regular update schedule, a chapter a day for seven days and then a week off and then repeat. I don't do that anymore, mostly because these chapters are huge. But I'm hoping to get at least a chapter out every other week, on good weeks you might even get two! But no matter the update schedule, I can promise this... **I will finish this story.**

 _ZiggyHoltz:_ Oh dear! I am so sorry. But I kind of love the idea that you read it all and spent a moment a bit lost when you couldn't just hit the next button! Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you enjoy my writing, and I'm even happier that you're more excited for the character deviations. There's a lot more of those coming your way soon!  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And that it was worth the wait!

 _Sakura19Haruno95:_ Three days straight? Welcome to the binge reader club, my friend! I think there are like thirty of you running around here these days! I'm glad that you enjoyed it and finally got around to reading it! I hope I didn't leave you hanging for too long!

That's it guys, all I've got for today! I've got to finish cleaning my house because I've got people coming over tonight. Why? Because ... guess what night it is? **Cavs opener**! You know how I love the Cavs. I've been wearing my LeBron jersey since six am.  
I'll be back soon (reviews might make me come back sooner!).  
Until then,  
Chloe Jane.


	68. Chapter Sixty-Eight: Hollow

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Guys, guys! We didn't celebrate this with the last chapter, but I'll celebrate now. We're at 500,000 words! **500,000!** Damn.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Eight: Hollow_

 _Robb_

 _He could taste blood in his mouth. It was warm, and smooth as silk. He licked his lips, savoring the metallic taste. There was blood around his mouth, his tongue flicked out, warm and licked at some of it. It was drying, sticking to his fur. He would need to find a stream to clean it off before it hardened. Behind him a man moved, slowly inching his way across the forest floor on his stomach, moaning with every inch._

 _He turned, spying the man's insides trailing behind him as he crawled. The man was no threat to him now, but he had been a threat to her. They all had been._

 _A growl rose in his throat as he lunged forward, jumping on the man and tearing at the back of his throat, only stopping when more warm blood rushed into his mouth and the man stopped writhing beneath him._

 _These men, for their weapons and battle cries were weak and afraid._

 _But she hadn't been._

 _When he had caught onto her scent and followed it into the woods. It had smelled like fear. Bitter and sharp. But when he called out to her, willing her to recognize him - to know him. Her fear had lifted. It was replaced by the sweatier smell of the men's fear, but she had no longer been afraid._

 _Not only did she know him. But she trusted him._

 _Her horse had been too fast. By the time he attacked, going after the men that had been at the front of the party she was gone. He had killed as many as he could. And now he would follow her scent back to where they had taken her._

 _He would not lose her._

 _He recognized this wood. The smells were the smells of his early days. The plants looked familiar. The soil and snow were old friends under his paws._

 _And when he found himself on the wrong side of the tall stone walls, he knew them too_.

...

His chest was tight when he awoke. His hands were clenched into tight fists. His throat felt raw, as if he had spent the night screaming her name to the sky. And perhaps he had. He opened his eyes, forcing himself to breathe and found Anguy, the archer, staring at him from across the fire. It was almost dawn; a few stars still twinkled in the lightening sky, waiting to greet the sun as it rose over the horizon. He struggled to sit up, the muscles in his back and shoulders contracted painfully, tugging as if they had been in use while he was sleeping.

The corners of the archer's lips twitched for a moment as they stared at each other over the flames. He didn't know what to call it, the man was not smiling, at least not happily, it seemed rueful and bitter. "Where did you go last night?" the man asked softly.

He had to lean forward to hear the question. Even so, the muscles near his ear twitched, as if trying to turn his wolf ears toward the archer. He started, _wolf ears_ , it was a strange thought. He was a man, that was one of the few things he was certain of. He did not have _wolf ears_. At least not when he was awake. His dreams were another story. And last night's had felt _so_ real. He could have sworn when he woke up that he could still taste the blood from the last kill in his mouth.

He glanced at the archer, the man was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. "I did not go anywhere," he told the archer, certain that he had not moved since he had laid himself down beside the fire the night before.

"Not physically, perhaps," the archer told him, his voice soft. "But you went _somewhere._ Where did you go?"

The man was going to think that he was touched. Even with that thought, that warning, the words escaped his lips before he could stop them. "I was with _her_."

"With who?" the archer asked, making him say her name. Over the last fortnight the archer had realized that he avoided saying _her_ name. And now Anguy made him use it whenever he talked about her.

His throat tightened. He felt as if he could not pull in a proper breath no matter how hard he tried. His heart started racing, his chest heaved with his effort to breathe. "Lenora," he gasped out, everything calming down the instant he said her name, as if she were a salve or a balm. A medicine for an ailment he had not even known he was suffering from. He hated it, for how weak he would seem, but he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. "Her name is Lenora."

Anguy smiled at him and nodded, as if proud. "It'll get easier," he told him, his voice soft and gentle. "Especially now that you remember her."

"I remembered her before," he growled out, angry that this man, this stranger would presume to know how he felt, to know that he would one day feel better. This archer did not know how it felt to be in his bones; the archer did not know what it was to feel chained to a body that he barely recognized; the archer did not know how it felt to run free every night, to follow her scent and smell her fear as she was dragged from one keep to another. The archer knew nothing.

He felt his fists clench, for a moment he imagined wrapping them around the man's neck and choking the life out of him. Holding the man by his throat until the light left his dark eyes. He took a deep breath and slowly unclenched his hands. This was not _him_ , it was the darkness, this was not the way _Robb Stark_ felt. "I remembered her before," he repeated again, his voice cracking. "I remembered Lenora before."

"Aye," Anguy told him with a nod. "You did. But you never let her in. You were still hollow. Now you're starting to fill yourself back up."

His gaze quickly darted to the archer's face. For a man who knew nothing about what he was going through, the archer seemed to know a good deal. He had felt hollow, for a long time, ever since he had woken up. He still felt hollow, but each day he felt a little less so. Perhaps he was becoming more himself.

Perhaps one day he would wake up and belong to the name _Robb Stark_ again.

Perhaps one day he would wake up and be the man that Lenora Baratheon had loved again.

The archer understood him in a way he didn't think any of the other men could. He leaned closer to him, watching carefully. "I dreamt I was a wolf last night," he whispered.

Anguy shrugged, he looked unimpressed. "You are a wolf, my lord."

"No," he said, shaking his head, the archer did not understand what he was telling him, he didn't see. "I dreamt I was a true wolf, a direwolf. I was running, attacking men. I could smell her, _Lenora_ , she was there. I had found her. It felt so real. Is that even possible?"

Anguy shrugged his shoulders again, "Who am I to say?" he asked, glancing up toward the ever brightening sky. "The first time I saw you, you were dead, a body that had been washed down the river, waiting for the Stranger. But the next morning you were walking and eating and talking, the same as the rest of us. Who am I to say what is possible?"

...

They were still traveling south. For his sake they stayed off the main roads. Thoros had promised him that they would not allow him to be returned to the Lannisters at any cost. "I'll kill you myself before I allow them the satisfaction," he had told him before swallowing a large sip from his flask one night. They walked through the woods, on smaller roads and trails that ran parallel to the main road. Often just wide enough to admit a pair, sometimes they moved in a single file line.

He was walking by himself now, just behind Lem and Thoros. The two ahead of him walked squeezed tightly together on a trail barely wide enough for one man, certainly not for two. They were whispering. He moved closer to them, keeping his face blank in case one of them looked back, but determined to hear what they were whispering about.

"Heard someone on the road yesterday evening saying that she wasn't south. That Bolton had snatched her after the massacre at the Twins and taken her north instead," Lem whispered to Thoros as they walked.

Thoros nodded, he had heard that rumor too judging by the lack of surprise on his face. "Heard that too," he whispered back.

"Then why are we going south?" Lem asked, nodding toward the empty trail in front of them. "If _she's_ north?"

"Do we know that rumor is true?" Thoros asked. "I have been looking in the flames every night, but the Lord of Light will not give me an answer. There's a whole lot of north where Bolton could have stashed her. Especially now that he has control of the Moat."

Lem looked at him, a pointed look, "He'd want to keep her close," he argued. "And everyone knows that he has taken up residence at Winterfell, calls himself Lord of it now. She'd be there too. I'd stake my life on it."

"And what if it's an ambush?" Thoros asked. "What if someone's seen _him_ and they've started this rumor to lure him north only to kill him again?" The priest shook his head. "I did not lose my friend to bring this man back from the dead only to lose him again because _you_ fell for a trap."

"Why don't we ask him then?" Lem asked. "Tell him all we know, everything we've heard. He has a right to know after all. It's his wife, his people, his land. Tell him all of it and let him make his own decision. We have no right to dictate how he lives the rest of his life."

"But we have a right to keep him alive for it," Thoros argued. "Lord Beric did not sacrifice his own life to bring Robb Stark back to send him on a wild chase through the woods. He was brought back because he has a destiny. His destiny is in the south."

Lem arched an eyebrow, "And how likely do you think he will be to play his part when he finds out that his wife is held captive in the North?"

" _Might be held captive_ ," Thoros argued, his voice a sharp whisper. "We do not know that she is in the north. Her queen mother would have every reason to want her back in the south."

"And we do not know if she is in the south," Lem countered. "Roose Bolton would have more than enough incentive to want to keep her under his control."

...

"Lenora is at Winterfell," he told them that night as they ate a meager supper around the fire. He didn't look up from his food, he did not want to see the skeptical looks on their faces. He didn't want to see their disbelief when he explained how he knew where she was. "Roose Bolton never sent her south to her family, she is held captive at Winterfell."

It was quiet for a few long minutes, as if none of the men knew how to address his statement. Finally Thoros swallowed a large sip from his flask and leaned forward. "And how do you know that?" the man asked, watching him with furrowed brows.

"I saw her," he told the man, making eye contact so that the priest would understand just how certain he was.

"You saw her?" Thoros echoed, he did not believe him. "And when did you see her at Winterfell, boy?"

"In a dream," he told them, his gaze never leaving the priest. He knew how strange this sounded, how unbelievable it was. He was asking a lot from the men. If someone had told him they had seen something like this in a dream before he had died, he wouldn't have believed them either. But now he was asking them to believe him. "I was a wolf, _my_ wolf. I followed her scent all the way to Winterfell."

Thoros leaned back. "But you said it yourself, boy. It was a dream."

He could remember waking up and still tasting the blood in his mouth. He could still feel the soreness of his muscles, as if he had been running on all fours for the entire night though he had never left his spot by the fire. It had been a dream, yes, but he was sure that it was also real. He glanced across the fire, making eye contact with Anguy, silently asking the man to back him up. Just that morning the archer had told him that anything could be possible. The brown haired man shook his head quietly. He might believe anything could be possible, but he wasn't going to stand up in front of the brotherhood and say that he believed that Robb Stark turned into a giant direwolf every night and tracked his wife all the way to Winterfell.

"It felt real," he told them, defending himself.

"They all do," Tom Sevenstrings assured him, glancing at Thoros to make sure that he should be discouraging him. The priest nodded. Tom glanced back, more sure of himself now. "She's south, my lord, that's where her family is. And that's where we'll find her. I promise you."

A growl began to rise in his throat, rumbling in a not entirely human way. A memory of the dream when he had been a wolf, unable to communicate with anything other than growls and calls. He clenched his fists and forced the growl to die in his throat. Perhaps they were right, perhaps it had only been a dream.

And perhaps she really was safe in the south.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

The Tyrell girl was truly horrible. Never in her entire life had Cersei ever met someone who was so intent on making her miserable as the slut from Highgarden. Before Tommen's coronation Tywin had decreed that Tommen and Margaery would be married, but it had not yet been publicly announced. In spite of the pain she had felt when Tyrion murdered her father, Cersei had allowed herself to hope that now that he was out from under Tywin's control, Tommen might listen to her when she dissuaded him from marrying the Tyrell girl.

But she was slower than she had been when she was young. And Margaery seemed more desperate than she had ever been. While she was mourning her father Margaery had cozied up to Tommen and persuaded him to announce to the court that he meant to take her as his wife and queen. There was no going back on it now, no matter how much Cersei misliked the arrangement. Her son thought himself in love with the slut and the court was pleased with the announcement.

Even though the War of the Seven Kings was all but over, Stannis was still out there somewhere, biding his time with the men he had left. And the North had shut itself off from the south after the Frey wedding at the Twins. Roose Bolton had stayed in contact with her father just long enough to be named temporary Warden of the North and given Winterfell before he had grabbed Lenora and spirited her just out of Cersei's reach. The riverlands were giving the Frey's a bit more trouble than they had anticipated. And on top of all of it, the days were getting ever shorter. It would not be long before the Citadel sent out their white birds, signaling the official beginning of winter.

There was a battle on every front. Whether it was with man or the cold. And it would do the crown well to have the Tyrells for an ally. One whose self-interest was linked with the crown's own interest. And when winter came the lords and ladies of King's Landing would be more than grateful for the grains that would arrive from Highgarden.

She could see all the benefits of the match, if she forced herself to. But she still misliked it. And she absolutely hated the girl.

Margaery Tyrell might have tricked Tommen, but she did not fool Cersei. Cersei knew all of her games, she had been playing them for far longer. And she would be playing them longer than the girl could ever imagine.

She entered the girl's chambers without waiting to be announced. The girl might be marrying Tommen that afternoon, but she was not queen yet, that title still belonged to Cersei for a few more precious hours. Margaery's ladies were dressing her in her wedding finery, a gorgeous gown of gold brocade with bell sleeves. Her hair a careful mess of honey colored curls tumbling from an antlered tiara. She turned from the mirror she stood in front of, her eyes wide with surprise, but when her gaze landed on Cersei she smiled.

"Your Grace," she greeted as she turned back toward the mirror. She did not curtsy, she did not even nod. She was taking liberties that Cersei would not have allowed anyone else, but the girl was going to be her daughter by law, and her queen.

Cersei pursed her lips together as she moved further into the chamber. She clasped her hands in front of her. "You sent for me?" she asked. Margaery was taking advantage of the fact that she was soon to be queen to be impolite to Cersei, and Cersei would take advantage of the fact that the girl was not queen _yet_ to be just as impolite.

Margaery turned, smiling at her over her shoulder. "I thought it would be nice to invite you to help me to dress," she told Cersei, her smiling tightening a bit. "What with your daughters -" her voice dropped off.

"My daughters?" Cersei asked, arching a brow. She shook her head, "I don't understand."

Margaery's smile did not reach her eyes. It looked false. "Well, with Lenora married to Robb Stark in the North without you. And Myrcella in Dorne, Tommen says that she is to marry Prince Trystane before the next moon's turn. He said that you were not invited to the wedding."

Cersei's jaw clenched, she did not need this stupid girl reminding her of how far away her daughters were. She did not need to be reminded of how long it had been since she had seen them. "And you thought that I would want to help you dress for your wedding to my son?" she bit out, her voice clipped and cold.

Margaery nodded, that pretend smile on her lips again. "Well, you are to be my mother after this afternoon," she told her, his voice gentle, though it had a playful ring to it. She knew exactly what her words would do to Cersei. "And while I can never take the place of your daughters, I had hoped that I might be a substitute of sorts. You were unable to dress Lenora for her wedding, you will be unable to dress Myrcella for her wedding." She turned fully now, holding out the heavy golden dress.

Her ladies smiled and cooed about how kind it was for Margaery to think of Cersei and her daughters on her wedding day. But Cersei's throat tightened as she stared at the girl through narrowed eyes. It seemed a sweet enough offer, a kind one. But Cersei saw it for what it was, a cruel dig about how her daughters were lost to her. She didn't want to be a replacement, she didn't want to be a substitute, she wanted to be a reminder. And she would do so by reducing Cersei to little more than a handmaiden, one who should feel grateful to tie the laces of her wedding gown.

She clenched her jaw as she moved forward, taking the dress out of Margaery's hands. "You are too kind, Lady Margaery," she told the girl, playing the part she was expected to despite this insult.

The dress was already unlaced, she pulled it open wide enough that the girl would be able to step into it and glanced at the brunette, waiting. The girl giggled and shook her head, "I'm sorry," she apologized, as if she had anything to be ashamed for. "I'm afraid that I am so nervous about the ceremony this afternoon that I have lost any sort of sense of balance. Would you mind?" she gestured toward the ground.

Cersei swallowed and shot the girl a glare as she knelt on the ground, bringing the gown low enough that Margaery would have no problem stepping into it. She had not simply been reduced to the role of handmaiden, but almost to chamber maid. Margaery placed a hand on her shoulder under the pretense of needing help balancing; she pushed Cersei even closer to the ground as she stepped into the dress. And then Cersei slowly stood, pulling the dress up as she went.

Margaery smiled at her as she slipped her hands into the bell sleeves. And then the rest of her ladies rushed forward, pushing Cersei out of the way. "Thank you so much, Your Grace," Margaery sneered at her over her shoulder as she was quickly shoved away. "I shall cherish that memory for all my life."

...

Tommen had had no time for her after his wedding ceremony or during his feast. He was too wrapped up in everything; the congratulations of his court, the beauty of his queen, the savory food, and the wine he was finally allowed to drink. He had been drunk after one goblet and Cersei was reminded of how young he was, he was a child still. One that the court was about to bring to bed with a wife.

He had barely left his chambers that first day after the wedding. It was only two days after he had made the slut his wife that he finally made time for her. He called her to the throne room and then brought her for a walk along the outer wall of the Red Keep.

It was a familiar walk, one she had taken many times with her children. If she closed her eyes she could still imagine it, it had not been so many years after all. Robert had secured a nursemaid for her, but she did not allow the strange woman to touch her children. She carried the baby Tommen on her own hip, Myrcella toddled along beside her, one hand fisted in Cersei's skirts to help her balance, Lenora and Joffrey running along behind, squealing and giggling and fighting each other with wooden play swords. She had been happy then.

It had been so long since she could remember being happy, but she imagined that it felt very similar to how she felt now, walking beside her youngest son, a boy who had now grown taller than herself. He wore his crown just as well as he sat the throne, he looked comfortable and secure. She had once thought that Lenora was the only child she had not ruined. But now as she looked up at Tommen she thought that perhaps he had escaped her curse as well.

"You look well," she told him as she looped her arm through his, pulling him closer to her.

Tommen smiled down at her. "As do you, Mother," he told her, his voice gentle. His gaze swept past her, looking out over the wall at the sea beyond. He no longer looked as comfortable as he had just a moment before. He looked troubled. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he sighed and shook his head.

"What is it?" Cersei asked him, her brows furrowing. "What is it, my love?"

"Have you had word from Uncle Jaime?" Tommen asked her, bringing his gaze back to her face. "The ceremony the other day was beautiful and everything Margaery and I could have wanted, but I did miss Lenora. I wish that we had waited until Uncle Jaime was able to bring her home to us before the ceremony. She would have loved helping Margaery get ready for it."

Cersei's smile felt tight and stretched as she nodded. "I'm sure she would have," she agreed with her son. "Your sister has always wanted nothing but happiness for you. And even _I_ can see that Lady Margaery makes you happy."

" _Queen_ ," Tommen corrected, distracted from his previous thought by Cersei's statement. " _Queen Margaery_."

Cersei nodded again, "Of course," she agreed. " _Queen_ Margaery." She was quiet for a moment before she spoke again. "I have had no word from your uncle," she told him, addressing his question. "Though he told me that he would not send word until he had her. So I think it will be a long while before we hear from him, and then it will be good news."

Tommen nodded, a smile slipping onto his lips. He was as tall as a man, but he was still very much a boy, one who always believed the best. He had no doubt that his uncle would rescue his sister. And now that his mother had confirmed it, he no longer needed to be troubled by it. He changed the subject. "Did you enjoy yourself at the ceremony, Mother?"

She nodded, a lie. She had not enjoyed herself, but she was able to make it appear as though she had. "I enjoyed how happy you looked," she told him, a truth. "And you still do." She pulled him a bit closer, so that he was pressed tight against her arm and her side. "You look very much in love," she told him, swallowing her distaste at the thought. "The first days of marriage are always so blissful."

Tommen nodded in agreement. "And mine more than most," he told her, boasting with a child's confidence. "I am sure there has never been a happier King and Queen than Margaery and myself."

 _Not one in recent memory at least_ , Cersei thought to herself. "She certainly is very pretty isn't she?" Cersei asked him, attributing her son's happiness to the girl's looks. She had to be careful, she did not want Tommen to think that she did not like the Tyrell girl, but she wanted to undermine his appreciation of her. If she were careful, by the end of the conversation she would have her son believing that everything worthwhile about the girl was tied up in her looks. And then he would realize that he still needed his mother and her mind to help him run the kingdom.

"Like a doll," she continued, smirking when she watched her son's brows furrow out of the corner of her eyes. "She smiles a lot."

In her earlier days Cersei had smiled a lot too. Though there had always been thought behind her smiles. She was told once that while her smile was as bright as the summer sun, it set men on edge, worried about what she was plotting. Margaery's smiles were nothing like that, they were fake and simple. There was very little plotting and no intelligence behind them. "Do you think she is intelligent?" Cersei asked her son, turning to look at him with a smile and a laugh. "I can't quite tell."

He looked so uncertain now, so unsure of himself. Her laughter softened into a smile, she had won. "Not that it really matters," she continued, about to assure Tommen that he did not need an intelligent queen when he had an intelligent mother.

"Do you ever miss Casterly Rock?" Tommen asked, turning to look at her and interrupting her before she could continue.

"There's nothing for me in Casterly Rock," she assured him. She could not understand why he was asking her that.

Tommen pulled his arm out of her grasp and moved to stand in front of her, blocking her path. "But that's where you grew up," he told her, his voice so earnest that she believed that he believed what he was saying without a shadow of a doubt. "You always told me that you liked the people there better. You said that King's Landing smelled of horse dung and sour milk."

It was her son speaking, her son's words, but it was the Highgarden slut that had put the thought into his head. She knew that. She had to remind herself that the son she had raised would never have even thought to send her away if it weren't for him being poisoned against her by Margaery, and even a bit by her own father before he had died. _This_ was not the boy she loved.

She forced herself to laugh, just one hard chuckle. "Why are we speaking of Casterly Rock?" she asked him, suspicion coloring her tone.

He shrugged his shoulders, still watching her with his sincere green eyes. "The way you talked about it, I always thought that you missed it. That it was your _real_ home -"

"This is my real home now," Cersei cut in. "Where my family lives."

Tommen smiled kindly, but that was not the answer that he had wanted. "I want you to be happy, Mother," he told her softly.

"I know you do," she told him. "I know that, my sweet boy."

"And wouldn't you be happier at Casterly Rock?" he pressed.

 _You mean that your wife would be happier with me at Casterly Rock_ she thought as she pressed a kiss against his cheek.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

The dinner hall was crowded when Jon walked in. He could only remember one time in all his days at Castle Black that it had been this full, and that had been when one of the rangers had taken down a bear just north of the Wall and brought it back to be turned into stew. There was no stew now though, only a vote. Tonight the Black Brothers had gathered to vote and name Ser Alliser Thorne the new Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

Jon sat down at a table with a few other stewards as Maester Aemon stood from his seat at the center of the high table and cleared his throat, politely calling for silence from the men before him. "Does anyone wish to speak for candidates before we cast our tokens for the nine hundred and ninety-eighth Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?"

He had barely finished his question when Lord Janos Slynt stood from his bench, turning not to address the high table, but to the men that filled the hall. "Ser Alliser Thorne is not just a knight," he proclaimed, turning to give the man in question a simpering smile. "He is a man of true nobility." Jon rolled his eyes, he had known _true nobility_ and Ser Alliser Thorne was the complete opposite of it. Jon's father had been truly noble, his brother Robb, Lenora Baratheon, and even Tyrion Lannister had shown him what it truly meant to be noble. It mean to be kind, and just and understanding. It meant to judge people fairly, and to treat them as if they were every bit as important as the king himself. Ser Alliser Thorne had never treated anyone with that level of kindness and nobility. There was no use pretending it now.

"He was acting Commander when the Wall came under attack," Slynt continued. "And he led us to victory against the Wildlings!" Several of the men around Jon cheered their agreement to that statement. "He is the veteran of a hundred battles and has been a defender of the Watch and the Wall for almost all his life." More cheers from the men around Jon. Slynt looked around, daring anyone to argue with him. "He is the only true choice," he announced as he took his seat.

Another man stood, one of the Black Brothers from Eastwatch By the Sea. "Ser Dennis Mallister joined the Watch as a boy," he announced, gesturing toward his candidate. "And has served loyally, longer than any other ranger." The agreement to this statement was not as loud, but Jon could see many of the men nodding in silent agreement to what they heard. "Through ten winters he served. As commander of the Shadow Tower he kept the Wildlings away. We could do no better." Men clapped, a few cheered. Jon banged his cup against the table in agreement. He would rather serve Ser Dennis Mallister than Ser Alliser Thorne.

"If there is no one else," Maester Aemon's voice cut through the noise, "we will begin the voting. The triangular tokens count for Ser Alliser Thorne, the square tokens for Ser Dennis Mallister. Each one of you -"

"Maester Aemon!" Sam interrupted the maester from behind where Jon was sitting. All the men, Jon included turned to look at Sam in surprise and confusion. He looked so scared, so afraid. His fists were clenched around his belt, Jon knew, to keep the shaking at bay. His lip trembled a bit when he realized that he was going to have to speak with the full attention of the Night's Watch.

"Samwell Tarly," Maester Aemon acknowledged. "Go on."

Sam's large eyes landed on Jon. Jon shook his head, he couldn't be sure, he didn't want to presume, but it looked as though Sam intended to put _his_ name forward as a candidate. That was the last thing that Jon wanted or needed.

"Sam the Slayer," Lord Janos Slynt commented sarcastically, filling the silence with laughter at Sam's expense. "Another Wildling lover just like his friend Jon Snow. How's your lady love, _Slayer_?"

"Her name is Gilly," Sam defended the girl. "Brother Slynt knows her quite well, they cowered together in the larder during the Battle for the Wall." His voice was still shaking, but it got stronger as the men in the hall laughed, this time at _Slynt's_ expense, rather than his own. "A Wildling girl, a baby, and Lord Janos. I found him there after the battle was over in a puddle of his own making."

The laughter got louder. Jon glanced up at the high table, even Maester Aemon was smiling at the picture Sam was painting. He dropped his gaze to the table in front of him when Sam began speaking again. "Whilst Lord Janos was hiding with the women and the children, Jon Snow was leading," he announced to the hall. "Ser Alliser fought bravely, tis true. But when he was wounded it was Jon Snow who saved us. He took charge of the Wall's defense, he killed the Magnar of the Thens; he went North to deal with Mance Raider, knowing it almost certainly meant his own death."

Jon shook his head. He liked Sam; protected him from many of the other Brothers, appreciated his friendship, but he did not like the way Sam was speaking about him now. Sam was making him sound brave and honorable when all he had done on the night of the battle was what he had sworn to do. He was no better, no braver than any of the men in the hall, save of course Lord Janos Slynt. But Sam was making him sound as if he were the bravest one of all.

"Before that, he led the mission to avenge Lord Commander Mormont. Mormont, himself choose Jon to be his steward, he saw something in Jon and now we've all seen it too. He may be young, but he was the commander we turned to when the night was darkest."

The men around him cheered, some even clapped Jon on the back. Jon turned, looking at them with wide eyes. _This_ was not what he wanted. However little support he got would seem like a threat to Ser Alliser. And when he was named Lord Commander, which he would be, it would only serve to make Jon's life at the Wall _that_ much harder.

Ser Alliser himself stood up and cleared his throat, "I can't argue with any of that," he told them, his gaze moving from Sam to Jon. "But who does Jon Snow want to command? The Night's Watch or the Wildlings? Everyone knows that he loved a Wildling girl, he spoke with Mance Raider many times. What would have happened in that tent between those two old friends if Stannis' army hadn't come along? We all saw him put the King Beyond the Wall out of his misery. Do you want to choose a man who has fought the Wildlings all his life or one who makes love to them?"

He was staring at Jon, baiting him, daring him to speak up in his defense. But Jon wouldn't do it. He had not wanted the nomination, he did not want to speak up against Ser Alliser. He dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. After a long moment Maester Aemon spoke, "It is time to vote," he announced.

There were three types of tokens now. Triangular for Ser Alliser, square for Ser Mallister, and circular for Jon Snow. Jon cast his vote with a square token, one of the small few who voted for Ser Mallister. The rest of the votes were split between himself and Ser Alliser. It was a tie, as the steward whispered to Maester Aemon.

The blind man stood up, he had not yet cast his vote. His hand reached out, touching the corners and lines that made up the triangular tokens for Ser Alliser. And then he moved one rod over and dropped a circular token.

The room broke out in cheers and yells, men banged their cups against the tables. Ser Alliser's corner was quiet.

Jon Snow had been named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

"Where are we going?" the boy asked as they rode down one of the lesser used roads that led north. This was the first time the boy had really spoken to Tyrion since he had agreed to travel north with him. For the most part he had been playing sullen and angry.

He did not like Tyrion, he hated Lannisters, not that Tyrion could really blame him. Tyrion did not much like him either, but he had needed someone to travel with, someone to protect him, and King's Landing had long since stopped being safe for Robert's bastards. It was in their mutual best interest to travel together, even though neither could stand the other.

Tyrion turned slightly in his saddle to look at the boy, or man rather for that was what he was. He looked so much like his father, so much like his noble born sister. They had the same dark brown hair, the same grey eyes. For a moment back at the smith's he had thought that he was staring at Robert's ghost, now he thought that he might as well be looking at Lenora's twin brother. They were _that_ similar.

He turned back to the road ahead of them, "You have a sister you know," he told the young man, answering his sullen question in the most round about way he could imagine.

Gendry rolled his eyes, "I have two of them," he corrected. "The princesses. And a brother in the king."

Tyrion chuckled low and dark and shook his head. "You don't have to pretend with me, boy," he assured the dark haired man. "I am as aware as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms that Tommen is no Baratheon King, neither was Joffrey. And Myrcella is as close to a Baratheon princess as I am." He glanced over his shoulder to watch how the young man was taking it. He looked surprised that Tyrion was so willing to admit that his sister had made a cuckold of King Robert. He chuckled again, "Yes," he laughed, "I will admit it. I'm perhaps one of the few people in this entire kingdom who will admit it out loud. You have _one_ sister."

"Lenora," Gendry breathed quietly. "What is she like?"

Tyrion chuckled, "Wondered about her, have you?" he asked.

Gendry nodded. He didn't make eye contact with Tyrion when he spoke, it was as if the boy were ashamed to admit what he said next. "Ever since I found out who I really was," he told Tyrion. "I look like him, no one's told me, but I know. The two Hands and yourself all looked like you were staring at a ghost the first time you saw me."

Tyrion nodded, "I thought I was," he admitted to the young man. "I had wondered who had drugged my wine. You looked exactly like the Robert I had known before he took the Mad King's throne. Just as young, just as confident," he nodded toward the young man's arms, "just as muscled. You have his hair and his eyes."

"And so does she," Gendry agreed. "I've never seen the lady, but I've heard. No one ever dared to name her bastard. They say she is beautiful."

Tyrion smiled. He enjoyed reading, he enjoyed whores, he enjoyed drinking and making fun of people's weaknesses, but he always got an unselfish joy from hearing people praise his niece. While he had very little to do with her looks, he liked to think that he had played a part when it came to the development of her mind. He had helped her learn to read after all. And there had been many afternoons when he and the princess had spent their time trying to outsmart each other with their own made up riddles. "She is," Tyrion agreed. "As beautiful as her mother, though dark and silver eyed like your father."

"And is she kind?" Gendry asked, hesitating a bit with his next question.

If Tyrion had to guess he would assume that the young man guessed that they were riding north to find Lenora. Of course he would want to know if she were kind. He was her bastard brother after all. He would be worried that she would try to have him killed as Joffrey had done, or that she would judge him as the rest of the world did. He nodded, the boy was pretending not to be watching him, but his shoulder's relaxed at Tyrion's silent nod. "She's much kinder than most of this world deserves," he told the boy.

"And why are we headed north?" Gendry asked.

Tyrion started a bit. He had assumed that they boy had some sort of understanding of what was happening in the Seven Kingdoms. But he looked just as lost as his question had suggested. He did not know what was happening, he did not seem to know that Lenora was being held captive in the North. "We're going to rescue her," Tyrion told him, keeping his answer as simple as possible. "After her husband was murdered she was taken captive. We're going to rescue her."

Gendry snorted, "You and me?" he asked incredulously. "A blacksmith and an imp are going to go rescue the princess?"

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders, "When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous."

"When you say it any way it sounds ridiculous," Gendry cut in, still chuckling. "She'll be guarded. What use are _you_ against guards?" He shook his head. "You can't fight." He glanced to his side, his grey eyes landing on the war hammer he had taken with him when he left the forge. "I'm good with this, but I'm not my father."

"You will be," Tyrion assured him. "You'll just need some practice." He looked forward again, watching for travelers. If anyone came toward them they needed to move off the trail and hide in the woods. He had no doubt that his sister had sent men after him to bring him back to King's Landing dead or alive. "And I am no good in a fight, but I excel at paying men off. You kill some guards, I bribe the others, and we'll rescue ourselves a princess in no time."

"And then what will we do with her?" Gendry asked. "You can't mean to bring her back to King's Landing?"

"That's exactly what I mean to do," Tyrion assured him, his voice strong and hard. He had given it a great deal of thought in the days since he had left King's Landing. "And we'll put her on the throne."

Gendry turned to look at him, giving him his full attention. "Brother to the queen," he joked, sitting up a bit straighter in his saddle. "I like the sound of that."

Tyrion nodded, "But first we need to rescue her."

Gendry shook his head, "If this is really what you want to do, first we will have to find some help. I want to meet my sister, I'm not sure if I'm ready to die for her."

Tyrion glanced at him sharply, "You should have told me that before we started our journey," he scolded the boy.

"I didn't know our purpose when we started our journey!" Gendry countered, smiling to soften the blow.

Tyrion nodded. "Our purpose is to rescue the princess. And then to see her safely put on the Iron Throne." He turned toward Gendry, his brow furrowed a bit. "If we see the death of my sister during that process, I would not be opposed."

Gendry chuckled as his hands clenched into fists, "You and me both, Lannister." His grey eyes took on a bit of a far away look for a moment before he shook his head and found his way back to the present. "I've got a friend," he explained. "She's got a list of people she wants dead. Your sister's name is at the top of it."

"And what sort of friend is this?" Tyrion asked with a laugh. He enjoyed the ridiculousness of one of the common folk making secret plans to kill Cersei, a girl at that.

"A lady," Gendry admitted. "And one I never deserved."

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm quite proud of this chapter. I must admit it. And as such I was not nervous about it until the moment I typed that sentence. Now I'm worried that you guys won't like it. It's weird, but the more I like a chapter the more worried I am that I will be the only person who did like it.  
And so here I am, hoping that you guys enjoyed this chapter too.  
You did, right?  
(I'm going to assume you're nodding your heads ...) Good, me too.  
As ever, thank you so much for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites lists, and most of all thank you for reviewing! Those more than anything tell me whether or not I'm doing well here.  
So keep them coming, you have no idea how appreciated they are.

 _Padfootette:_ I'm so glad that you loved the last chapter! Hopefully this update did not disappoint! Thank you so much for your review!

 _JaxAndCharlieTeller:_ Yay Yay Yay! I'm back. (And also back again!) I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too. (More Jon because I love him and I've kept him away for too long. And while I'm still not completely comfortable writing in his voice the only way to get better is to keep trying, right?)  
It's totally okay to use the name Lenora if you want to. Maybe just give a little credit to me, I obviously did not make up the name, but I went through a lot of stories to make sure that it wasn't a super overused name. Lenora went through several name changes before I settled on it because I wanted to make sure that it fit in the GoT universe and also fit our girl. But yeah, if you want to use it, go ahead. And let me know when you publish it so I can read it. I'm sure it will be just as good as this one.  
I did see the interview! It was adorable!  
Yup, I'm a Cavs fan. We're not doing so hot this season, but I've got faith my boys are going to figure it out. Oh no ... Warriors fan? We can be friends until we meet again in the finals, and then we'll see. I can respect Curry, but you guys pulled a trick last year with Durant. His team lost their shot at the finals, if he wanted to get traded to the Warriors, that's fine, but he should have rode the bench until this season. But that's just one Cleveland fan's opinion.  
Huh. I guess I never explained that. Good question. I would assume that the Frey men sewed a normal wolf head (remember Arya thought it looked too small) onto the body of a dead man they dressed up to look like Robb. And that would explain why they sewed the head on, not as humiliation, but as a mask. (Think Theon and the miller's boys he burned to hide the fact that they weren't Bran and Rickon.)  
The conversation between Catelyn and *gag*Talisa*gag* is one of my favorites in the show. And I thought so hard about putting it in this story, went back and forth over it so many times before I ultimately decided to scrap it. But another reviewer had a thought to bring it up as a flashback when Lenora meets Jon. And while I won't do a flashback, I have an idea about how to sort of work it in. I hope you'll enjoy it when we get to that point!

 _JanaOliver:_ I know! It seems so far away! But I promise the reunion will be stupendous when it happens, and completely worth the wait!

 _Spidey-phd:_ I love Grey Wind too! And I'm so happy he's alive. I cry a little every time a direwolf dies, so I decided to keep a few of them alive. The girl died, Grey Wind wouldn't have attacked her, but she was injured and in the snow. But don't worry, the rumors of Grey Wind (and perhaps Robb Stark's return) will be spreading soon.

 _bellaphant:_ I'm so happy that you enjoyed Jon and Grey Wind! You got more of them in this chapter! And some Robb thrown in for good measure! I hope you enjoyed it!

 _writingNOOB:_ I loved writing a scared Ramsay. It gave me enough of a muse that I went ahead and skipped a couple chapters and wrote about another scared Ramsay, this time after the Battle of the Bastards. And let me tell you, it was super satisfying. And I can't wait for you guys to read it!  
I've also written about when Lenora meets Gendry and I think you'll enjoy it. She doesn't know him, she's never heard of him. But she'll recognize him. He looks too much like her father for her not to. You caught a self indulgent glimpse of him in this chapter, mostly because I adore him and Tyrion together.

 _Guest1995:_ The wedding is closing in (it happens in the next chapter to be exact). But don't worry, Ramsay will not be having his way with her. I can promise you that.  
And you are pretty close to the money with your Grey Wind assumption. He will be there when she escapes. And your wish is my command ... ROBB!  
Don't worry! I love your multiple reviews. It's a huge compliment because it means that the story sticks in your mind for a while. So not at all annoying. As for who's going to find Lenora first ... you'll just have to wait and see. (Can't give away all my secrets.)  
Back again with another review! I love it! And I love your theory about Cersei and the Evil Queen from Snow White. (I honestly love any time that Disney can be linked to any other fandom.) It's something that I hadn't thought about before, but it's a trope that the show seems to be following (and my story too even unintentionally). And I'm thinking there might be a way I can play with it further down the road. Maybe ...

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Gamemaster77:_ I'm glad that the last update notification made you happy and I hope that this one made you just as happy. Jon's not going to deviate too much from cannon until after he meets Lenora, mostly because there's some things that **have** to happen and also because cannon is kind of my security blanket while I'm getting used to writing in someone's voice. Unfortunately he will be killed by his men, but I have a reason for it. You just gotta trust me. (I agree though, **fuck Olly** ).  
As for Jaime, he's quietly realizing how toxic Cersei is. You're going to get some insight into what's going on in his head in an upcoming chapter. But basically, the further he gets from Cersei, the more distance between them, the more he's going to realize. Plus, when he's Lenora again, that flesh and blood reminder that Cersei tried to kill her, that's going to come rushing to the surface. As for your theory about Cersei you will have to wait and see. But don't worry, there will be a Lannister brother/Lenora reunion in your future.  
"Lenora laying the sass" on the Boltons is my new favorite description of the last chapter. And yes, Roose most definitely spends his days regretting keeping Lenora. He's going to regret it a bit more before the end of this story. (And it's going to be fantastic!)

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ It's a bit longer before Robb and Lenora reunite. But don't worry, she's going to officially reunite with Grey Wind very soon. And then everything will start coming together. I promise, you won't regret the wait.

 _CharlieSamantha:_ Thank you! You wrote your review on chapter nineteen, and admittedly, there are quite a few chapters between then and now. But I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed the story so far and I hope that you continue to do so!

 _HPuni101:_ Thank you, I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. Things are going to get a bit darker for Lenora, but only a little. Things are going to start looking up for her very soon. I promise. And don't worry, Jaime's going to find her. Thank you so much for your review!

 _sltsky96:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm happy that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that this one also delivered on the enjoyment front. A lot of you really liked Jon, so there's more of him! I agree though, it was past time for him to rejoin the story.

 _darkwolf76:_ I'm glad that my writing is still amazing even though it was depressing. I hope that this chapter wasn't nearly as depressing. (That's part of why I threw Tyrion and Gendry in ... they were supposed to show up in the next chapter, but I moved them forward to keep it from being too depressing. And I hope it worked!)  
I'm glad that you think that I wrote Jon well. Because there's going to be a lot of him in upcoming chapters, he plays some fairly important roles as far as Robb and Lenora are concerned. And yes, Tyrion was right, the one thing you can't hate Cersei for is her love for her children. But me, being the evil author that I am, am about to start playing with that. Muahahahaha.  
None of the characters met up in this chapter, but they will be in upcoming chapters (don't quote me, but I think some will happen in the next chapter or the one after that at the latest). As for your happiness that Ramsay hasn't married Lenora yet, don't hold your breath, I wrote that chapter yesterday.

 _Danaren Reid:_ Oh my goodness! Your review is **HUGE**! I will try my best to answer all of it! But first of all thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story. I wrote it in part because of the same reasons you turned to GoT fanfictions. Because I didn't like the way the Starks and other characters (Jaime for example) were being treated and I decided to _fix_ it. The story started out totally selfish and I'm just thrilled that other people are enjoying it.  
I'm glad that you like Lenora. Writing OCs is tricky, because some people hate them and it can be really easy for them to become a Mary Sue. So I'm glad that hasn't happened yet.  
Better than Cannon? That's a huge compliment and I hope you know how much I appreciate it.  
Sansa's path in this story is very light compared to cannon. The worst that will happen to her is already behind her with Joffrey. Lenora is taking the brunt of the darker parts of Sansa's tv storyline. Because I could not do that to a child. I would not.  
I'm sorry that you were disappointed that Daenerys won't be in this story. I wouldn't say that I hate her (especially in the later books and seasons) she's just not my favorite. And while I think a meeting between Dany and Lenora would be interesting, Dany's _I want the Iron Throne_ storyline just does not mesh with where I want Lenora to end up at the end of this story, no matter how hard I try.  
Robb came back with the help of Beric Dondarrion. In the books he brought Catelyn back as Lady Stoneheart, in this story he died to bring Robb back instead. Obviously Robb is in a better state than Catelyn was in the books. But he will be getting just as much revenge as she did.  
I wouldn't count Theon out just yet. He's a coward, but I still have a soft spot for him and I will probably let him redeem himself.  
Don't worry, there will be a Stark family reunion. That's one of the points of this story after all.  
As for who I have in mind for Sansa. I am a weirdly huge fan of Sansa and Tyrion. Especially in the show, now that Sansa has grown a bit I think she realizes just how good of a man Tyrion was. But I also understand that that is a touchy ship. He's so much older than her and all. And people did not come to this story for Sansa and Tyrion, I feel it would be unfair to shove the couple on them. So there's going to be hints at it, but nothing concrete. I'll hint at it, but ultimately leave it up to you guys to imagine what happens as far as they are concerned.  
Lenora will save herself, with some help from others, and as for Ramsay ... I've got something planned for him. It's vengeful and wicked and wonderful.  
As for Lenora, I don't know if I would consider her a crossover between Jeyne and Talisa. She's more of an answer to them. I hate both of their characters, and so I wanted to give Robb a woman who I thought was actually worthy of him and out came Lenora.  
As for the conversation you want as a flashback, I have an idea for it. I'm going to play around with it for a bit and see what I can do with it. But I would bet that it'll show up in some form sooner rather than later.

And that's all I've got for now my amazing readers!  
Thank you so much!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	69. Chapter Sixty-Nine: To Be a Stark

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Guys! We have a fanvideo! **HUGE** thanks to the wonderful **StarkTeller!** Do you want to see it? You know you do! Just head over to youtube and search **Hell Hath No Fury (Robb/Lenora).  
** Watch and enjoy. I did!  
You want to make one too? I won't say no! Send me the link! I may be a somewhat decent writer, but I cannot edit a video to save my life.  
I'm very jealous of those who can.

* * *

 _Chapter Sixty-Nine: To Be a Stark_

 _Lenora_

Miranda, the kennelmaster's daughter turned handmaiden, walked into Lenora's chambers unannounced in the middle of the afternoon. It surprised Lenora a bit, while she was used to Miranda coming into her room unannounced with food to break her fast and supper, this was an odd time for the girl to arrive. It was even stranger to see that she had a gown of black and gold in her hands and that she came followed by several servants, each carrying a pitcher of warm water to fill the bathtub with.

"I don't remember asking you to draw a bath," Lenora said as she closed the book she had been reading, she turned to watch as the women began pouring the water in the tub that stood in the corner of the chamber. "What is all this for?"

" _You_ didn't ask me to draw a bath, my lady," Miranda told her as she placed the dress on the bed and gestured toward the tub. "Lord Bolton did."

Lenora arched a brow, wondering why Roose Bolton would have any interest in her bathing habits, but then her gaze fell on the new gown on her bed. It was beautiful, warm black velvet with gold trim and detailing, it was almost too ornate for the south, and most definitely too much for the North. It reminded her of the dresses she had brought with her when she moved to Winterfell, the ones her mother had always loved her in. The ones she had given up when she married Robb. _Married_. Her gaze fell back to the dress and she shook her head, it was too fancy for day to day life, but it would be perfect for a wedding. "No," she whispered, shaking her head again. "No."

Miranda smiled at her, her thin lips making her tight smile look almost like a snarl. "The Lord of Winterfell cannot have his son and heir marrying a woman who has not bathed," she told her as she moved toward Lenora's seat by the window. She was surprisingly strong for her small stature, she grabbed Lenora's wrists and pulled her from her seat, dragging her across the room toward the tub. Once there she made quick work of untying Lenora's laces and stripping off her gown and shift. "You'll want to be careful of your chains when you climb in, my lady," she told her, smiling sweetly when she nodded toward the manacles that were still around her ankles.

Lenora tried not to be embarrassed by her state of undress when she turned to glare at the girl. "And if I don't get into the tub?" she asked, sounding braver than she felt.

Miranda's smile widened, not only had she expected Lenora's question, but she was looking forward to it. "Then I will push you in," she told her.

Lenora's eyes narrowed into a glare for a moment before she carefully sat down on the edge of the tub and pivoted until both her legs were in the scalding water. She hissed in pain, it was too hot. But there was no way to cool it down now, and she had a feeling that even if there were Miranda would not be willing to do it. And so, with gritted teeth Lenora lowered herself all the way into the water. She took a deep breath, the water would cool down at some point, or it would burn her so badly that she no longer felt the pain of it. Either way, she would be able to manage it.

Miranda was not gentle as she scrubbed the nonexistent dirt from her skin. Instead of rubbing the bathing oils onto Lenora's arms and legs she slapped it on. She pulled and yanked on Lenora's hair as she washed it and brushed it. More than once Lenora had offered to bathe herself, but each time Miranda had smiled at her and insisted that Ramsay had asked her to ensure that his bride got everything she deserved before their wedding.

Before the water had even begun to cool she had pulled Lenora out of the tub and sat her in front of the fire, wrapped in furs to dry off as the girl brushed her dark hair until it dried and shone. Then she pushed her forward toward the bed so that she could dress her. It was as she was tying the laces on the back of Lenora's dress that Lenora finally gave voice to the thought that she had held since the moment she realized what the dress was for. "This won't work," she whispered quietly, shaking her head. "A forced vow is a false vow in the eyes of the Gods. And none of the Northmen will believe that I willingly married the son of the man that murdered my husband."

She couldn't see Miranda's face, but she imagined the smirk that no doubt rested on her lips as the girl pulled the laces of her dress just too tight, only letting off when she heard Lenora gasp. "It will work," the girl insisted as she tightened the laces again, tying them this time. She moved around to stand in front of Lenora, adjusting the collar of the dress, arranging her hair, smoothing the wrinkles in the skirt. "Because it won't be a forced vow, you will make that choice willingly. And they will believe it, because they will see it as your attempt to bring peace back to the North. They might even thank you for it."

Lenora's eyebrows had raised at _you will make that choice willingly_. "And if I don't?" she asked, glancing at Miranda. "If I get to the God's Wood or the Sept or wherever Lord Bolton has decided to put on this sham and I say _no_ , what will happen to me?"

"Nothing to you," Miranda told her, smiling sweetly. "But Lord Ramsay asked me to tell you something before you tell him no." Lenora sighed, there was nothing Ramsay could say that would make her agree to marrying him. She was certain of it. "He told me to tell you to look to your right while you're walking down the aisle," Miranda told her. "There will be a group of children, ones that grew up here at Winterfell, ones that knew the keep when the Starks still lived here, some of them even knew your husband. If you behave and play your part, they will live to see tomorrow. If you cause a scene or try to say no then he will throw them off the walls into the woods for that direwolf you're so certain of to find."

Lenora's mouth dropped open. She knew that Ramsay would be cruel enough to follow through on his threat, and she had always known that there was something wicked about Miranda, but she hadn't realized just how cruel the girl could be until now. She seemed to enjoy the thought of throwing helpless children off of a wall to be eaten by a direwolf. She shook her head, giving her that choice, putting that on her conscience was no choice at all. Miranda smiled as she stepped away from Lenora, to get a better look at her handiwork, "And so you see, Princess," she said, her voice as calm and sweet as if she were discussing the weather. "You will behave. And you will say your vows. And you will marry Ramsay, if only to keep the children safe."

There was a knock on the door and Miranda called out for whoever was on the other side to enter. Theon opened the door and stood respectfully out in the hallway. He was quiet and meek like Reek; but he had bathed, his hair was brushed, and he was dressed like Theon. Miranda smiled at him, "Right on time, Reek," she praised him as she bent down and pulled something out of her dress, the key to Lenora's manacles. She reached under Lenora's skirts, her fingernails scratching at the skin on Lenora's ankles as she tried to unlock her chains. It took her a minute, but soon she had lifted the chains off Lenora's ankles. It felt strange, to suddenly have the weight lifted. "Remember," Miranda told her in a sing song voice as she stood. "Think of the children."

A veiled threat, a reminder not to run away.

Lenora glanced past Miranda to Theon. "And what are you doing here?" she asked him. "Have you come to witness my downfall too?"

Theon looked down at his feet, "Lord Ramsay asked me to give you away," he told his left boot. "Theon is the closest thing you have to family here," Miranda cut in before Lenora could say anything. "He was practically a brother to your late husband."

Lenora's jaw tightened and she felt tears spring to her eyes. She had not needed the reminder that Theon had once been close and loyal to Robb. He seemed to understand her pain, his gaze seemed softened, even though he did not look at her as he walked further into her chamber, his arm held out to her. For a moment Lenora hesitated, but then she remembered Miranda's words _think of the children_. She did not know which children Ramsay had threatened, but she did not doubt that he would follow through, and she did not want their deaths on her hands. _This_ would not be the time to escape. She took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped her hand onto Theon's arm.

This was not the first time he had walked her down an aisle. She hoped to the seven that it would be the last.

The Godswood was beautiful. It was snowing lightly, and lit by candles and lanterns. There were lords and ladies from several lesser northern Houses in attendance, but most of the Great Houses seemed to be staying away. Still Lenora recognized some of the faces in the small crowd. She did not give Ramsay the satisfaction of watching her look at the children who's lives were in her hands, she kept her gaze straight ahead, glaring at him despite the tears that threatened to fill her eyes.

At one point as they walked down the aisle that seemed impossibly long and impossibly short at the same time, she stumbled. Her feet unused to walking without the manacles now. Theon's right hand flew to her arm, helping her steady herself. "Just a bit further, my lady," he whispered to her, his lips barely moving. "It will all be over soon."

But that was a lie. She did not know much about what her life as Ramsay's bride would entail, but she knew one thing for certain. It would not be over soon.

Soon they reached the end of the aisle where Ramsay and Roose stood waiting for them. Ramsay's eyes were large and almost earnest looking. For the onlookers many would believe that he was thrilled to be marrying her. Roose watched her, his eyes narrowed as if he did not trust her to behave. "Who comes before the Old Gods this night?" Roose asked, stepping forward, his pale eyes never leaving Lenora's face.

"Lenora," Theon answered, "of House Baratheon comes here to be wed." Lenora's jaw clenched, _Stark_ , she screamed in her head while her heart beat rapidly against her chest. _Lenora of House Stark_. Theon paused for a moment, swallowing around a lump in his throat. Lenora turned to look at him, wondering what had given him pause. "Who comes to claim her?" he bit out, glaring at his shoe.

Ramsay stepped forward. "Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort and Winterfell," he answered, smirking at Lenora. He paused for a moment too before he turned his smirk on Theon, enjoying the scene playing out before him. "Who gives her?" he asked.

Lenora turned, hoping to see any sign in Theon that he remembered who he was. But his eyes were dead as he answered, still refusing to lift his gaze off of his foot. "Theon of House Greyjoy. Who was her late husband's brother."

"Lady Lenora," Roose cut in, he clearly believed that the ceremony was taking too long. Lenora wondered if he thought the long it took the less she would be likely to behave. Did he not know about Ramsay's threat? "Do you take this man?" he asked her.

The wood was so silent that she swore that everyone there could her heart beating. It felt as if it were throwing itself at her ribs, begging her to say no, to run away, to forget the children and anyone else that Ramsay might harm in his anger and run from him. She watched, as Roose's jaw twitched, a silent warning that she was taking too long. But Ramsay seemed unconcerned, he already knew what her answer would be. She took a deep breath, "I take this man," she whispered. In the wolf's wood, beyond the walls, the direwolf howled. Long and low, echoing the pain that Lenora felt and drowning out her whispered vow.

...

Because she had already been a married woman Roose announced that they would skip the bedding ceremony. Lenora was not fool enough to believe that skipping the bedding ceremony in any way saved her from Ramsay trying to bed her. They would want to legitimize the marriage as quickly as possible. But at least she would be saved the humiliation of being stripped down in the hall and carried to the bedchamber.

After a meager feast that Lenora was hardly able to keep down Ramsay stood from his seat at the high table and grabbed her wrist, pulling her quickly out of the hall and to her chambers. Her throat tightened when he threw open the door and she realized that he meant to force himself on her in Robb's bed.

He let go of her wrist once they were standing in the middle of the chamber, he grinned at her, his thin lips twisting into a wicked smirk, "You've been very well behaved, wife," he told her, seeming to enjoy her discomfort at the word. "Better than I could have imagined. My father thanks you for that."

Lenora stared at him, careful to keep her gaze on his face so that he wouldn't think she was afraid of him. "The children are safe?" she asked him.

His lips twitched, "For now," he assured her.

Lenora was not stupid, she understood the veiled threat. The children were safe as long as she did exactly what Ramsay wished of her. They no longer had an audience, but she was still expected to behave. "I'll do whatever you want," she assured him, her brows furrowing as he dropped to his knees, his hands reaching below her skirts. She felt his hand close around one of her ankles, and then the cool metal of her manacles, he was chaining her back up. Her throat tightened again and she looked away from him, over his shoulder so that she did not have to watch him embarrass her further by chaining her up like a criminal.

It was then that she realized that the chamber door was still open. And furthermore, Theon was standing in the doorway, silent as if he was Ramsay's own shadow.

"I have no doubt of that, my lady," Ramsay told her, still smirking as he rose to stand. He was still dressed in his wedding finery, a dark velvet doublet, a fur cloak around his shoulders, a dagger in a belt around his waist. Lenora quickly lifted her gaze back to his face. His pale blue eyes swept over her, his smirk widening. "Take off your dress," he ordered.

Lenora did not move. The only part of her that moved was her gaze as it drifted back over Ramsay's shoulder toward the chamber door. She could still see Theon in the shadows. He could still see her. She heard him shift, turning to leave when Ramsay's voice cut through the silent room like a whip. "Where are you going, Reek?" he asked, never turning his gaze from Lenora's face. "You're going to stand there, just as I ordered. You're going to stand there and watch as I rape my wife."

Lenora shook her head, she could force herself to marry Ramsay, but she could not force herself to let him bed her while Theon watched. It was too wretched. "Please," she asked, allowing her voice to tremble a bit. Ramsay loved when she begged. "I won't fight you," she assured him. "If he leaves I will let you do whatever you want. I won't fight it."

Ramsay smirked, his hands landing on her shoulders as he turned her, almost gently to face the bed. "You don't understand, Lenora," he told her, his hands coming to her laces. He was not gentle now, he did not untie the laces, but rather he tore them open, allowing the cold chamber air to hit her bare back as the sleeves began to fall off her shoulders. He leaned closer to her, his chin resting on her shoulder while his hand, cold as ice, ran up and down her bare spine, sending goosebumps spreading across her skin. "I want you to fight me," he whispered, his tongue darting out to lick around the shell of her ear. Lenora flinched away from him. He chuckled, "It makes it so much more exciting."

He grabbed her shoulder and forcefully spun her around to face him again, pushing her back toward the bed as his hands came up toward the collar of her dress. He shoved her, throwing her onto the bed before he crawled after her, one knee planted on the mattress between her legs, the other on the outside of her right thigh. His gaze never left her face, he was so intent on her humiliation that as he reached for the collar of her dress, ripping it off her and baring her to her waist for Theon to see he did not notice as Lenora's right hand reached for the dagger at his waist.

For one brief moment he grinned down at her, pleased that he was so easily able to humiliate and torture her. And then his pale blue eyes widened in surprise and she imagined fear as her right hand lashed out at him, his dagger gripped tightly in her fist. She had been aiming at his chest, but he moved before she could. Instead she slashed at his face, opening up a cut that ran from his left eye to his right cheek.

Blood, warm and wet, spilled down on her chest from above. And she smiled as she heard Ramsay howl in a mix of surprise and pain. He lunged forward, more blood dripping down on her as both of his hands closed around her wrist, wrestling the dagger out of her hand. Lenora screamed, fighting him, but he was bigger than her and he already had her pinned to the mattress.

He glared down at her and for a moment she thought that he would rape her anyway, with his blood dripping down on her the entire time. But she had cut him too deeply, even in his rage he must have known that. "You'll pay for this," he growled at her before he jumped off the bed and rushed toward the chamber door, slamming it shut behind him.

Lenora stayed where she was, her chest rising and falling unevenly with the effort to breathe. She only relaxed when she heard Theon lock the chamber door from the outside.

It was then that she dropped her head down on the pillows and laughed.

For now, she was safe.

...

The next morning the sound of children screaming drew her to her window. From there she watched, wide eyed and disbelieving, as Ramsay dropped seven children from the keep's walls.

He thought that he was punishing her, but he had made a mistake.

He had nothing to hold over her now. Nothing to threaten her with.

Lenora turned away from the window. Soon, she would figure out how to escape.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

She had been traveling with Brienne and Podrick for almost a fortnight now. Each day she grew more grateful that she had trusted them, that she had left Petyr and the Eyrie to join Brienne. The woman knight had done nothing to earn Sansa's distrust. She seemed earnest in her desire to protect Sansa and to see her safely to Castle Black and Jon. Whatever had happened between Jaime Lannister, Brienne, and her mother, Sansa knew that Brienne had meant it when she had given Catelyn her word that she would protect her children.

It was a shame that Arya was lost to them. She knew that it haunted Brienne, her ability to fulfill only half of her vow.

"And you're certain that Arya isn't alive?" Sansa asked one morning as they broke their fast after Brienne and Podrick had finished their sword practice. She was sitting between the boy and the knight, glancing back and forth. She did not much care which one gave her an answer. She had asked this question several times already, always displeased with the answer. They were both so certain that Arya was dead. But Sansa thought, they had once been close, she thought that perhaps she would have felt it if Arya had died, she would have felt the difference.

Though, she had not felt it when her mother died, or Robb, or the boys. Perhaps her intuition wasn't as good as she wanted to think.

Brienne nodded as she took a bite of food, a coarse meal that Sansa had to choke down but that the knight seemed to honestly enjoy. "No one has heard from her or seen her since your father's execution," she told Sansa. "If she were alive, surely there would be rumors."

"And where are you getting your information?" Sansa asked, her voice hard with distrust. She trusted Brienne, but she could not understand how the woman could place so much trust in Jaime Lannister. "From the Kingslayer."

"Ser Jaime," Brienne corrected, barely looking up from her meal. It was as if it were some bone deep instinct for the woman to defend the Lannister.

Sansa raised an eyebrow, "What happened between the two of you?" she asked. "What did he do to earn your trust?"

This had Brienne looking up from her food. For a moment her blue eyed gaze landed on Sansa and then drifted away, off into the distance. Sansa had the feeling that Brienne was in a totally different kingdom, a different time, with a different companion. "He could have killed me," the blonde woman told her, her voice quiet and soft. "There were many times he could have killed me, or stood by when someone did the dirty work for him. But each and every time I thought the worst of him he proved me wrong. He saved me. Time and time again. And when we reached King's Landing he tried to keep his word to your mother. He had no idea how to find you, but he sent me after you anyway. It was a risk, one that could have angered his sister. But he took it anyway."

Sansa stared at her for a moment, and then she lifted her spoon to her lips and forced down another swallow of meal. "And because he saved you, you're convinced the Seven Kingdoms are wrong about him? That he is not the King slaying monster I've been told about since I was a young girl?"

Brienne shook her head. "I know that he's not," she assured Sansa. "And if you heard the true tale you would know it too."

Sansa arched a brow at that. She leaned back on the log she was sitting on, an attempt to make herself comfortable before she gestured at Brienne. "Then by all means, tell me the tale," she commanded. Brienne's unfaltering belief in Jaime Lannister made her wonder if perhaps her father had been too harsh with the knight. She thought back to the first time she had met Lenora, the princess had been so kind, so nice. She had wondered how the older girl was able to overlook her uncle's broken vows to love him and trust him. She had concluded that Lenora was simply blinded by the love she had for the man who had raised her. But now as she sat with Brienne while the woman tried to explain to her why she trusted Jaime, Sansa thought that perhaps it was _she_ that had been blinded.

Brienne shook her head. "It is not my tale to share, my lady," she told her. "But rest assured, if Jaime Lannister says that Arya could not be alive, then she is not alive."

Sansa turned toward Pod, forcing down another spoonful of meal. "And you believe it too?" she asked him.

Podrick nodded, waiting until he had swallowed his own mouthful of food before he answered. "Yes, my lady," he told her. "Lord Tyrion looked for her when he returned to King's Landing, before you were married. He had told your mother that he would try to send her daughters back to her. He could not find her. And if Lord Tyrion could not find her, then she could not have been in King's Landing."

"But perhaps she made it out of King's Landing," Sansa argued, still unsure. Something, deep inside of her, her heart or her bones perhaps, told her that Arya was still alive. She wanted to believe it, she _had_ to. "The day our father died, perhaps?"

"The queen had all the Red Guard looking for her, my lady," Podrick told her, his voice soft though he was arguing with her. "Do you think she could have left the city without anyone noticing?"

"I did," Sansa told him with a shrug.

Brienne laughed at that, short and humorless, "Trust me, my lady," she interjected. "People noticed that you escaped."

"But no one caught me," Sansa argued, shaking her head.

"You had help," Brienne explained to her. "I don't believe that Lord Baelish assisted Arya in her escape."

"No," Sansa agreed, "but someone could have."

"Then where is she?" Brienne asked. She leaned forward, "Trust me, my lady, if I had any lead on where your sister could be, if she were alive, I would follow it. I don't." She shook her head, "I promised your mother I would return you to her. I can't do that, but once I have seen you safely to your brother at the Wall, with your leave I will search the entire Seven Kingdoms for your sister if you wish it. But for now I mean to see you north."

Sansa nodded, touched by the woman's words in spite of herself. "You truly mean it?" she asked. "You won't stop until you learn what happened to her?"

"I swear it," Brienne promised her.

And that was all Sansa needed to hear. If there was one thing she knew about Brienne of Tarth it was that she took her vows very seriously. No matter what had happened to Arya, Brienne would find out.

She swallowed down her last bite of the meal. "When will we set out this morning?" she asked, glancing between Brienne and Podrick, a quiet sign that they would get no further argument from her.

...

The ground was uncomfortable. When they had first started their journey from the Eyrie she had thought that the beds in the inns were uncomfortable. She had complained about them. Brienne and Podrick had let her complain, it seemed as though they believed that she deserved the right to complain after everything the Lannisters had put her through. But now, as they were walking through the wilderness, far from any main roads or inns they slept on the ground every night and even though Brienne made sure that Sansa got the best blankets to cover up with and lay down on it was still terribly uncomfortable.

But she was too tired to complain. Even when she woke up bruised from sleeping on top of a tree root.

Her protectors were kind to her. They always woke up before her. And by the time they woke her they would have packed up most of their camp and the made the food to break their fast. She got more sleep than they did. She did less work than they did. And yet she was always tired, always sore. She couldn't begin to understand how they continued to do it day in and day out.

But one morning was different. She woke up, not to the sounds of movement and the smells of breakfast, but to a silence she was not used to. It was too quiet. Even in the middle of the night when she couldn't sleep and the world was almost silent she would be able to hear the horses, snoring, moving, breathing. She couldn't hear that now.

She sat upright, looking around. For one brief, terrifying moment she thought that maybe Brienne and Podrick had changed their minds about her. Perhaps she had been too much trouble and they had left her out here to fend for herself.

But there they were, sleeping on either side of her, just as they did every night. She breathed a sigh of relief and was about to lay down again when she remembered the silence. She looked around, wondering why it had woken her up. The horses were gone.

She leaned over, her hand on Brienne's shoulder as she shook the female knight. "Brienne!" she whispered, shaking her a bit harder. "Brienne!"

"Podrick!" Brienne yelled out as she started to wake, "protect Lady Sansa!" Her hand was reaching for the pommel of her sword. She was caught in between sleep and awake, she did not know what was going on. With a gasp Sansa jumped away from her, getting out of the way lest the knight decide to attack her.

Brienne's blue eyes found her quickly. She was breathing heavily, but as soon as she saw Sansa her hand dropped from her sword. "Lady Sansa," she greeted, nodding deeply to express her apology. "I apologize if I startled you."

Sansa shook her head, "It was _I_ who startled you, Brienne."

Brienne smiled at her and nodded before she glanced around. "Is there something that you need, my lady?" she asked, no doubt wondering why Sansa had woken her before dawn.

Sansa nodded, "I woke because it seemed too quiet," she told the knight. "The horses are gone."

Brienne looked around, as if to confirm that they were in fact missing. And then she stood, moving faster than Sansa thought she had any right too in all of her leather. "Podrick!" the knight hissed, moving toward the squire. "Pod! Wake up!" The boy woke up, squinting a bit in the darkness and looking so confused that Sansa felt sorry for him. "Where are the horses?" Brienne barked at him as soon as she saw that he was awake.

"I hobbled them last night," Podrick answered her, standing up as well so that he could look for the horses. They were nowhere to be seen.

"What sort of hobble?" Brienne asked.

"Figure eight," Podrick answered. "Like you taught me."

Sansa smiled to herself when Brienne turned to Podrick and shook her head, "If you did it like _I_ taught you then the horses would be here."

"Thieves, maybe?" Podrick suggested.

For a moment Sansa's heart raced at the thought of thieves. But then she realized that no thief, even the stupidest one, would take their horses, but leave all their belongings and leave them alive. Wherever the horses had gone, they had gone on their own.

Brienne shook her head as she bent to pick up one of the saddlebags, "You're carrying the saddlebags," she told Podrick as she threw it at him.

...

Brienne heard them long before she did. Sansa did not realize it until after she had heard the clashing swords as well. But when she thought back on it she realized that she had noticed the way Brienne's shoulders and jaw tensed a good few minutes before she knew why. It bothered her, that after everything she had gone through in King's Landing - after Joffrey, and Cersei, and Littlefinger, that she was still so unaware of her surroundings.

That was why her mother had sent Brienne after her. Because Sansa was so incapable of taking care of herself. There was a small part of her that still held out hope that Arya was alive. But if their roles had been reverse, if Arya had stayed in King's Landing and Sansa had been the one to disappear then there wouldn't have been any hope. Everyone would have known that Sansa was dead.

Though, she supposed, trying to make herself feel better. There was no way that Arya would have been able to survive in the capitol. She had never known when to keep her mouth shut. She had been impulsive, stubborn, _stupid_ when it came to the games that people played. Sansa had been blind to the games in King's Landing when she had first arrived. But Cersei had opened her eyes quickly and it hadn't been long before Sansa had learned them too. Their septa had always told her that she was a quick study.

She only wished that she had been quicker. Quick enough to realize what they were going to do to her father and gotten them all away. She was embarrassed now when she thought of the fit she had thrown when her father had tried to send them away. He had not been stupid, he had not been blind. He had seen what Cersei and Joffrey meant to do to his family and he had meant to save her. And she had yelled, screamed, and cried.

She had run to Cersei and told her, thinking that the queen would be able to help her stay.

It was for that reason, that stupidity that Sansa did not put up a fight when Brienne ordered her to stay with Podrick while she went ahead to investigate the noise in the woods. As curious as she was, as desperately as she wanted to prove that she wasn't the same stupid little girl; she was smart enough to know that she would be no help to Brienne here in the wilderness. If whoever was fighting was no friend of theirs then Brienne would not need the added worry of defending Sansa while trying to escape.

She wanted to think that her willingness to wait without a fuss was its own sign that she had grown up in her time in King's Landing. She liked to think it was what her mother would have done.

She waited quietly with Podrick until she could not hear Brienne moving through the trees anymore before she turned to the squire. "How is he?" she asked him, her voice a soft whisper. Podrick turned to her, his brows furrowed in confusion, he did not know who she meant. "Tyrion," she clarified, tripping over the man's name. "How was he when you left?"

Podrick bit his bottom lip, thinking about how Tyrion had been the last time he had seen the lord. It was that hesitation that told Sansa he was lying when he answered her question. "He was quite well, my lady."

She shook her head, "I don't believe Lord Tyrion was ever _quite well_ in the capitol, Pod," she told the younger man. "No matter what he thought. Cersei was not going to forget about him for long. She loved him about as well as she loved me." Pod's dark-eyed gaze dropped when he realized that he had been caught in a lie. Sansa smiled at him, soft and bittersweet, so that he would know that she was not angry at him. "Tell me the truth, Pod," she ordered him. "How was he the last time you were with him?"

The squire's gaze lifted to her face again and he shook his head, "He was not in good shape, my lady," he told her honestly. "After the king died and you disappeared, the queen," he paused, looking for the words, "she needed someone to blame, you see. And -"

"And it looked suspicious that I had disappeared during his death and that he had died after humiliating Tyrion," Sansa supplied for him.

Podrick nodded, "It wasn't difficult for the queen to persuade the court to believe that Lord Tyrion had poisoned the king. It was no secret that he did not love the king."

"But I was the one that disappeared," Sansa argued with him. "She could have simply blamed me and been done with it. It wouldn't have been much harder to believe than Tyrion. I pretended I still loved him, but the entire court had seen how he treated me when we were betrothed. It would have been easy to believe."

"But you weren't there," Podrick countered. "The queen did not only want someone to blame for the king's death. She wanted someone to _punish_. She could not punish you because she could not find you."

"But she had Tyrion and she had always hated him," Sansa finished. She shook her head, not for the first time she felt guilty for leaving him. He had always been so kind to her, so gentle. And she had repaid his kindness by running away after Joffrey's death, even though a part of her had always known that Cersei would try to blame Tyrion for the loss of her son. She sighed, "I should never have left without him," she whispered.

Podrick shook his head, "He wouldn't have wanted you to stay, my lady," he assured her. "He would have had to worry about you if you were still in King's Landing. And he had enough to worry about without all that."

"Did he -" Sansa started, pausing for a moment when she noticed the way her voice trembled. "Did he think that I had - that it was me?"

Podrick shook his head, "No, my lady," he assured her. "He knew that you did not kill the king. He defended you."

He meant to make her feel better, she knew that. But he made her feel worse.

"My lady!" she heard Brienne yelling through the trees. Her voice was loud, high pitched, excited. "Podrick! Bring the lady to me! I have found her sister!"

Sansa turned, her hair whipping around her face as she faced the direction Brienne had walked in. When she was talking to Pod she had not realized that the sound of clashing steel had stopped. It was quiet now, save for the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. She could not believe what she was hearing, but at the same time she so desperately wanted to.

She started running, she would not wait for Pod. "Arya?" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Arya!"

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

When he had first thought about joining the Night's Watch he had liked the idea, in part, because at the Wall it would not matter that he was a bastard. The Night's Watch was one of the few places in the Seven Kingdoms where a bastard could rise just as high as a highborn son. It was the only place in the Seven Kingdoms where he would not have to constantly remind himself that he was somehow _less than_ everyone around him because of the circumstances of his birth.

He would always be a bastard, but at the Wall, that would not matter nearly as much.

And yet, never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined that he would rise from bastard to steward and from steward to Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He hadn't expected it. He hadn't wanted it. But it had been given to him and it was now his duty to do right by these men.

When he was a young boy he had asked his father to tell him how it had felt to learn that he would be Lord of Winterfell after the death of Rickard and Brandon Stark. Even now, a grown man, he could still remember how Ned's shoulders had sunk, the heaviness that quickly settled in the older man's eyes, the quiet monotonous tone of his voice when he told Jon that he had hated it. Back then he had not understood. Even when he was nearly a man grown, still at Winterfell, he had not understood.

But now, now he could see it. His father had not been raised to be Lord of Winterfell. He had not been trained, he had not spent his entire life with the understanding that Winterfell would one day be his. It was thrust on him after the most unlikely of circumstances. After the most unimaginable tragedy. After the death of his father and eldest brother. One day he was the middle son of Lord Rickard Stark, the next he was the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and tasked with the safety and well being of every man, woman, and child in the North. With the war going on he hadn't even been able to get his footing, to grieve, to become accustomed to the idea of it all. He had to fight to protect the North and he had to shoulder all his emotions about the deaths in his family on his own with no help from anyone around him.

It was no doubt very similar to what Bran had felt after Robb died. _No_ , that wasn't right. Bran had died before Robb. Him and Rickon both. Jon shook his head. There had been so many deaths since he had left Winterfell. It was hard to keep them straight - the order, who he had grieved for and who he hadn't had time for, who was proven dead and who was only suspected. His father had been the first. They said Arya was dead, but no one had seen her or her body in at least a year. Then came the boys, Bran and Rickon, burned beyond recognition. Robb and Catelyn had died together at the Twins. Lenora had been saved from that fate, but had disappeared for almost a moon's turn, only to resurface as prisoner of the Boltons. Sansa alone of his Stark siblings was safe, though in King's Landing with the Lannister Queen he wasn't sure how _safe_ she truly was.

He remembered once, when they were younger, Maester Luwin was teaching the Stark children about the history of House Stark. They were learning about a long winter many generations ago, where the Stark of Winterfell had forgotten his own House words and misjudged how long a winter would last. They did not have enough grain stored up to last the long winter and many had starved. Robb had criticized the old Stark and Ned had heard him. He sat the children down and told them that it was easy, to look back on decisions and question them, judge them. But that it was unfair to do so when they had knowledge that the past did not. _The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected_ , Ned had told them.

As he sat in Castle Black, thinking about all the losses his House had suffered since he left Jon couldn't help but judge himself for leaving. Without Ned at Winterfell, Lady Catelyn surely would have made Jon suffer, but he had suffered at Castle Black as well, and perhaps if he had stayed he would have been able to save someone. Perhaps he would have stayed at Winterfell when Robb and Catelyn marched south, perhaps he would have been able to save Bran and Rickon when the Ironborn came for Winterfell. Or perhaps he would have marched with Robb, fought alongside him. Perhaps he would have been there to protect his brother when Lord Walder Frey showed his true colors.

Perhaps he would have made a difference.

Or perhaps, all the death would have happened just the same, the only difference being that Jon would have had a more up close view of it.

His fist clenched, he wanted to punch something. He should not have left for the Wall. He should not have joined the Night's Watch. He should have stayed with his family. Ned had often told the children (mostly Sansa and Arya when they fought) that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. How had they forgotten that when they all scattered from Winterfell? Ned and the girls to the South, Jon to the Wall, eventually Robb and Catelyn following Ned south. How could they be a pack when they were separated by so many leagues? How could anyone be surprised that there were hardly any Starks left. They were all lone wolves now.

 _The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected_ , Ned's voice spoke to him from beyond the crypt. Jon could not be angry, he could not judge. When he had left Winterfell he had no reason to suspect what would become of his family. None of them did. He could not rage against himself for making a decision that at the time had made sense.

Especially now when he had the lives of the Night's Watch on his shoulders. Especially now when he had the safety of the entire Seven Kingdoms to defend.

...

He could not stop the exasperated sigh that escaped his lips when after a long afternoon of training Olly and some of the new recruits down in the yard he walked into the Lord Commander's quarters to find Stannis Baratheon sitting in his chair. Perhaps, he thought that as king of the Seven Kingdoms he had a right to the chair, but the Night's Watch was not there to honor the king and the would-be Baratheon King had long overstayed his welcome as far as Jon was concerned.

He knew better though, than to speak out against the king, he knew better than to demand his chair. Instead he inclined his head, "You Grace," he greeted Stannis, though his misliked the feel of the words on his lips.

Stannis Baratheon was not one for pleasantries. He nodded his head, "Lord Commander," he greeted though he remained in Jon's seat behind the Lord Commander's desk. He did not pause before he told Jon why he was there. "I ordered Mance Rayder burnt at the stake. You prevented that order from being carried out. You showed mercy. A king's word is law." He glanced to the right of the desk where his Hand stood, "Perhaps you should ask Lord Davos how much mercy I show to law breakers."

Jon bit his tongue to keep from pointing out that at the Wall it was now his word that was law, not the king's - especially when there were two kings of Westeros. One freezing in the North and one sitting on the throne in the South. He did not say these words, but Stannis must have read them in his eyes. Because he sighed, his tone when he spoke again as softer, as if he were attempting to impart some advice on Jon rather than scold him. "If you show too much kindness, people will not fear you. If they don't fear you, they won't follow you."

Jon thought of his father, of Robb, people had followed them, not out of fear but out of love. Stannis had it wrong. _Kindness_ was the key. People would fear Stannis for a time, but eventually someone or something new would come along, something more frightening. The fear would disappear. But love never did. If Stannis had the people's love, he would have it forever.

"With all due respect, your Grace, the Free Folk will never follow you," Jon told him, alluding to the conversation they had had before he had been named Lord Commander, when Stannis had asked him for help in persuading Mance and the Wildlings to fight the Boltons. "No matter what you do. You are the man who burned their King alive."

Stannis gave him a pointed look, "You," he said. "They would follow you."

Jon shook his head, "No," he assured Stannis. "Only one of their own."

Stannis looked unconvinced. He turned to Davos and gestured. The smuggler turned knight, turned Hand of the King, moved closer to the desk and handed Stannis a piece of parchment. "Do you know this girl?" Stannis asked, his intense gaze sweeping over the letter in his hand. "Lyanna Mormont?"

"The Lord Commander's," Jon started before he paused. He was now _the_ Lord Commander. "Lord Commander Mormont's niece?" he asked.

Stannis nodded, "And the newest Lady of Bear Island," he told her. "A child of ten," he added as he handed Jon the letter. "I asked her to commit her House to my cause," he nodded toward the parchment. "That was her response."

Jon looked down, the new Lady of Bear Island had taken it upon herself to write back to Stannis. Her response came not in the practiced script of a maester, but in a child's uneven, somewhat shaky hand. He smiled as he read her response out loud, "Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark."

"That amuses you?" Stannis asked him, his voice sharp and hard.

Jon sighed, he needed to tread carefully with him. "My apologies, your Grace, the Northerners can be a bit like the Free Folk, loyal to their own."

Stannis nodded, "I know," he told Jon with that same pointed look. "You're one of their own."

It made sense now, why Stannis was there. He wanted the Wildlings and he wanted the North and he thought that somehow Jon would be able to give it to him. But he was no more a Wildling than he was a Stark, he was a brother of the Night's Watch, the Lord Commander now. He shook his head, "I'm a brother of the Night's Watch," he reminded Stannis, "the newly elected Lord Commander. I have pledged them my life, my honor, my sword." He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't believe there's much left that I could give _you_."

"You could give me the North," Stannis told him simply.

Jon shook his head, "I can't," he told Stannis. "Even if I wanted to. I'm a bastard. A Snow."

"Kneel before me," Stannis ordered. "Place your sword at my feet, pledge me your service and you will rise again as Jon Stark."

The words made Jon's heart beat faster. It was all he had ever wanted, all he had ever wished for as a child. When he was a boy, younger even that Rickon he had thought that if he was only smart enough, _good_ enough that Ned would have the king name decree him Stark. That if he behaved well enough he would be able to win over even Catelyn and that one day he would be a Stark, same as Robb. It had never happened. And now, here at Castle Black Stannis Baratheon was offering him everything he had ever wanted. All he need do was kneel.

He gave a single nod of his head, "I thank you for your offer," he told Stannis. "You do me a great honor. All my life I have wanted to be Jon Stark."

Stannis smiled, "Say the word and you will be," he promised.

Jon shook his head, "I have to refuse you," he told him. "I am Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. My place is here." He hoped Stannis would understand, he hoped that the older man would see that everything that made Jon worthy of being named Stark relied on him keeping his word. He had pledged his life to the Night's Watch, if he left them now, he could never deserve to be called Stark.

Stannis did not understand, he had always heard that Stannis was the lone Baratheon brother who understood duty. But he could not seem to understand why Jon's duty demanded he stay at the Wall. "I'm giving you the chance to avenge your family's deaths," he explained, as if Jon simply hadn't understood everything he was giving up. "To take back your childhood home. To rule the North."

"But I swore a sacred vow in the Godswood," Jon argued. "I pledged my life to the Night's Watch."

"You're as stubborn as your father," Stannis told him. "And as honorable," he scoffed.

"I can imagine no higher praise -"

"I didn't mean it as praise!" Stannis interrupted coldly. "Honor got your father killed." He watched Jon for a moment before he stood from the chair and moved around the desk toward the door. "But if I cannot change your mind -"

"May I ask, your Grace, how long you plan to remain at Castle Black?" Jon asked. It was not the opportune time to ask that question, but it was a question he needed an answer for. Stannis' men were already causing a strain on the Night's Watch resources.

"Are you bored of us already?" Stannis snapped, turning to stare at Jon.

Jon shook his head, "You helped us defeat Mance Rayder's army," he told the king. "We will never forget that. But it's a question of survival. The Watch cannot continue to feed your men and the Wildling prisoners indefinitely." He paused, well aware of the irony of his next words, "Winter is coming," he informed the king with a bitter twist of his lips. It hurt, to use the words he had just given up.

Stannis seemed to understand that, he nodded, "I know it," he agreed. "We march on Winterfell within the fortnight before the snows trap us here."

"And the Wildlings?" Jon asked.

Stannis shrugged, "They'd rather burn than follow me, I leave their fate to you," he told Jon. "You could execute them, that's the safest course." He paused, watching Jon's face, the reaction to his words. "Or you could see if this Tormund fellow is more willing to compromise than Mance ever was. I assume the brothers of the Night's Watch would rather see them dead."

Jon nodded grimly, "Most of them," he admitted. "There's little love for the Free Folk here."

Stannis nodded. "You're the Lord Commander," he told Jon, subtly reminding him of what he had given up. "It's your decision." He walked toward the door, but paused, turning to face Jon again. "You have many enemies at Castle Black," he told him. "Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere?" Jon shook his head. Stannis nodded, "Give him command of Eastwatch by the Sea."

"I heard it was best to keep your enemies close," Jon countered.

Stannis smirked, "Whoever said that didn't have many enemies."

* * *

Author's Note:

Ah! I'm so sorry I kept you all waiting for so long on this chapter. Even though I was very excited about everything that happened in this chapter, it was not easy coming. Every time I sat down to write it, I started writing for a completely different fandom, or got distracted by Christmas decorating. But here, it is. Finally.  
I hope that it does not read like it was hard to write. I hope that you guys enjoyed it. And I hope you are as excited as I am for what will come next.  
Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts lists. Your favorites lists. Your communities (it's in nine of them now!). But of all, thank you for all of your kind worded reviews. You guys are the reason this story is still going. I hope you know that.

 _LunaEvannaLongbottom:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. As for you ponderings on who will reach Lenora first ... I will give you a hint. **It's someone we haven't read about in a while** _ **.**_ **And it will begin in the next chapter.** Oops! That was two hints...Figured it out?

 _ZabuzasGirl:_ Thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _StarkTeller:_ Aww! I both love and hate when I make you guys cry! I love it because it means that I have done a good job of making these characters as canonically believable as I could, but I hate it because I'm really not a bitch who enjoys people's tears. But I am glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and Robb!  
Also, I love you for trolling the reviews and defending Lenora before I even got the chance to. You hit every point I was going to make and I adore you for it. Thank you so much for defending her honor. I appreciate it.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you dear, I hope that this update was equally as awesome!

 _Guest1995:_ Oh my goodness! Your review was so long! I loved it! Thank you so much. I'm really glad that you've been enjoying Robb's warging abilities. The show kind of just glossed over the fact that all the Starks seem to be wargs and that bugged the shit out of me. So I'm trying to fix it a bit here in this story. Plus, it gives me the ability to have him close to Lenora even though the stupid idiot is still traveling in the wrong direction. Stupid boy is right.  
As for your question. Lenora is older than Gendry, although not by much. Because I'm playing with the ages they had in the books and shows I would say that Lenora was seventeen when she was brought up to Winterfell. Gendry is probably around seventeen now which would make Lenora a little more than a year older than him. That being said, based on her build even though she is older, he is taller.  
Don't worry friend, you will definitely see the following things: Jamie and Lenora fighting side by side, Lenora meeting Gendry, a kick ass reunion between Lenora and Cersei, and (obviously after this chapter) some Stark reunions. And you are not breathing down my neck, I will be posting some of your alternative side-story ideas. I even started one of them yesterday when this chapter was giving me trouble.

 _bellaphant:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one too! Lenora is in a bit of trouble, but help is on the way! ... eventually.

 _BrittStar1199:_ A little bit longer friend. I'm very eager for a Lenora and Robb (Renora? Lobb?) reunion as well. But Lenora's gonna save herself first.

 _janaoliver:_ I don't want to give too much away. But out of those names you named (Robb, Gendry, Tyrion, and Jaime) there will be a meet up. I'm just not going to tell you which one.

 _sltsky96:_ Okay, your review was out of control! And I love it! Thank you so much for writing a small book and calling it a review! I am thrilled that you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope that this chapter brought just as much to the table. I'm glad that you're enjoying the new darker, vengeful Robb. I want to keep him as much like the old Robb as I can, but at the same time he was dead for a couple of days. He's not going to be the same. He is now very aware that honor and naivety got him killed and he's not going to be so quick to feel those things anymore.  
As for Cersei, I'm so happy that I've got you feeling something other than hatred for her. Don't worry, if I don't stray too far from my story outline you will be secure in your hatred for her again by the end of the story, but I'm enjoying that I'm making you doubt it a bit.  
Jon's back! I love him and I couldn't leave him ignored up at the Wall for long. I wish that I could play with him and the Night's Watch so much more than this story is going to do. Because you're right, they're a wonderfully interesting part of the show and so much more so in the books. And I'm only scratching the surface in this story. But I hope while we're up here I'm managing to do them some justice. That's my saying too! I used to yell it at people I worked with who dated coworkers - you don't shit where you eat! And yes, he will not be hooking up with Dany in this story. No way.  
Onto Tyrion! I'm glad that you enjoy him and Gendry together. When I first decided to send the two of them off together was months before the last season aired. So there was this moment when I felt a little vindicated when Davos and Gendry and Tyrion sailed off together. But there wasn't any bonding on the show. And as much as I enjoyed watching Gendry and Jon together I was like, where's Tyrion? So I'm glad that the two of them wandering through Westeros is making all of you so happy because they make me laugh just thinking of them.  
There was never confirmation that Catelyn is 100% dead, but here it is. She's dead. Beric was only able to save one person. I decided that he was going to save Robb. As for not hearing from Jaime in a while ... hmmm. Perhaps we will hear from him soon.

 _Padfootette:_ I'm sorry I made you wait so long for me, but I hope it was worth it!

 _magclot23:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well. Don't worry, there will be a reunion soon. I promise.

 _Wallflower:_ You and me both, friend. I'm the one keeping them apart, but I'm high-key waiting for some happily ever after too!

 _myafroatemydog:_ Oh my goodness! You are one of my new favorites! Obviously, I'm going to group my response to all **SIXTY-EIGHT** of your reviews into one, but please know that I really enjoyed watching you make your way through the story. And I thank you for each and every one of your reviews! You my new friend, are wonderful.

 _darkwolf76:_ Yeah, the last chapter was a bit of a breather. I had to fix that in this chapter. Gave you guys a moment to catch your breath, and then I threw Lenora out of the frying pan and into the pot as they say.  
I understand that it is frustrating that he's still going south when he _knows_ that Lenora is north, but my reasoning for that is two fold. **1.** While he knows Old Nan's stories about wargs ... that's all they are to him, stories. His brain hasn't really connected the dots that these dreams that feel so real, aren't actually dreams. It will come. And **2.** While someone is going to help rescue Lenora from the Boltons, she's going to do a lot of the heavy lifting on her own. There's a happily ever after in this story, but it's also one of those ones where the princess saves herself. So Robb needs to stay away for a bit longer. But yes, there will be a direwolf reunion.  
No you are not evil for enjoying Margaery mocking Cersei. There is a reason I put that in. A lot of stories write Margaery as this sweet, innocent woman. And I much prefer a cunning one who knows how to play the game, just not as much as she might think which you'll see later. As for Tommen, the way I see him is that he's got a spine and he wants to be a good king, but he's young and he was never brought up to be king. And he has these two women who he loves who are trying to manipulate him. The High Sparrow isn't showing up in this story so we don't have to worry about that. But Tommen's end is going to be somewhat familiar (with my own twist, of course).  
I'm glad I write Jon well. Because there's going to be so much more of him. As for my characterizations of the characters. It's a bit of a mix. Some of the characters are more based on the books, some are more based on the show, some a pretty even split. I'm lucky. The books and show are both so good that I can cherry pick what I like and what I want to expand on.  
As for Tyrion and Gendry and the reunions you want to see. I don't want to give too much away, but yes. One of those scenarios will happen. And the Stark sisters, well ... you're welcome (but there will be more of their reunion in a future chapter!)

 _Cgv:_ Thank you for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Danaren Reid:_ As always, your (massive) review made me so happy! As for your sneaky suspicion that Arya will witness Lenora's retaliation against the Boltons ... it's very possible. Maybe even probable. And there will be some scenes with the two of them. Even though they didn't spend a lot of time together in the short time they were all at Winterfell, Arya looks up to her. That will only continue now.  
Lord Wildheart, that's a good thought for Robb. He's definitely more wild than he used to be. And on the path of revenge.  
I hadn't really thought/planned on putting any scenes with Margaery and Tommen. But now that you mention it it could be fun. I'm going to think about it, but don't be surprised if one shows up a bit further down the line.  
The pink letter will still very much happen. Since Lenora has kind of taken Sansa/Jeyne Poole's place it's going to come after she escapes (and since I've promised a battle of the bastards, after she makes it to the Wall as well). As for Sansa ... she might be there. I can't give away all my secrets.

 _lonala123321:_ Well, you are a sweetheart and my newly appointed hypeman. Suggesting this story to people that don't even watch GoT. Bold move my friend. Thank you so much! And I'm so happy that you are loving this story so far! And I'm happy to provide the two of you with another reason to fangirl together. Did you enjoy this chapter? I hope so! As for Lenora and reunions ... soon. I promise.

 _Kelleak:_ Grey Wind killing Ramsay. Hmmm. It's a good theory. But, I feel like especially after this chapter and the ones to come, it would be unfair to steal that from Lenora. And she's got a badass plan for it too. Though ... it might include Grey Wind. Perhaps.  
As for your confusion ... The Hound cares for Lenora in his own way. He's been Joff's guard since he was born, so he watched Lenora grow up. That being said, he's not just heading North out of the goodness of his own heart. The Lannisters named him traitor, he thinks if he goes back to King's Landing with Lenora, that will be forgiven. He's one of the good guys, but still self-serving.  
 **RONORA!** That's it! That's the name! Yes!

 _CharlieSamantha:_ I'm so glad that you're addicted to this story right now! I hope that this chapter only served to further that addiction! I am sorry that I broke your heart when I killed Robb though. But I did bring him back. He needed something to knock him out of his naive nature, and Lenora needed a way to be pulled away from him so that she could learn to rescue herself.  
It was evil. But it was a necessary evil.  
Thank you so much by the way, for loving Lenora. For someone who mostly only writes OCs, it's always a bit nerve wracking to introduce a new one, especially to a universe so full of wonderful, interesting characters like GoT. So it means a lot that you guys love her so much!  
As for the newly resurrected King in the North. On a scale of Jon Snow to Lady Stoneheart. He's closer to the Jon Snow end of the spectrum. He's got some gnarly scars and his personality is a bit darker than it used to be. But all the injuries were well away from his face and he wasn't let to rot as long as Catelyn was.  
You rock too, friend!

 _dvali:_ Robb is not a bad swordsman, that's true, but Lenora has spent her life training with Jaime Lannister, the best swordsman in Westeros. She's going to be better. And as far as Lenora's looks, Cersei is often described as one of the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon was handsome when he was younger and fitter. While I have seen pretty people have ugly babies, it's not super common. Her chances of being beautiful with who her parents are... they're pretty high. She's not good at everything - she's stubborn, in spite of her grandfather's efforts she often acts without thinking, she can be spiteful. She's not wonderwoman as evidenced by how the Boltons have managed to treat her, but she refuses to be weak.  
All that being said, I'm glad you still love the story even though Lenora annoys you sometimes.

 _Ena-Ena Till It Hurts:_ I hate Ramsay too. And he will die. He's just gotta be around for a bit longer. I promise his death will be worth the wait! Thank you so much for your review! I'm thrilled that you're enjoying the story so far! And I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ Oh no! I don't want to break your heart! But it's still a while yet before Robb and Lenora reunite. This is a love story, but it's also a story about a princess who saves herself ... Lenora's got to do that before she finds Robb again. But don't worry, it's coming.

 _shadowoftheblackdeat:_ Hello new reviewer! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story so far! I hope you keep enjoying it, you've got about forty-two chapters left before you catch up with me.  
As for your questions about Lenora's relationships with her brother and grandfather. I will try to answer them. Joffrey did not always hate Lenora. There was a time when he was just a baby and she very clearly was ready to love him. But Joffrey grew up to be an asshole, too many years of being given exactly what he wanted, never being told no, a little too much time with Cersei and her misguided way of loving her children. Lenora punished him when he did something bad. She didn't cower. She wasn't afraid. It would have started as a mild dislike and then grown into hatred. Tie that in with the rumors that she is their father's only trueborn heir and in his mind, he only had one choice. She had to die.  
As for Tywin. Lenora talks about him a little bit in future chapters. He enjoyed her more than Tommen and Myrcella. And perhaps in a more real way than how he felt about Joffrey. He put up with Joffrey because he would be king. He spent time with Lenora because she was smart and strong willed, and he enjoyed it. He would have been protective of her to a point. When it comes to Tywin Lannister love only goes so far, before duty kicks in. He cared for Lenora, but he would not risk his House's future for her.

 _Gamemaster77:_ Don't worry! You might be late for your review! But I am so late for this new update that you still beat me! So it's all good. I'm glad that you are enjoying the Warging between Robb and Grey Wind. I am making a point to put my fair share of it in this story entirely because they didn't put it in the show and that bugs me too! Robb will leave the brotherhood soon, but he needs to be there for a bit longer, he has some things to learn. And he needs to have a reunion with someone before he goes. All coming up in good time.  
Thank you for saying that I don't need to worry about getting Jon's voice wrong. Surprisingly enough, in this chapter, his POV was the easiest to write for me. That was a bit of a shock.  
As for Cersei ... I've got some fun planned for her. It will be similar to cannon, but with a bit of a twist to it. One that none of you have seen coming yet. And one that I hope you guys enjoy, even though it will be a bit painful to read.  
I'm glad that you guys are loving Tyrion and Gendry so much. That was one of the surprises I have had planned for a while now and I was committed to it even though I wasn't sure how it was going to work. But I'm really glad I did. They're these two characters that have absolutely no reason to be together, but they just ... they fit. And it was something that I had never seen done before so I got to play with it. I liked that.  
Lenora ... you said you wanted to hear about her. Your wish is my command. Still want more Lenora in the next chapter?

Muahahahaha.  
That's all I have for now my wonderful readers and reviewers! Thank you once again for reading! Go fill that review box with more review love and I will be back soon with another chapter!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	70. Chapter Seventy: Send Their Regards

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Merry Christmas my lovely readers! As I will not be back until after the holiday, I leave you this chapter in hopes that you enjoy!  
Please excuse any errors. I did a quick edit on this chapter to get it out before I left for vacation.

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy: The Lannisters Send Their Regards_

 _Reek_

He was at war with himself. Two voices in his head, each of them saying something different, each of them yelling and screaming to be heard over the other. It was hard to sleep. It was hard to think. It was hard to _be_ with the two voices constantly at it in his head. He knew the voices well, knew their cadence, their tone, their words. And each of them scared him for different reasons.

The louder, more forceful of the two voices belonged to Reek. It railed against Lenora. It screamed that she deserved everything Ramsay did to her. That she deserved to be punished for what she did to him on their wedding night. She shouldn't have cut him. And the night after, when he tried again she shouldn't have laughed at him. The master was sensitive, it was not her place as his wife to laugh. She deserved it when he hit her. She deserved it when he ordered the servants to stop bringing her food. She deserved it when he whipped her. She deserved it all, Reek told him. And if he was smart, he would listen to Reek. Reek was safe from Ramsay. Ramsay trusted Reek. Loved him even. As long as Reek did what he was told he would not be hurt.

But there was the second voice. Quieter than the first, but just as forceful. This voice that would whisper to him at night when Reek should have been sleeping. The second voice reminded him of how much Robb Stark had meant to him. It reminded him of how much Lenora had meant to Robb. It reminded him of how he had failed the Starks, how he had allowed his father to manipulate him, how he had killed those two boys and let the world think that it was Bran and Rickon, how he had stood by quietly when Roose Bolton brought Lenora to Winterfell and allowed his son to torment her for months before he forced her to marry him. The second voice whispered about how strong Lenora was, to fight against Ramsay when he wouldn't. It urged him to be just as strong as her, to do what he should have done long ago. To be the man he had been when he rode to battle at Robb Stark's side. This voice belonged to Theon Greyjoy.

He did not act on either of the two voices. He would not ignore Lenora's pain and blame her for her actions as the voice of Reek urged him to do. And he could not fight Ramsay or change the man's mind as Theon's voice wished. All he could do was watch, and wish that he would one day be strong enough to help the poor girl he had once sworn to protect with his life.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when the rest of the keep was sleeping. He would tip toe to her chambers and bring her some food he had stolen from the kitchen. It was never much, he could not risk anyone noticing. It wasn't nearly as brave an action as Theon wanted from him. But it was enough to make Reek nervous.

If she knew that it was him that brought her the food, Lenora never mentioned it. She had stopped looking at him after that horrible wedding night. He couldn't fault her for it. When she had first seen him she looked to him, hoping to find some comfort, hoping that he would help her, continuing to see the best in him even when he couldn't see it himself. And time and time again he had failed. She wouldn't look at him anymore. She wouldn't talk to him anymore. He wondered, if she ever brought herself to speak to him, would she still call him Theon? Or had she finally realized that he was Reek?

...

She wasn't allowed a handmaiden anymore, not even Myranda who had so loved to verbally torture her. Ramsay wanted her to have as little contact with the outside world as possible. Only he and Reek were able to see her.

Ramsay would go to her every night, after the wedding night, when she had stolen his blade and cut his face he shut the door. He no longer wanted anyone, even Reek to witness what happened inside her chamber. But Reek knew because every night he stood outside the door, quiet as a shadow, listening and waiting. He knew that Ramsay never lay with her, not as a husband should lie with his wife because every night he heard Lenora's mocking words, her laughter; he heard Ramsay's frustrated groan when underneath her scrutiny he was unable to become aroused; he heard Ramsay's threats and insults, he heard every time his fist or his belt landed on Lenora's skin. But he never heard a sound of pain escape the princess. She _knew_. She understood that Ramsay needed her weak, humiliated, in pain in order to do the deed. And she never gave it to him.

Each morning Ramsay would send Reek in with a bowl of cold water to clean and bandage her new wounds. Each morning when he unlocked and opened the door to her chamber he would find her sitting on the window seat, her spine as straight as a rod as she stared out the window, over the walls and toward the Wolfs Wood. She would turn, her stormy grey eyes looking through him rather than at him. There were always new bruises, new cuts littering her skin. Ramsay held nothing back, and nothing was safe - not even her face.

Each morning, on the stones near the fire place there would be a new tally mark drawn in ash. A stubborn reminder of how long she had survived married to Ramsay Bolton.

...

He paused on the way to her window seat, silently taking in the number of tick marks. Twenty. As of this morning she had survived forty nights untouched by her husband. The bit of Theon Greyjoy that was buried deep within him remembered how Robb had not been able to touch her after their wedding either, he had promised her that he would not be her true husband until she wanted him and he had kept that word, though he had complained to Theon once about it. Ramsay had made the princess no such promise, but it seemed the he too was unable to lay with his bride.

 _Forty nights_.

She turned to him as he moved slowly and quietly toward the window seat. There was a dark bruise on her jawline, coloring the skin below her right ear to her chin a dark, angry purple and black. Her lip was split and swollen and there was dried blood smeared across her forehead from a cut at her hairline. This was the worst he had ever seen her face look after a single night.

"Lenora," he whispered, the word escaping his lips without his notice. For a moment her grey eyes lifted to his face, she looked at him for the first time in forty days, and then her gaze dropped. He moved closer to her, setting the bowl of water on the window seat beside her and pulling a piece of fabric out of his breeches so that he could wash the blood off her face. She flinched away from him as he brought the rag to her lip. "I know it's cold," he whispered in apology.

She shook her head. "Everything in the North is cold," she told him, speaking to him for the first time in forty days. "The water, the days, the nights, the men." Her grey eyes lifted to his face again. "Even the ones you trust."

He shook his head. He could not apologize to her. He shouldn't have even been talking to her. Ramsay would find out. Ramsay would punish him. "He wouldn't beat you if you didn't laugh at him," he told her, half scolding, half warning.

She laughed, a cold, bitter, humorless noise as he moved the wet cloth, already red with her blood to her forehead. "You're a fool, Theon Greyjoy, if you think for one moment that he will be gentle with me if I give him what he wants."

"He wouldn't beat you," Theon argued. "Surely that would be worth it."

"Tell me," Lenora implored. "If you were a girl. Married to a monster such as Ramsay Bolton. Would it be worth it? To let him," she paused, searching for the right word, "to let him _fuck_ you just to save your face?" The word did not sound right on her tongue. When he was Theon Greyjoy he had often heard much worse in the whorehouse in Wintertown. But on Lenora's lips the words sounded crude, harsh, and dirty. Exactly what laying with Ramsay would be like.

He would not speak out against the man. He could not, as terrified as he was that Ramsay might be standing outside the door to the chamber, listening to them at the moment, waiting for him to say something that he could punish him for. Instead he gave her a small, subtle shake of his head. _No, it would not be worth it_.

She nodded, as if she had expected as much. "I expect eventually he will grow accustomed to my laughter, that it won't be a deterrent any more. Or he'll be able to, get it up, after he beats me, whether I cry out or not. But until then, I will continue to laugh at him. I will continue to belittle him. I will continue to compare him to a _true_ man, to Robb. And I will continue to count the nights."

"What will you do when it doesn't stop him anymore?" he asked, unable to stop himself. She intrigued him, the girl who was able to withstand Ramsay Bolton when Theon had not been able to.

She turned away from him, toward the open window. Her dark hair had been braided and thrown over her right shoulder, he could see on the back of her dress, long, wet marks, crisscrossing their way across her back. Ramsay had hit her the night before with his belt. She would fight him when he suggested untying the laces of her dress, opening it up so that he could clean the cuts and welts on her back. But if they were bleeding so badly that they soaked through her dress, he needed to. "I don't plan on being here when that happens," she told him, her voice quiet and resolute.

"You can't escape, Nora," he told her. "He'll catch you again."

Her gaze was still on the open window. Her voice was hard and resigned. "There is more than one way to escape," she whispered.

...

There was trouble in Wintertown. A series of raids. Horses and weapons stolen, grains and food taken from storage and left to rot. Bolton men traveling to the brothel and not returning. Ramsay had asked Lenora what she knew of it. And she had laughed at him, continued to laugh even after he had slapped her across the face, she called him stupid, for thinking that she would know anything about what was happening in Wintertown when he had her chained up in her chamber day in and day out. She told him if the weapons had not gone missing that she would have guessed it was the work of the direwolf. "As it is," she told him, still taunting him, "It would seem House Bolton isn't as feared up here as your father wished. This would never have happened if the Starks still held Winterfell."

Ramsay had hit her again. But she kept smiling.

For eight days Lord Bolton sent guards into Wintertown to try to catch the culprit. And for eight days not a single one returned. On the ninth day Lord Bolton resolved to go himself, with the largest retinue of guards he could afford, what with the training the Master-at-Arms was putting them through in preparation for Stannis' oncoming attack on the North.

The Bolton spies had them a half a week's march from Winterfell. Lord Bolton could not afford to lose any more men, or horses, or weapons. Whoever was raiding Wintertown needed to be apprehended now. When he left in the morning, he told Ramsay that he would sit in his stead as Lord of Winterfell until he returned.

For most of the morning there was nothing for Ramsay to do. Still, he sat in the High Lord's chair in the great hall, with the newest Lord Karstark sitting to his left, making plans for the upcoming battle and no doubt praying that someone would need to be punished before his father returned. Reek stood in the corner at the back of the hall, waiting. Waiting for Ramsay to tell him what to do. Waiting for an order. Waiting for evening when Ramsay would go to visit Lenora and she would laugh at him again for the forty-ninth night in a row.

Shortly before midday the maester announced that Ramsay had a visitor. Lord Ludd Whitehill of Highpoint. A lesser House in the North, just on the edge of the House Forrester's ironwood. Lord Ludd barely waited for the maester to finish announcing his presence before he barged into the hall, moving with a confidence that Theon Greyjoy would have found ridiculous on a man from such a small, often forgotten House. Behind him he pulled two figures, each chained with a bag over their head. One was standing, the other sitting in a sort of sled, their legs covered in furs. A large brown sack at his feet.

Ramsay arched an eyebrow at the scene. "Lord Ludd," he sneered, smirking at the name. "I don't believe I have ever had the pleasure of meeting you. Have you come to pledge your loyalty to House Bolton?"

Lord Karstark scoffed from his seat to Ramsay's left. "House Whitehill is loyal to the Starks," he informed Ramsay.

"It was not that long ago that House Karstark was loyal to the Starks as well," Lord Ludd argued, glaring at Karstark. Your people share blood with the Starks, don't they?" he asked. "And yet here we are, times change."

Ramsay smirked, he seemed to be enjoying the animosity between the two men. "Why have you come to Winterfell, Lord Ludd?" he asked the man.

Ludd told a story that Reek was familiar with. About how his family had once had an ironwood as large as the Forresters. About how they cut it all down and now they had nothing. They were a poor House, left alone north of the Wolfs wood. They had few men and little money to arm them with. And there were Wildlings, more than there should have been. An army of them that Jon Snow had let through the Wall. They were raiding and stealing and Whitehall could not hold them back for much longer.

"And you've come to ask for our help?" Ramsay sneered.

"We need to help each other," Lord Ludd explained to him. "The colder it gets the further south those goat fuckers will roam. It won't take them long to get here."

"You think a hoard of Wildlings could take Winterfell?" Lord Karstark asked.

"With Jon Snow leading them?" Ludd countered. "Maybe. He knows this place better than we ever will. He knows the people."

Ramsay nodded, "Pledge your House to House Bolton," he ordered. "Swear loyalty to my father as Warden of the North and we will help you destroy the bastard and all of his Wildling friends."

Lord Ludd shook his head, "The North is done with oaths," he told Ramsay. "We swore our oaths to Robb Stark and _your_ father killed him. We won't do it again. I don't have pledges and oaths for you, but I've got a gift." He turned and nodded toward the two figures behind him. With a tug on their chain he pulled them forward until they were directly in front of Ramsay's table. Then one by one he pulled the bags off of their heads.

Even from behind them, Theon recognized them. They were older, taller, dirtier, thinner. But he had spent so much of his life following those two boys, watching over them, teasing them. The Gods help him, it was Bran and Rickon. Ramsay raised an eyebrow, "Who are they?" he asked.

"The Stark boys," Lord Ludd told him. "Bran and Rickon."

That surprised him, his eyes widened. He leaned forward in his seat, studying the boys. "And how do I know that this is really Bran and Rickon Stark?" he asked. The boys were terrified, Rickon turned toward Bran, silently asking his brother what he should do. Bran gave his brother a tiny, almost unnoticeable shake of the head.

Lord Ludd turned, his gaze falling on Reek. "I hear this pitiful creature used to be Theon Greyjoy," he mused. "And you're married to the woman who would have been their sister. Either one of them could confirm it for you." He bent, picking up the sack out of Bran's lap and throwing it across the hall toward Ramsay's table. "But perhaps this will help," he added as the sack rolled.

It was open, one of the objects tumbled out of it. A mess of blood and matted dark fur. Wide angry eyes and teeth that seemed frozen in a permanent snarl. _Shaggy Dog_. The sack wasn't empty, Reek had a feeling that Summer's head was in there as well.

Ramsay stood from his seat and moved around the table, bending to inspect the wolf's head. Then he lifted his gaze, his pale blue eyes sparkling as he grinned at the two boys. "Welcome home, little lords," he greeted them. His gaze remained on them for a long moment before he turned it on Reek. "Bring the youngest down to the cells," he ordered. Rickon whimpered and lunged toward Bran, wrapping his arms around his older brother and crying. Ramsay ignored him and turned to Karstark, "Pick up the wolves' heads. I want them stuffed as a trophy. We'll hang them in the hall." He turned back to Reek who had just started to separate the two brothers. "Once your done with the boy, go get my lady wife. Tell her I have a surprise for her."

...

She was suspicious the moment he told her that Ramsay wanted her in the hall. She hadn't been allowed out of her chambers since their wedding night. It was suspicious that he wanted her in the hall now. She did not ask him why Ramsay wanted her. She did not speak to him at all. She quietly stood, her spine straight and her shoulders tense, preparing for whatever torture Ramsay had planned for her.

But there was no preparing for what he had in store. Even in his darkest thoughts, Reek never would have guessed that Ramsay would be so _cruel_.

He sat in his chair, and when he heard them enter he turned, grinning at her, his pale eyes dancing over the bruises that colored her skin. He turned slowly, deliberately, his gaze falling on Bran. Lenora's gaze followed, her eyes widening when she recognized the boy. "Bran," she whispered, stepping away from Reek so that she could approach the boy.

But Ramsay and Karstark were faster. With a flick of his eyes Ramsay glanced at Karstark, "Kill the cripple," he ordered, his voice a practiced deadpan.

The boy screamed. Lenora screamed, loosing her footing as she watched Karstark's knife rip its way through Bran's small throat, blood spurted and dripped, soaking the boy's cloak and Karstark's hand as the small, crippled boy choked on his own blood.

Bran's scream disappeared. But Lenora's continued, one unending, broken sound. It was the kind of scream that made a man's blood run cold. _Red_. It ignited something in his head, some primal pathway that he had long forgotten, awakening something that he had buried deep inside of him. He could feel it, thrumming in his veins. Fight or flight, stand or run, be a hero or a coward.

His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms, drawing blood.

In that moment he decided.

His name was Theon Greyjoy. He was a coward no longer. He had failed Robb, but he would not fail Lenora. He would save her.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He had hated the North the first time he had been dragged there by Robert Baratheon. Even in the summer it had been a cold, grey place. His first day at Winterfell, as he bore the judgmental stares of the Starks he had thought that he would rather run himself through with his own sword rather than spend any more time in the harsh, godforsaken land then he had to.

And that was before Roose Bolton was named Warden of the North.

He could say a great deal against the Starks. They too honorable, they were stubborn, harsh and cold. They were unable to look past the imagined faults in others to see that they were also capable of making mistakes. But they had been good to their people. The Northmen were loyal to a fault, as he had traveled north he had heard many of them grumbling and speaking out against the Boltons in a way they never would have done to the Starks. They felt betrayed, they were angry, and even though all the Starks were dead or scattered across the Seven Kingdoms, the North remembered. They feared the Boltons, but they still loved the Starks.

And many still loved Lenora.

He heard their whispers in inns and whorehouses, hiding his golden hair behind a hood to keep from being recognized. They whispered about their poor queen, how she had suffered so much. How she had seen her husband killed before her very eyes, how she had been captured by Lord Bolton, a man she had trusted, how she had been taken to Winterfell and not seen again. The smallfolk whispered that the lords and ladies of some of the Houses in the North that had pledged their loyalty to House Bolton had seen her, but that she hadn't been seen in Wintertown. They whispered that they heard she had been married again, perhaps forced to marry Bolton's son Ramsay. In their love for her none of them were willing to believe she had remarried willingly.

He smirked when he heard that. These smallfolk did not know his niece as well as Jaime did, but they were right about that. He had seen it in her eyes before Lady Catelyn released him from Riverrun; Lenora loved Robb Stark, in spite of all of his faults, if she had really seen Robb murdered in front of her it would have broken her. Destroyed her. Left her reeling in a grief that she would be forced to carry alone.

She would not have remarried anyone willingly, let alone the bastard son of the man who had murdered her husband. She only would have done it if she thought she had no other choice, if she were threatened, or forced. She would be frightened and heartbroken and entirely alone.

And that was why, when he finally reached Wintertown he was happy. Lenora might not have realized that he was there, she might not have known that she was no longer alone. But she would soon. He wouldn't be able to bring her husband back, but when he rescued her he would be able to bring her home, to her family, where she belonged.

...

Bronn sighed, leaning away from Jaime to spit on the ground. "I never much raiding," the sellsword told him. "Even when I was able to keep the shit we stole."

Jaime smirked, "You'll like it soon enough when we draw Bolton out of Winterfell," he told the sellsword. "Then we stop raiding and start killing."

Bronn chuckled and shook his head, "Seems to me that the only one who's going to be doing any killing is you. This is _your_ revenge mission after all." He shook his head again, his gaze dropping to the ground, playfully lamenting. "And a stupid one at that."

"You're getting paid," Jaime reminded him. Bronn had spent too much time with the Lannister brothers, when Jaime had asked him to travel north with him he had not asked where they were going or why. He had asked how much he would get paid. Jaime had promised him riches, though not a great deal.

"Not enough if we fail," Bronn told him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the middle of Wintertown where there was a flayed man in the middle of the square for all to see. A living version of the Bolton's ghastly banner. "You know what the Boltons do to their enemies now that the Starks aren't here to tell them no."

"No amount of gold would save you if we fail," Jaime argued, rolling his eyes. "It would only make you a rich dead man."

"Easy for you to say," Bronn continued. "I'm fairly certain that Lannister amounts of gold would be enough to save you."

Jaime shook his head, "Not this time," he assured his argumentative companion. "Lannister gold and fear of my father saved me from Roose Bolton once. It won't work again, especially with the Bolton's holding Moat Cailin. Even if he was afraid of _King_ Tommen and my sister, he knows that their army can't get past the moat. I'm no safer than you."

"So this is a suicide mission?" Bronn deadpanned. "You might have told me that before we set out."

Jaime turned to look at him, his eyebrows raised, "Would you have come if you had known?" He asked the question jokingly, mockingly, but the answer mattered. He was trusting Bronn with not only his life, but Lenora's as well. He should have asked this question at the beginning of their journey.

Bronn chuckled, low and dark, and nodded. "Yes," he told Jaime, surprising him. "It was too good to pass up. A one handed, old as fuck knight, and a sellsword off to save a princess. The only thing that would have made it better is if we had brought the dwarf along with us."

Jaime smiled ruefully at the reminder of his brother. "When I set Tyrion free it was my understanding that he was going to head north. But after he killed Father, I don't know where he headed. The ship he was supposed to take made port in the Free Cities -"

Bronn cut him off before he continued, "I didn't seriously want the imp along," he told Jaime. "You're useless enough in a fight, I'd hate to have to save both of your Lannister asses."

"I haven't been useless as of late," Jaime defended himself.

"Aye," Bronn agreed. "You can hold your own against villagers, drunk soldiers, and men at arms with their cocks out and their breeches around their ankles. Is that the sort of thing that got you named to the Kingsguard all those years ago, old man?"

There would have been a time, not that long ago when Jaime would have bristled at those comments. When he would have been insulted and challenged Bronn to a fight over them. But he had been traveling with Bronn for too long, he was too used to them now. So instead of bristling he smirked, and instead of fighting he joked back. "You're not that young either," he reminded the sellsword.

"I'm not," Bronn agreed before he held up both of his hands and waved them in Jaime's face. "But I've still got two hands."

Jaime rolled his eyes and shook his head, "Why did I bring you?" he asked.

"Because you want Lenora taken care of," Bronn told him matter-of-factly. "Even if you die on this ridiculous suicide mission. You want her taken care of. And you know that I will. She and I can get married and buy a castle with all the gold she'll inherit from her rich, dead uncle."

Jaime's jaw clenched for a moment before he reminded himself that Bronn was joking. "She won't marry you," he told Bronn. "Drunk old men aren't her type."

"I'd wager young, sadistic bastards aren't either," Bronn argued, alluding to Ramsay Bolton. He shook his head, "She may be a princess, but this will be her third marriage. Perhaps she'd be willing to try a sellsword."

"And you would have a long road back to the capitol," Jaime supplied, playing along now. "Plenty of time for you to grow on her."

Bronn nodded, "Worked on you," he told Jaime with a chuckle.

Jaime smiled in spite of himself and their situation. "Well, let's rescue her before you start planning your marriage," he told him, nodding toward the road they were watching through a thin line of trees. A small group of riders under the Bolton banner were riding down the road from Winterfell. His eyes narrowed, squinting as he tried to make out the faces of the men.

He only recognized one - Roose Bolton.

Bronn moved so quietly that Jaime did not notice him at first when the sellsword moved to stand beside him. "Ten riders," he whispered. "Any of them our man?"

Jaime nodded, "The one at the front," he told him. "Lord Roose Bolton."

Bronn nodded, "If it were a smaller group I would be happy to take on the men while you went after the lord. But I can't handle nine of them on my own." He turned, studying Jaime for a moment. "And I'd wager my fee that you don't want to risk splitting them and having the leech lord realize what was happening and ride back to Winterfell."

Jaime shook his head. For nine days he and Bronn had been raiding Wintertown, killing Bolton men, and waiting to draw Roose or Ramsay Bolton out from behind Winterfell's thick walls. This would be their only chance. If Roose realized that the raids weren't simply rebellious northmen making trouble, but rather a calculated trap for him, he would run back to Winterfell and not leave it again until he had a large retinue of men with him.

They had succeeded in getting him out of the keep, and they would have to succeed in killing him now. They had no choice.

"We'll separate him," Jaime told Bronn. "I doubt Roose Bolton will be doing much searching. He'll send his men looking for trouble. And he'll stay safely out of harm's way."

Bronn grinned, "So you want me to make trouble?" he asked.

Jaime nodded with a smirk, "As much as you can."

...

Bronn had truly taken his order to heart. After he had left Jaime in the woods on the outskirts of Wintertown, Jaime had wondered for a moment how he would know when it was time for him to make his move. He needn't have worried. He could hear the shouts from the woods. A moment later he could see the flames. Bronn had set something on fire.

He circled around, following the path Roose's men had taken, a hood thrown over his face to hide his blonde hair. This disguise would not have worked in King's Landing, it would have looked suspicious and drawn more attention to him rather than less. But here in the bitter, cold North, he looked like everyone else. No one paid him any mind.

Not even Roose Bolton as he jumped off his horse and ordered two of his men to enter the building that was on fire to look for anyone left inside and what could have started it. He was not suspicious yet, a fire was nothing new.

But a moment later when another building, across the square from the first, went up in flames his pale blue eyes widened when he realized what was happening. He had set out from Winterfell to find whoever was raiding Wintertown, and it appeared to him that he had. He ordered all of his men to start searching the square. He spread them thin in an attempt to catch his culprit, all the while never realizing that he was not the one setting the trap.

He was the one caught in it.

Jaime waited until his men had dispersed and were otherwise occupied. He waited until Bronn had set another building to the torch. And then when Roose's back was turned to him, the man turning a slow circle to survey the entire square for a new face, one that did not belong. Jaime made his move. Quietly sneaking up on the man, unsheathing his sword and hitting Roose on the back of the head with the pommel.

When Roose fell unconscious at his feet Jaime reached down with his left hand and roughly pulled the lord to his own horse. He threw Roose over the saddle and climbed up behind him before he rode quickly and unnoticed out of the square.

...

Roose was unconscious for less than a quarter of an hour. But it was enough time for Jaime to get him well into the Wolfs Wood, to take off his armor, and to hobble the horse so that it could not run away and give up their location.

Her was surprised at first, his pale blue eyes darting around the abandoned wood around them, looking for his attacker before they landed on Jaime. There was still a look of surprise in his eyes as he stared at Jaime, but it was tinged with something else. Something that Jaime did not like - amusement.

Very deliberately Roose's eyes dropped from Jaime's face to the gold hand that concealed his stump. They lingered there for a moment before they rose to his face again, this time with a smirk. "This is beneath you, Ser Jaime." He shook his head, "You were once the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Now you would knock a man unconscious, drag him to the woods, and kill him while he's down?"

Jaime shrugged his right shoulder, playing as unconcerned as possible, "The red wedding was beneath you, Lord Bolton," he shot back. "You were sworn to Robb Stark. One of his trusted advisors. He trusted you and you conspired with my father to kill him."

Bolton watched him, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, even now he did not believe that Jaime would succeed at killing him. Perhaps he thought that if he stalled long enough his men would find them. Perhaps he thought that the sword that hung off Jaime's right hip was useless now. Perhaps he thought he could overpower Jaime.

But he was wrong on all counts. Bronn was happily keeping Bolton's men busy in the village. Jaime still wasn't where he used to be with his left hand, but he had practiced enough that even Bronn would grudgingly admit that he was _decent_. And now that Jaime was _this_ close to his niece, there was no way that he was going to let anyone stand in the way of getting to her.

Roose Bolton would die in these woods.

"You were the one who gave me the idea, Ser Jaime," Roose told him, speaking of the red wedding. "When we met at Harrenhal and you assured me that a Lannister friendship would be much more beneficial to House Bolton than one with the Young Wolf."

Jaime bristled at that, he did not like to think that he was responsible for Lenora's suffering. "I did not suggest that you kill my niece's husband in front of her eyes," he told Roose, his voice hard and cold. "I did not suggest that you kill the boy at all. I suggested that you let me go."

Roose seemed to wave off his anger, "It was unfortunate that your niece was there in the hall," he told Jaime. "I would have thought that Stark's men would have had the common sense to remove her once the fighting started. But it seemed that she refused to leave. She even asked for a sword."

In spite of their situation Jaime smirked, Lenora was stubborn. She always had been. "And so you killed her husband in front of her and then dragged her back to the keep she would have lived in with him. _That_ was a nice touch, Lord Bolton."

"My friendship with the Lannisters had been profitable," Roose told him. "But I had no way of ensuring that it would continue to be so. _She_ was my assurance. With her under my control I knew that your House would do nothing to risk me harming her. And the northmen still loyal to Robb Stark's cause would not risk his widow either."

Jaime nodded, he had suspected as much when he had first heard that Roose Bolton had captured Lenora and taken her north instead of sending her south as he was supposed to. It was an incredibly predictable plan and anger burned red in his chest when he though that his father should have thought of it himself. Perhaps he had and had carried through with the Red Wedding anyway. Perhaps Lenora had been a price that Tywin Lannister was willing to pay to be rid of the Stark boy.

She was not a price Jaime would ever be willing to pay though.

He nodded at Roose, "Stand up, Lord Bolton," he ordered the man as he unsheathed his sword. "I tire of hearing your voice."

Roose smirked as he stood. "No sword for me?" he asked after reaching for his own only to find that Jaime had taken it from him when he was unconscious. "You have no honor," he paused, his pale eyes watching Jaime closely. "Though, I suppose you never did. Remind me of how you killed the Mad King? A sword in the back wasn't it?"

He was baiting Jaime, trying to make him angry so that he would be easier to beat. What he didn't realize was that ever since the day he had killed Aerys, Jaime was always angry. And instead of making mistakes he used that anger to make him stronger.

He threw Bolton his sword, "It was," he agreed. "Though for you it will be through the stomach. I want to look in your eyes and watch the life leave them."

Roose stared down at the sword in his hands for a moment before he looked back up at Jaime. He was debating how best to attack the knight. Jaime held his sword in his left hand, poised on the balls of his feet, ready for the attack. But it never came. Roose dropped the sword on the ground and turned his back on Jaime, running from him just as the Mad King had once done.

And just as the Mad King he did not get far. Though in the woods it was not Jaime's blade that stopped him, but a growl sounding from behind the trees. The lord stopped, his shoulders tight as his head darted side to side, looking for the wolf.

Jaime smirked, about to tease the man for his fear when the beast stepped out from the trees. The laughter died in Jaime's throat as he stared at the large wolf.

The wolf was lean, muscular and strong. But it was larger than any normal wolf that Jaime had ever seen. He recognized it. The smoke grey fur that he had once thought matched his niece's eyes. The sharp, narrowed, yellow eyes. These eyes did not belong to a common wolf, they were intelligent, angry, they whispered of a strong connection the beast had once held with a man. This was no ordinary wolf. It was a direwolf.

Robb Stark's direwolf.

Jaime shook his head, "I had heard that your men decapitated the beast. Their brags of sewing its head onto Stark's body were heard as far south as King's Landing," he told Roose, his voice a whisper so as not to upset the wolf.

The animal had hated Jaime when he was held captive at Riverrun. It had snapped at him, growled, Jaime had always been under the impression that the only reason the beast did not kill him was because Robb Stark was too honorable for that. But now the beast barely noticed him, his golden eyes were locked on Roose Bolton as the upper lip lifted and pulled back, revealing a row of sharp pointed teeth.

"They did," Roose told him, his voice shaking slightly.

Jaime chuckled, low and dark like the wolf's growl, "You spent more time with the beast than I did, Lord Bolton," he chided. "And even I know, without any doubt, that this wolf belonged to Robb Stark." He paused for a moment, watching the wolf and waiting for it to make its move.

The beast did not lunge at Roose, he did not attack. His golden eyes swept over Roose before landing, very deliberately for an animal, on Jaime. He was once again struck by the realization that the Stark's direwolves, all of them, had been so different from normal animals. They had connected with and understood their masters. Which made him wonder why Robb Stark's wolf was here now. He watched it carefully, not worrying that Bolton would try to run, he stood no chance against the wolf.

"Lenora," he whispered, his eyes still on the wolf. "You're here for Lenora."

He half expected the wolf to nod. It didn't. But he _knew_ that he was right. Somehow the wolf had escaped the Red Wedding and had followed Lenora north to Winterfell, trying to protect her just as Robb Stark would have if he were alive.

 _Thank the Gods for this bloody wolf_.

He moved forward quickly now and dropped his golden hand on Roose's shoulders, spinning the man around to face him. He hadn't lied when he told Roose that he would give him a sword through the stomach. He pulled Roos close to him, as he readied his blade in his left hand. "What was it you said to Robb Stark before you killed him?" he whispered in the man's ear. He nodded, not waiting for an answer, " _The Lannisters send their regards_."

It had been many years since he had stabbed a man in the stomach. He had forgotten how easy it was. The blade slid through Roose Bolton's skin easily. The man's blood spilled over Jaime's arm and blade, hot and angry as it dripped onto the snow at their feet. Jaime jerked the sword up, before slowly dragging it down, cutting Roose open from sternum to below his navel, tearing at the internal organs and ensuring that the man would be dead in a matter of minutes.

Then he dropped the sword, bringing his bloody left hand up to Roose's other shoulder and holding him up as he bled out, waiting until the last spark of life had left the man's unnaturally pale blue eyes before he let go of him and allowed the body to drop to the ground at his feet. The blood melting the snow around him.

He glanced up, expecting the wolf to move in now. Either to devour Roose Bolton's body or to attack Jaime himself. The beast did neither. It stood for a moment, gold eyes glaring down at Bolton's body and then, without a look back at Jaime it turned and disappeared into the woods.

He heard a low whistle behind him and he turned to see Bronn standing near Bolton's stolen horse. "What was that?" the sellsword asked, his eyes still on the place where the wolf had disappeared.

Jaime thought about it for a moment, trying to remember the wolf's name. "Grey Wind," he told his companion.

"It has a name does it?" Bronn questioned. "That was the largest, strangest wolf I have ever seen."

Jaime smirked, "Because it's a direwolf," he told him. "Robb Stark's direwolf."

Bronn raised his eyebrows at that, "Seems your niece wasn't as alone as you thought."

Jaime nodded as he turned back toward where the wolf had been. "No," he agreed. "She isn't."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Ramsay had sent her back to her chambers soon after he had Bran murdered in front of her. It seemed that he enjoyed having a pet princess to torture in front of his cronies, but when that princess launched herself at him, her fingernails digging into the skin on his face as she screamed that he was a murderer - he did not enjoy that.

He put an end to her attack with one swift and strong backhand. She flew away from him, tripping over the chains at her ankles and fell to the floor at his feet. He smirked down at her, no doubt enjoying the view of her on the ground in front of him before his pale gaze lifted to Theon. "Reek," he called out, his voice causing the man in question to stand up a bit straighter, waiting for a command. "My lady wife is tired, please return her to her chambers."

Theon nodded as he moved quickly in his strange jerky steps toward Lenora. Without saying a word, without even looking at her he bent down to pull her to her feet. She stumbled a bit, falling into Theon her eyes automatically turning toward Bran's body where it still lay in his makeshift sled, the blood warm and wet as it covered his throat, his stomach, and the ground. She could smell it in the air, thick and metallic.

"Bran," she whispered, still leaning against Theon for the support.

"Don't," Theon whispered in warning, so quiet that Lenora had to strain to hear it.

Ramsay was smirking at her, enjoying how weak she was, enjoying her reaction to Bran's death. "Ease your mind, dear one," he told her. "I will see you this evening."

His voice was soft, a whisper. On anyone else the words would have sounded kind. Though Lenora heard them for what they truly were. A promise. A threat. She swallowed, her throat tight, as her gaze dragged slowly from Bran's body to Ramsay. He was smirking at her, a sparkle in his eyes that she had not seen since the wedding night.

Her chest tightened, her heart beating rapidly against her ribs. She had survived forty-eight nights untouched by Ramsay. Since the night in the godswood she had managed to keep him at bay with laughter and taunts and he had paid her back with bruises and welts from his belt. But so far no amount of beating her, no amount of embarrassment had been enough for him to get it up.

He looked at her now, in a way he had not ever looked at her and she _knew_.

 _This_ was it, the final act. He had finally seen her weak. He had finally seen her broken. After forty-eight nights he had finally seen her _shattered_.

When he arrived in her chambers that evening, it would not be the same. Her laughter would not deter him, not when he had seen her tears. Her taunts would not stop him, not when he had heard her scream. He would not beat her out of anger, but as a strange sort of twisted foreplay. And when he was done, he would have his way with her.

She had planned on having more time.

But her father had once told her that time and tide waited for no man. And she had just run out.

She allowed Theon to steer her from the hall. Only turning to him once they were out of earshot. Her thoughts were flying through her head so quickly that she could barely hold onto one for more than a moment. "Rickon," she whispered, her eyes locking onto Theon's face. "Where is Rickon?"

Something crossed over the man's eyes, something that she did not understand. He looked away from her for a moment before his gaze returned to her face. "Lord Ludd only brought Bran with him, Lenora," he told her. "They have not yet found Rickon."

She shook her head, "The boys wouldn't have separated," she told him. "They wouldn't have."

Theon shook his head, "Rickon is not here, Your Grace."

It was his last two words that caught her attention. It had been some time since anyone had called her _Your Grace_ , and much longer since Theon had addressed her in anything more than a whisper. She stumbled to a stop, almost tripping when Theon continued to walk before he realized that she had stopped moving. For a moment she was caught in an _almost_ fall - awkwardly leaning forward, her upper body still leaning into Theon for support, while her feet remained planted on the floor.

Theon turned, watching her for a moment, his gaze darting over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching them before he moved back to her so that she was able to stand up straight again. "Nora," he whispered, using the name that Robb had given her early on in her days at Winterfell. A name Theon had never used before. "We _must_ keep walking."

He was no longer stuttering. His voice was strong and hard. It was still missing the self confident tone that she had always known the young man to use. But he was no longer speaking in the tone she had heard from _Reek_. "Theon?" she whispered, watching him closely, waiting for the wince and the quiet correction.

It never came. He never begged her to call him by the ridiculous name Ramsay had given him. He didn't hide from his past. He kept his eyes on her, bright and intense, and inclined his head once. A nod.

"Theon?" she asked again, still a whisper. She had to be certain. "Is it truly _you_?"

It was such a stupid question to ask. He had always been Theon, even when he had been whimpering and answering to _Reek_ , she had still always believed that buried deep inside somewhere was the young man she had watched ride beside Robb for so long.

He nodded again, his gaze once again drifting over her shoulder behind her. "We need to keep moving, Nora," he whispered to her again. "The keep has eyes."

She did not nod, but he must have felt her silent acceptance, her surrender in her body, because a moment later he was leading her down the corridor again. She leaned closer to him, not for support, but so that she could whisper to him without fear of being heard. "The boys?" she whispered desperately. "If Bran, and possibly Rickon, have been alive this whole time -" she shook her head, "The boys? Who did you burn?"

Theon shook his head, his eyes distant, "Two orphans," he whispered to her. "No one. Dressed as the boys and burned beyond recognition." He turned to look at her, "I could never hurt the boys," he told her emphatically. "No matter what."

She looked away from him, her chest tightening. "You betrayed Robb," she whispered to him, pausing when she felt him wince at her words. She continued on anyway, "I never thought you would do that and you did."

She expected him to disappear again, to go inside of himself and turn into Reek. He did not hide. He did not disappear. He swallowed thickly. "I betrayed Robb," he agreed, his eyes never leaving her face. "That is something I can never undo, something I can never be forgiven for." He shook his head, "I failed my king," he told her, his voice ragged with regret as he glanced down at the floor. "I was weak and afraid, and I failed him." He looked up at her again, "I will not fail you, Nora."

"But why?" Lenora asked him, her voice quiet. "Why are you going to help me now? When I begged you for help so many times before and you were too afraid?" She shook her head, she wanted to trust him, but he had stood by for _months_ while Ramsay had taunted, humiliated, and tortured her. He had stood by and let Ramsay do it. "Why now?" she whispered when Theon did not answer straight away.

He paused for a moment in the empty hallway outside of her chamber, turning to look at her. "I _know_ , Nora," he told her, his voice a quiet, desperate whisper. "I _know_. Believe me, it was one of the most difficult things I ever endured." Lenora shook her head, her eyes closed, she didn't want to hear of Theon's struggles.

She pulled away from him, turning toward her chamber door. He reached out to her, wrapping his hand around her wrist, something he never would have done when he was pretending to be _Reek_. "It hurt me as much as it hurt you -"

" _No!_ " The word exploded out of her lips with so much force that Lenora flinched. "No," she repeated again, wrenching her wrist out of his grasp and turning toward her chamber door. She threw it open. She walked through the door, turning once she was in the chamber. " _Do not_ tell me about _your_ pain."

She shook her head, her hands reaching for the laces at the sides of her dress, clumsily untying them. Tears prickled in her eyes, threatening to slip over her cheeks. She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, blinking back the tears, she refused to let him see her cry. She heard him take a step closer to her and she shook her head again, turning so that her back was facing him. She loosened her dress enough to shrug out of it, to reveal her back to him.

She knew what he would see. Welts and bruises, cuts, and burns. Scars. The marks Ramsay had given to her in his frustration and anger. The stories of the pain she had endured in the months that Theon had stood by and watched, _one of the most painful things he had ever endured_.

She turned her head, watching him over her shoulder, his gaze was on the floor, steadfastly keeping his eyes off of her back. "Look at them," she ordered him. "Theon. _Look_."

She watched him, his blue eyes slowly moving up her back, taking in each mark, the ones that would slowly heal and the ones that would mark her back forever. The marks that he had stood by and allowed Ramsay to give her.

He took a step closer, "Lenora," he whispered. In all the days he had taken care of her since the wedding night, she had never allowed him to see the extent of her injuries.

She began to pull her dress back up, retying the laces on her sides. Once they were tied, she looked back up at him. "Now, Theon," she whispered, her voice hard and cold. "Tell me about _your_ pain."

He couldn't, she could see it on his face, the defeat. He looked down, away from her. She knew that he had suffered since Ramsay and the Boltons had taken Winterfell, she would not deny that. But she would not hear him tell her that watching Ramsay hurt her had been one of the most painful things he had ever done. _Not about her_.

Theon Greyjoy had so much to regret; betraying Robb, killing two innocent boys and leaving the country to believe he had killed Bran and Rickon. She would not be his greatest regret. "Please," she whispered. "Please leave me alone, Theon." She shook her head, "I fear this evening will be my last -" she stopped, unsure of how to finish her sentence.

Her last evening alone? Her last evening untouched by Ramsay? Her gaze shifted toward her window. _Her last evening alive?_

Theon must have read her thoughts. He shook his head, moving toward her quickly, reaching out for her wrist. "I'll get you out, Lenora," he promised her, his voice unwavering. "Don't do anything rash, I will get your out."

Lenora shook her head, "Nine days ago you told me there was no escape. _Nine days_ , Theon, what has changed in those days?"

"I have," Theon assured her. He glanced over his shoulder toward the corridor to ensure that no one was listening to him. "I will come for you," he told her. "Tonight. _Before_ Ramsay."

She could feel it, hope rising in her throat like a bubble. She shook her head, forcing it down. She could not afford to hope, not now. "We'll never get out of the castle," she whispered. "Not with all the soldiers quartered here to fight Stannis. How will we get out?"

Theon grinned at her, a fleeting shadow of his former self, "When Robb gave you the tour of Winterfell, he skipped some of the best parts," he told her. "There are ways out, ways that Ramsay does not know. I will show you. I will get you away from here. I promise you."

...

She was pacing her chamber when he finally came back for her. It was well past dark and much too close to the time that Ramsay would visit her for her comfort. When the key rattled in its lock, for a moment she thought it was Ramsay. Her heart was racing as she moved as quickly, quietly as she could, hiding from him.

The door opened and he walked in, quiet as a shadow, pausing just inside the door. "Nora?" he whispered.

And in an instant she knew him. "Theon," she whispered, her voice little more than a breath. She rushed out of her corner, wrapping her hand around his wrist. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you I would come for you," Theon told her.

She shook her head, quick and nervous, "He'll _see_ you," she whispered to him. "Why didn't you come earlier?"

"He won't come tonight," Theon told her, even in the dark she could see his teeth flash as he smiled.

"He won't?" she asked him, her mind struggling to keep up with what Theon was telling her. "Why not?" She still had her hand wrapped around his wrist, squeezing so tightly that she was sure that she was hurting him. But he did not ask her to let go of him, in fact he seemed to appreciate it.

"His father," he whispered to her. "Lord Bolton traveled to Wintertown to see to the raids. He was killed this afternoon. Ramsay believes it was Stannis' men." Lenora opened her mouth, about to tell him that Stannis was still a few days ride away. He shook his head, silently interrupting her, "An advanced scout, he believes. He's taking the soldiers out tonight, he means to catch Stannis by surprise."

"Tonight?" she breathed. She let go of his arm, turning from him so that she could begin to pack. "We'll leave after him. We'll have to be careful. I'd wait until tomorrow, but it's safer to leave by night."

The smile dropped off his lips as he watched her, "Lenora you can't pack," he told her urgently. "Ramsay will be gone, but there will still be people in the keep. You cannot simply walk out the main gate with a trunk and a bag."

Lenora nodded, it made sense. "We'll wear as many clothes as we can then," she told him. "Three sets, to keep warm, and so that we will have a change of clothes when we get where we're going." He shook his head again, his gaze dropping down toward his feet. "Seven Hells," she cursed in a whisper. "What has you shaking your head now? What is it?"

"I can't come with you, Nora," he told her. "It'll be too suspicious. You'll leave tonight, but when you do you must go alone."

"Alone?" Lenora whispered, her voice shaking. She had tried to run on her own before and she had been caught within an hour. She shook her head, "I can't" she told him. "I can't -"

"You _can_ , Nora," he told her, his voice soft like velvet, but hard like steel. Snow falling on ice. "You are so strong, Your Grace," he told her. He smiled ruefully and shook his head, "It used to drive Robb to insanity. You were so headstrong, so stubborn, you didn't need him the way he thought a wife should need her husband. And you don't need _me_. You will do this on your own and you will do it like you have done everything else in your life."

Lenora scoffed, "I'll make a mess of it?" she asked him.

He shook his head, smiling gently at her, "You will survive. You will succeed. And you will do it all with a grace that your mother would be envious of."

She was certain that he was saying this to give her confidence. She doubted he believed it, even for a moment, but she appreciated it. Tears prickled in her eyes as she moved toward him quickly, throwing her arms around him so that she could give him a hug. "I'll come back for you," she promised him. "I will not leave you here to him."

Theon shook his head, pulling away from her enough that he could brush some of the hair out of her eyes, taking care to tuck it behind her ear. "Don't you worry about me, Nora," he told her. "And don't you dare risk yourself for the likes of me. I owed you a debt for what I did to Robb. Thank you for allowing me to repay it."

Hurried footsteps in the corridor had them jumping apart, Theon walking quietly toward a dark, shadowy corner of the chamber, hoping to hide from whoever was about to arrive. Ramsay was in such a hurry to enter that he did not even pause to wonder at her chamber door being unlocked. He grinned at her when he entered, the heavy wooden door banging against the stone wall behind him. "Good evening, Lenora," he told her, his grin widening.

Lenora kept her gaze on him, willing herself not to look toward the corner where Theon stood, hiding in the near darkness. For a moment she thought of returning his greeting, she was so happy that her freedom was so near. But that would only raise his suspicions. She forced a smirk onto her lips when she wanted to smile. "I can hear the soldiers rallying from my window," she told him, pointing toward the window on the opposite side of the room from Theon. "Have you come to ask me for my assistance?"

Ramsay smiled at her and shook his head, moving closer to the window so that he could look down on the soldiers in the courtyard. Lenora turned, following him with her gaze. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Theon sneak from the room. Ramsay turned back, only a moment too late to catch the traitor. "And tell me, Lenora, what business would you have on a battlefield?" he asked her.

"A fair share more than you," Lenora told him, her voice disdainful as she purposefully reached up, and ran her thumb across her face. A silent, taunting reminder of the scar she had given him for a wedding gift.

He was angry. She could see it burning in his eyes, tinged a hatred she suspected he held for all women, the reason he needed to beat them in order to fuck them. He moved toward her quickly, his right hand closing around her throat before she could move away from him, he pushed her against the wall behind her, lifting her up so that her feet were no longer touching the floor. Her hands flew to his, her nails digging into his skin and drawing blood as she tried to free herself from his grasp, but nothing worked. She was screaming, but no sound came out as his fingers continued to curl around her neck, pressing, closing. _Too tight_.

He leaned closer to her, his tongue flicking out to lick the outer shell of her ear. She could not summon the energy to be disgusted, all she could think about was _air._ His breath was warm, dancing over her skin as he whispered. "I was going to wait," he told her as his left hand dropped from her shoulders\ down over her stomach to her skirts. He started to pull them up, his nails scratching against the skin on the top of her thighs as they raked over her skin. "I was going to wait until after I had killed your uncle. "I was going to have you with the blade that had killed your uncle pressed against your throat."

He chuckled, low and dark, as he brushed his nose against her jaw line. Smelling her skin, tasting her fear, as he continued to cut off her breath. "But now I think I want you now. _Here_. Against the wall while you struggle, trying to breathe, trying to scream, trying to fight. You won't succeed, just as you did not succeed when I killed Bran. Just as you did not succeed when my father killed your precious Robb."

Her vision was greying, tunneling. She could only focus on his face, and just barely at that. Her leg felt sluggish as it lifted. But even if it felt as if she were moving it through water it must have carried more force than she thought. When it slammed into the soft space between his legs he called out, a strangled pain-filled sound.

He let go of her, the air rushing back into her lungs with a ferocity that hurt almost as much as when she had been deprived of it. "You little," his wheezed out, pulling his right hand back and slapping her across the face.

Her lip split open, but she smiled. No matter how angry he was, no matter how much the thought of her crying and screaming when he had Bran killed in front of her, he was in pain. He wouldn't be able to do it now.

He walked toward her, pushing her down onto her hands and knees. "Perhaps I _will_ wait," he told her, unable to admit defeat. "Perhaps I'll have you on the table in the great hall, in front of the entire castle."

He swept past her, kicking her in the stomach as he passed.

And still, she smiled. None of it mattered. When he returned, if Stannis did not beat him, ready to fuck her on a table in front of the entire castle, she would be long gone.

And the next time he saw her, she would be there to take his head.

* * *

Author's Note:

I hope you guys could tell how much I enjoyed writing this chapter. Before the author's note it was 11,000 words long. That happens when my mind and imagination get away from me and I look up and realize that I typed more than I originally intended.  
That definitely happened to this chapter.  
Shout out to: **DatMatt** for their wonderful idea of what to do with Roose Bolton in this chapter. I had a completely different idea and while I don't like straying from my plot outline or being swayed by reviews. DatMatt had this idea almost ten chapters ago and I couldn't get it out of my head. And here it is. So, **HUGE** thank you for that plot bunny, my friend.  
I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter. And as always, I thank you for your support. For favoriting this story, for adding it to your alerts lists and communities. And for your kind reviews. Even on hard days, your reviews make me smile.

 _bellaphant:_ I hope that this chapter did not disappoint you my friend! Help is still very much on the way for Lenora, and for Christmas for you guys ... I gave her hope!

 _G1234:_ Aww! You are so sweet! I'm so thrilled that you enjoy each chapter more than the last and I hope that trend continued with this chapter. And thank you for no longer reviewing as simple "Guest" those do get confusing!

 _Lulu14168:_ That's good! I'm glad I had you anxious and freaking out! That was the goal. As for the kids that Ramsay threw over the wall, Grey Wind wouldn't have attacked them. But given the cold and the height of Winterfell's walls, it's a safe assumption that they're all dead now.

 _RHatch89:_ Hahaha! I love the pun! No she is definitely not taking Ramsay lying down!

 _HPuni101:_ You wanted more Lenora and I delivered more Lenora! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. And don't worry, Myranda is definitely still getting pushed from the wall. I'm really looking forward to that part. Thank you so much for your review!

 _Guest (1):_ I'm glad you're enjoying the story, in spite of my taking the time to answer reviews. I won't stop because the majority of my readers really seem to appreciate it. They not only read my responses to their reviews, but others as well. I figure that if someone takes the time to write a review, I can take the time to answer it. Besides, my author's notes are rarely more than 2000 words. Which means they're not taking up more than the story. They're a small fraction of it. (I did the math.)

 _Guest (2):_ You'll find out next chapter! Lenora is going to do something. And I think you will be pretty excited about it! Thank you so much for your review!

 _Janaoliver:_ I'm glad I got the tension right between Lenora/Ramsay and I hope that continued in this chapter as well. Don't worry, Ramsay will definitely get what's coming to him. And fingers crossed, I would be thrilled if it was half as good as in the show, anything more is just extra!

 _Littledot:_ I'm glad you're loving the story. It might not have felt like it in this chapter, but things are definitely going to star looking up for Lenora. And, relatively speaking, her reunion with Robb is just around the corner. There are only **thirteen** chapters left in this story after all.

 _darkwolf76:_ You're more than welcome for the Stark reunion! It was high time that happened, especially because of what I did to one of the Starks in this chapter ... it's my bad, but this is GoT and not everyone can survive and I saved Robb, so another Stark had to go. And I refused to let it be either of the girls. I hope your finals went well! I do not miss those days in college!  
You were right, it was Jaime. I was probably a bit too obvious with that hint, but I hope that the lack of surprise did not detract from his part of the story. Oh my god! Jaime and Shrek's prince charming, they're pretty much the same person when you look at their pictures.  
I'm still good at writing creepy Boltons! Yes! I'm doing a bit of a happy dance here! I'm glad I handled that section well. It was difficult, because Ramsay is a monster who would not balk at the thought of raping a woman with an audience, but I have trouble using rape as a plot device, something that's a bit of a struggle when writing GoT or any period story because the mistreatment of women seems to be something that was very common. But I don't like using it, so navigating Lenora out of that was a bit of a struggle, but I'm glad it worked out!  
Don't worry about the broken record. I still get nervous every time I see _Jon_ in my plot outline. I'm getting more comfortable with his voice, but I'm still not there yet, so it's actually very nice that you keep telling me I'm good at it. As far as Jon I don't have a pairing for him in mind (especially because Ygritte is dead and Dany isn't in this story) but I do have an OC story planned for him in the future.  
I did have a fantastic Thanksgiving and Christmas has been going well so far. I took off work next week to drag the husband to Cleveland to see my parents. We're going to watch the Cavs play the Bulls next Thursday with my dad. As for LeBron things for Christmas... I have a Cavs ornament on my tree and a garland of little tiny hand knit LeBron jerseys that hang over my fireplace. My mom knit them for me a few years ago and the husband groans every year when I take them out.  
Oh and they're playing the Warriors on Christmas, so "All I want for Christmas is a win!" Any special plans for you?

 _StarkTeller:_ Don't worry dear I wouldn't stop answering the reviews even if ten guests told me not to do it! If you guys are going to take the time to review then I am going to take the time to answer. It's only fair.  
I'm glad you enjoyed the Stark sister reunion. We're going to go more in depth with that in the next chapter. And I laughed out loud when I read your question about Bran and Rickon because the part with Bran in this chapter has been planned forever so your timing with asking where they were was ironically perfect. Here they are!  
I've seen a couple episodes of OUAT, never in order though. I did like their take on the Mad Hatter (calling him Jefferson was a nice touch) and Sebastian Stan in eyeliner is great, and I'm in love with Hook. He's fantastic. I should probably watch the entire series at some point.  
Thank you for your kind words about Jon. I'm glad I know his voice. It'll be coming back in the next chapter ... for a bit.  
By the way, your fan videos inspired me to check out Reign. I was curious about the girl. And now I'm not only fangirling, but binge watching the entire series.  
Also I love when you leave multiple reviews! It means the story sticks with you, even when you're not reading it and that makes me so happy!  
As for elements from season six. There will be some. Especially Jon being named KiTN. And perhaps it will echo the way Lenora acted when Robb was named KiTN, I like when things come full circle like that so there's a pretty good chance.  
Count down to BoTB ... four chapters.

 _Guest1995:_ I've actually really been enjoying your AU ideas. When I sit down to write a chapter I start with one of those to get my GoT neurons firing. I wrote a stand alone piece between Lenora and Olenna because I think those two badass ladies would get along very well. And then the more I wrote the more I realized that there was a spot that I could fit it in _this_ story instead of as a stand alone AU. So after some tweaking, it'll show up.  
I'm glad you enjoyed Lenora fighting back. She's not the type that would have willingly let Ramsay do what he wished with her! As for the children: Winterfell's walls are high and it's bitterly cold. If any survived the fall, they would have frozen to death. Though Grey Wind trying to keep them warm is a funny thought.

 _Gamemaster77:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed Lenora in the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed her in this chapter too! As for Myranda ... one of the two are going to kill her. And either way, Len's going to be happy about it. You do not have your stories confused, Theon walked her to Robb and then came full circle and walked her to Ramsay. There was a reason I had him escort her in her first wedding, I've had the wedding scene to Ramsay planned for ever. Your wish about Reek is my command. The timing of your request was very good. I'm glad you enjoyed her laughing after she cut Ramsay, it was kind of a moment of hysterical relief and joy and I'm happy you appreciated it. Jaime riding Grey Wind, that's an idea. I don't know if they'll ever get to that point, but perhaps they will travel together.  
How dare I! Don't worry, there will be more Stark sisters in the next chapter. I have to make up for what I did to Bran in this chapter after all. I promise Arya won't be running off. I want Stark reunions as much as you guys do! Pod and Sansa is a nice thought! If I weren't so weirdly into the idea of Tyrion and Sansa (because I think it really shows growth for both of their characters) I might toy around with that!  
Merry Christmas to you as well, my friend!

 _Bji:_ Thank you so much! Enjoy!

 _Falcon Lair:_ I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thank you!

 _Danaren Reid:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! We're going to see Arya and Lenora interacting soon and it's going to be fantastic. A mix of Arya being a bit in awe of Lenora for everything she's survived and Lenora kind of taking Arya under her wing and making her a less sociopathic version of the little killer on the show. Mushy and bit a violent - very much like both of the girls.  
You were right about Jaime. He's coming to the rescue!  
As for who will meet Robb? It might be Gendry. The kid is traveling with Tyrion after all. And I do appreciate bringing weird characters together. Which is how Gendry showed up in this story to begin with.  
Thank you for adding me story to your community! I do a little happy dance every time I see things like that.

 _CharlieSamantha:_ Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Sean Mulligan:_ I'm glad that you find the story interesting and I hope that you continue to do so. As for the divergence from canon. I wanted a Baratheon princess who did not make drastic changes to the plot. Because she wouldn't have in real life. Westeros had never been ruled by a woman, so men wouldn't instantly rally behind her even if she was the only trueborn heir like I have seen happen in some stories. And if you look at the time period, it's not that women weren't able to have impact on the world, but they're usually quiet and slow burning. So that's what I wanted for this story.  
As for the Red Wedding, that would have always happened, even without Robb's betrayal. Walder Frey and Roose Bolton would have always betrayed Robb if a better offer came along. And to save his family's legacy Tywin Lannister would have always offered. Especially if there was a chance of getting his granddaughter back.

 _JR:_ Thank you so much for your review! I hope you continue to love the story!

 _TINABELCHERISMYSPIRITANIMAL:_ Yes. She will find out that Cersei killed Robert. And she's going to find out that Cersei tried to kill her. She's not going to be such a fan of her mother by the end of this story. I can tell you that.

And that's all I've got for now!  
Happy holidays friends! I'll be back soon!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	71. Chapter Seventy-One: For the Watch

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Happy New Year, my friends! I hope 2018 brings you everything you could ever hope for. Joy. Hope. Love. Health. Happiness. Challenges. Growth. Kindness. Light. Chocolate chip cookies. The bittersweet happy ending to this story. Everything.  
 _Everything_.

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-One: For the Watch_

 _Jon_

The men were unhappy and restless. They did not like that he had let the Wildlings through the Wall. They did not like that some of them remained at Castle Black. And, he was sure, that many of them still did not like that he had been named Lord Commander. He had never had many friends at the Wall, but he had even fewer friends now. Sam, Edd, and Olly were all he had.

Those three and Tormund. The tall red haired Wildling had seemed to like him all those months ago when he traveled with the Wildlings North of the Wall. And after Jon had saved Mance from burning to death the fierce Wildling seemed to respect him even more.

But a Wildling for a friend would do Jon no favors here.

Perhaps he should have forsaken his vows, perhaps he should have let Stannis Baratheon name him Stark and give him Winterfell.

He was pulled from his thoughts, his regrets, his _what ifs_ when Olly burst into his chambers without knocking. Jon stared up at him, his brows furrowed wondering what could have his young steward in such a rush when the boy spoke. "Lord Commander," he said, at least remembering to call Jon that. "It's one of the Wildlings. Says he knows your uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."

Jon's chair scraped against the floor as he rushed to stand, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk as if it were the only thing keeping him tied to the world. He couldn't believe it. Benjen had been missing for so long, and now to hear that he might still be alive, that _someone_ at Castle Black had seen him. It was almost too good to be true.

"Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?" Jon asked, forcing himself to stay behind his desk. He did not want to get his hopes up. But it was too late, he could already feel it bubbling up inside of him, warming his chest, thrumming through his veins.

He had lost almost everyone. And now Olly was telling him that his uncle could still be alive.

"Said he was First Ranger," Olly confirmed with an earnest nod.

There was nothing holding him back now. He allowed the hope to continue rising as he pushed himself away from his desk and started to run. If Benjen was still alive somewhere North of the Wall he would need help. And soon. Jon would take the Rangers out himself to look for him. And they would not return until they had found him.

"Said he knows where to find him," Olly continued as he followed Jon, keeping pace with him as he had done ever since he had arrived at Castle Black.

Thorne was waiting for him in the courtyard, Jon didn't need to ask, all the Brothers of the Night's Watch had been saddened by Benjen's disappearance. And all of them, even the ones that did not particularly like Jon understood his desire to find his uncle. "Man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome during the last full moon," he explained as he led Jon to where the man was.

If he hadn't been in such a hurry that would have surprised Jon, many of the Wildlings he had let pass through the Wall had come from Hardhome and none of them had mentioned his uncle. They had to know he was looking. Why had this man kept it a secret for so long?

"Could be lying," Jon told Thorne, if only to temper his own hopes. Still, as he said the words he prayed to every god he could think of. The Old and the New, and perhaps even the strange fire god that Stannis had brought from across the Narrow Sea. He prayed to them all that the man wasn't lying, that he had seen Benjen. And that the man was still alive.

"Could be," Thorne agreed. "There are ways to find out."

"Where is he?" Jon asked as they rounded a corner in the courtyard. They were approaching a group of brothers. Edd was not among them.

"Over there," Thorne told him, nodding toward the group and letting Jon move in front of him.

The brothers stood in a tight circle in the dim torch light. It was hard for him to make out who was there, but they all recognized him. They moved out of his way, none of them barring his way toward the center of their circle. None of them seemed particularly excited about the news, Jon wondered if Thorne had not shared it with them.

When he got to the center of the circle he saw it, the thing Thorne had sent for him to see.

Except, he realized as his steps faltered, it wasn't a Wildling.

It wasn't even a man.

It was a cross bearing the word traitor. And as his breath caught in his throat he realized that it was meant for him. He stood for a moment staring at, wondering when the first blow would come. _Will you stab me in the back, Thorne?_ he wondered, his inner voice almost taunting.

He had thought about death many times since joining the Night's Watch. And each time he had imagined panic and fear. Never had he ever thought that he would mock the man who meant to kill him, even if only in his head.

He would not die with his back turned to his murderer. For one more long moment he stared at the word. _Traitor._

 _Am I a traitor?_ he wondered. He didn't think he was. He knew many of his men resented his treatment of the Wildlings. They believed him too friendly with them. They thought that his time with them had made him soft. But he believed, after meeting them, after spending so much time with them, that they were not the enemy the Night's Watch had been created to fight. They were people, just like him. Just like Thorne. Whose ancestors had had the misfortune of living on the wrong side of the Wall when it was built. And if that made him a traitor, it was a name he would bear proudly.

With that, he turned to face Thorne.

He expected the older man to say something. He expected condemnation for his supposed crimes. But Thorne only glared at him as he stepped forward, one hand on Jon's shoulder to keep him still as his other hand rammed forward, a knife in his fist, and stabbed him in the stomach. Thorne kept his blade in Jon as he leaned closer. "For the Watch," he announced, his voice quiet and harsh.

Jon gasped as Thorne pulled the knife out of him and stepped away. Jon followed, taking a few shaky steps forward before he was grabbed by another one of his brothers, Bowen Marsh. Bowen stabbed him in the stomach as well, "For the Watch," he growled as he stepped away.

One after another, they each came forward. Three more to be exact. Each of their knives slicing through his leather vest and cutting open his stomach. Each of them announcing "For the Watch."

Until Jon, no longer able to stand, fell to the wet, melting snow at his feet. It was then that the crowd began to part. Olly was walking toward him, tears in his eyes, his face red and blotched. Jon's chest tightened, he hated to think that the men had done this in front of the young boy. Olly had already seen so much death, so much blood, he hated to add his own to the list. He hated to know that Olly would have to live the rest of his life knowing that these men, these traitorshad tricked him into luring Jon to his death.

He watched the men through narrowed eyes, wondering if they would attack Olly too. Wondering if they would use the boy's death as one final means to torture him before his own.

But as they let him pass through he realized what it meant. Olly hadn't been tricked.

He had known all along.

He tried to stand, but could get no higher than his knees as he turned to face Olly, determined that the boy would have to look him in the eye. He was not angry at the boy, he knew that Olly felt betrayed, he knew that the young boy could not see that Jon had the right of it, that the Wildlings he had let through the Wall were not the same ones that had killed his parents. He did not blame the boy, but he would not let him off easily either.

For a moment they remained still, staring at each other, with Jon on his knees they were almost the same height. Olly sobbed and Jon thought that perhaps he would change his mind. But he could see it in the shaky set of the boy's lips. In the way he tried _so_ hard to look strong and older than he was. He would not change his mind.

"Olly," Jon whispered, not sure what he meant to say next. Was he begging Olly not to do it? Or was he trying to tell him that he understood, that he forgave him. Even Jon didn't know.

Did it even matter?

Olly sobbed again and shook his head slightly, before his arm extended, his knife cutting through his vest, his skin, stabbing him in the heart. "For the Watch."

They left him then, turning their backs on him as they walked away, not a single one staying to watch. They left him alone, as perhaps he had always been.

He had been alone at Winterfell, the bastard that was always on the outside.

He had been alone at Castle Black, a noble bastard among criminals and thieves.

When he was with the Wildlings he had been alone, spying on them for the Watch.

Always alone when he was alive.

It was almost poetic that he would be alone when he died.

The snow was cold on his back, despite his blood melting it. The sky above him was dark except for a thousand stars that littered the vast expanse. He took a deep breath, perhaps his last one on the earth.

This was not the worst way to die.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

She could not let go of Arya. She held her sister's hand as their growing group continued to walk north, heading toward Castle Black and Jon. When they stopped to rest she would pull Arya down to sit next to her, as close as she could, practically in her lap. When they slept she curled herself around the younger girl, unable to sleep unless she could feel her sister warm, breathing, alive in her arms.

There was no doubt in her mind that Arya thought that she was a fool. Her sister laughed at her constant worry, she made light of it. But Arya never fought her on it. She was so strong, the younger girl, but she must have needed Sansa's comfort as much as Sansa needed hers. Because she never pulled away. She never went far. And in the mornings when she would spar with either the Hound or Brienne, she always made sure to stay within Sansa's sight.

"If only they could see us now," Arya murmured one evening as the sisters sat by the fire, finishing their supper.

"Who?" Sansa asked, raising her eyebrows as she turned to look at her younger sister. "If only _who_ could see us now?"

"All of them," Arya answered. "Mother, Father, Robb, the boys, our septa that was always scolding us for fighting. They wouldn't believe their eyes. The two of us together and happy about it? It would be unthinkable to them."

Sansa placed her plate on the ground, her hands falling to her lap as she turned to study her sister for a moment. "They would have to be alive for them to see it, Arya," she told the girl. "And none of them are." She wasn't sure how much Arya had heard about what had happened to their family while she was on the run. For all the torture and humiliation she had suffered in the capitol, at least she had always been privy to the latest news.

"I know that," Arya told her, her voice too bitter for such a young girl. "I was there for Father, at the Sept of Baelor, I saw it all. The crowd, Joffrey, Ser Ilyn Payne chopping off his head with his own sword." She shook her head, "For months, I saw it over and over every time I closed my eyes. I saw it. And I will continue to see it until the day I die."

Sansa lifted her hands from her lap, reaching out toward Arya and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She expected Arya to fight her, this was the first time they had spoken about Father and she worried that they had avoided the subject because Arya blamed her for their father's death. But there was no running from it now. "Oh Arya," she whispered, blinking back the tears that stung her eyes as she pulled her sister closer to her, her fingers running through the uneven strands of her dark hair, making quick work of untangling every knot and tangle she found. "I'm so sorry that you had to see that."

Arya's eyes closed as she leaned her head closer to Sansa, allowing her access to more of her tangled hair. "I'm sorry that you had to see it," she told Sansa, her eyes still closed. "I saw you that day, all dressed up and smiling." Sansa closed her eyes, unable to watch her sister as she continued. Arya's voice was quiet, there was no anger or betrayal in it, but perhaps there should have been. "They promised you mercy didn't they?" Arya continued. If she noticed that Sansa's fingers had stopped running through her hair she did not mention it. "The bastard Joffrey and that bitch Cersei."

Sansa gasped, "Arya," she scolded quietly. "You can't talk like that! Even here, it's not safe!"

Arya scoffed, not feeling the same fear that her older sister carried with her every day. "I can talk however I want," she assured Sansa. "It's the truth. Joffrey was a bastard. They all were except for Lenora. And Cersei was a bitch, and a whore. She's no more the rightful queen than I am. And they promised you that they would be merciful to Father, they promised. And then just to watch you suffer Joff had him beheaded instead."

Sansa was quiet for a moment, she should have continued to scold Arya. There was no where they could go where Varys' little birds couldn't find them. Even in the northern woods. It was unsafe to talk as her sister had, even when surrounded by friends who would sooner join in the conversation than betray them. But she couldn't because every word Arya had told her was the truth. Joffrey was a bastard, in more ways than one. And Cersei was a bitch. And they had promised mercy only to go back on their word. She shook her head, her chin bumping against the top of Arya's head where it rested. "He called it mercy," she told Arya as her fingers set back to their work on her hair. "Joffrey. He cut off Father's head and called it mercy."

A tear fell from her cheek and landed on Arya's scalp.

She felt Arya stiffen beside her as she shook her head. "The little shit would call it mercy," she agreed bitterly.

"Arya!" Sansa gasped, once again alarmed by her sister's new language. "You have spent too long with Sandor! Ladies don't talk like that!"

Arya pulled her head away from her, glancing around them. "And last I heard ladies weren't knights, but Brienne is one of the best I have ever seen. And ladies don't lead armies, but they said that Lenora rode at the front with Robb whenever they marched. And ladies don't give up all the comforts of the capitol to camp in the woods, but here _you_ are." She shrugged her shoulders, leaning back into Sansa and allowing her to continue with her hair. "So what if ladies don't talk like that. I never wanted to be a lady anyway, that was always your lot. I was never anything more than _Arya Horseface_."

Unbidden Sansa felt her lips turn up at the corners into a smile. She could remember the days when their family had been safe, whole, _complete,_ and living together at Winterfell. When she had been so cruel to Arya, taunting her with the nickname. She had been horrible. And now, she thanked the Gods, the Old and the New, that she had the chance to apologize. "You remind me of him, you know?" she told Arya, her voice little more than a whisper. "Father. You have his eyes, his seriousness, his face - you have a Stark face, I was always so jealous of that."

" _You_?" Arya asked, not believing a single word. "Jealous of _me_?" She shook her head, "That's ridiculous! You were ... you were perfect. And I could do nothing right."

"But you were a _Stark_ ," Sansa told her, hoping her sister would understand how she had felt all those years ago. "Whenever a traveller came to Winterfell they always said how much you looked like Father and how much I looked like Mother. I loved Mother, but I was a wolf, with fox coloring."

"He loved you," Arya assured her. "Father. No matter what you looked like."

"I know," Sansa agreed. "I know that. But he was always different with you. Gentler, more patient. If I had come to him and said I wanted a sword he never would have given me one. But he let you learn."

She could hear the smirk in Arya's voice, even though she could not see it, "I didn't give him much of a choice," she argued. "I was determined."

"Something else you got from him," Sansa told her. She was quiet for a moment, focusing on a particularly difficult tangle before she continued. "He always told me you would be beautiful," she told Arya. "Every time he heard me call you _Horseface,_ he told me that one day I would have to eat my words. That you would grow to be beautiful."

Arya laughed, bitter and humorless, "That's a joke," she argued. "I will never be beautiful."

"You already are," Sansa disagreed. "It's not an obvious beauty, but it's there. Stubborn and strong, and quiet, just like you. He was right. And he would be so proud of you."

Arya was quiet for a moment, "I know you probably don't want to hear this," she said softly. "But you remind me so much of _her_ right now. Of Mother."

Sansa smiled, lifting one of her hands from Arya's hair so that she could wipe angrily at the tears that were still sliding down her cheeks. "It's that I'm running my fingers through your hair," she supplied. "Mother used to do that when you were upset, for as long as she could before you grew too impatient to sit still."

Arya smirked, "I was never very good at that," she agreed. "I suppose that is how we both survived, isn't it?" She turned, smiling at Sansa's raised eyebrows. "I would never have survived in the capitol. I never could have sat, forcing smile and courtesies, patiently waiting beside that bastard until I could make my escape. And you never would have survived in the country." She was echoing words that Sansa had thought to herself not long ago, before she had learned that Arya was still alive. "I'm glad you're alive," Arya whispered, her gaze drifting from Sansa's face, embarrassed by her words.

Sansa pulled her closer, "I'm glad you're alive," she whispered back, unashamed. "And I'm never going to let you go again."

Arya smirked, "You're going to have to," she warned her sister. "We can't be attached at the hip for the rest of our lives."

Sansa pressed a hard kiss against the top of Arya's head, "Watch us," she argued.

...

She waited until Arya had fallen asleep, halfway through her strange list of names, before she moved away from her younger sister to sit beside the Hound on the outer edge of the fire. "I must thank you for taking care of my sister, Ser," she told him softly, her gaze landing on Arya so that she could ensure that her sister was alright.

The Hound glanced away from the fire he had been watching distrustfully to look at her for a brief moment before his glare returned to the fire. "How many times have I had to tell you, little bird, I'm no knight."

"You are though," Sansa argued, reaching out to take one of his hands and hold it between both of hers. She could tell that the man was going to argue with her so she continued before he could. "I have heard the vows, Ser, and you live by them better than most." She continued staring at her sister, but she felt his gaze on her when he turned to watch her. "You defend the weak and the innocent, I saw it in King's Landing." She nodded toward Arya across the fire, "You protect women and children. You have more honor than our king had."

"I didn't obey my liege," he argued, grasping at a straw. "And when I did, I ignored all the other oaths."

"You weren't perfect," Sansa agreed. "But none of them are."

"What about your precious knight of the flowers?" the Hound asked her. "You once thought that he was perfect."

"I was stupid once," Sansa told him. "You were always better than him. At the Battle of Blackwater -"

"I ran because I was a coward, girl," the Hound growled. "Not because of honor."

Sansa shook her head, "Fear made you run, but honor made you try to rescue me first," she told him, praying that one day he would understand her point. She squeezed his hand, "And you saved my sister."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his gaze turn across the fire to Arya. "She's a strange sort of lady," he told Sansa. "With her sword and her list."

Sansa nodded, a strange sort of pride burning in her chest as she thought of Arya and her dreams of revenge. Sansa wanted revenge as well, the difference being that Arya might actually be able to see it happen. "Where will you go now?" she asked Sandor quietly. "You're welcome to continue to the Wall with us, my half brother," she shook her head, that was wrong. There were so few Starks left that she could not separate him. "My brother Jon would welcome your assistance."

The Hound shook his head, "I will find the little princess," he told her. "The Lannisters have won the war, soon they will regain control of the North. If I want to survive, I will need their gratitude. Returning the princess will save my life."

"And if the Lannisters ultimately lose?" Sansa asked.

The Hound smirked, no doubt thinking that she was a fool. "Then you will remember that I saved your sister."

Sansa nodded, "Don't let her hear you say that," she warned him. "No doubt she believes that she never needed saving."

The Hound smirked, "Perhaps she didn't," he told her, his gaze still on Arya. And Sansa realized that she was not the only one around the fire that was proud of her sister.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Theon came for her again past midnight, when the castle was quiet and still. She was ready for him, dressed as warmly as she could. "They're gone?" she whispered to him as soon as he had knelt in front of her to undo the chain around her ankles.

He nodded, "He left some," he told her, "a small garrison to defend Winterfell if Stannis should somehow be able to attack. But he has left with the majority of his men."

"How long ago?" she whispered, her fear and worry from earlier that evening had disappeared. She did not much care what happened to her once she left the castle, if she was attacked in the woods, or died from the cold it would be far better than whatever Ramsay had planned for her.

"A few hours ago," he assured her. "They plan to march through the night. You'll be hours behind them."

She nodded and started to follow him from her chambers, pausing for a moment to reach for his hand, "Are you sure you won't come with me?" she asked him.

He hesitated for a moment before he shook his head, "I will stay," he told her. "I need to stay."

She did not ask why, sure that he would not tell her anyway. Instead she nodded and followed him out into the corridor. They could talk no longer, the keep was quiet, near empty, but not completely. Ramsay would have told the men that stayed to watch her, to keep her there. If she meant to get a head start from the castle, she needed as much time as possible.

It felt like hours, their slow, quiet creep through the corridors. They stuck to the shadows, the corners, darting from one to the next, hugging the walls when they heard voices and hiding in doorways when they heard footsteps. It felt like hours, but could not have taken more than one before they were in the courtyard.

The cold hit Lenora like a slap across the face, bitter and sharp. She had not dressed warmly enough and they were only in the courtyard. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly against the cold and the snow, she stepped around Theon, hoping that moving across the courtyard would warm her up. But Theon was faster than her, his arm darting out and catching her across the stomach. "Stick to the edge," he told her. "We must head toward the East wall. There's a rope there, I tied it to one of the ramparts, that's how you'll make your escape."

Lenora nodded, waiting until Theon dropped his hand from her stomach before she started walking again, this time hugging the walls of the courtyard instead of walking across the middle. Theon moved quickly, walking in front of her to make sure their path was clear. "Where will you go?" he asked her, his voice barely a whisper. "Where will you run?"

Lenora hadn't thought of that. In the hours between when Theon had promised her that he would save her and when he came to get her, she hadn't made any plans. Half afraid to jinx it, and half afraid that she had dreamed of Theon's promise to save her.

"South, I suppose," she told him as they walked. "Where I was supposed to end up after the Red Wedding."

He did not stop walking, but he turned to stare at her. "That's a thousand leagues away," he whispered to her. "And winter is coming. Do you expect to walk the entire way?"

She hadn't. She had thought that once she was well enough away from Winterfell she would try to find a horse. She would ride south to White Harbor. Get on a boat and sail to King's Landing. "Where would you suggest that I go?" she asked him.

"North," he told her. "Jon is at the Wall, he's Lord Commander."

"The Night's Watch is sworn not to take part in the realm's politics and battles," Lenora argued, shaking her head as they approached a set of stairs that would take them up to the ramparts. Theon would climb first, to make sure that there was no one on the wall and then she would climb after him.

He paused, turning fully to look at her. "Jon will not care," he told her. "Perhaps they won't fight. But they will protect you. They will feed you. He won't let any harm come to you. And once Winter has ended he'll send you back to King's Landing. You'll be safer heading North toward the Wall than you will be heading south."

"Ramsay is marching north," Lenora argued.

"He is marching _northwest_ ," Theon assured her. "Head _northeast_ , stay off the main roads. Walk in rivers and streams as often as you can. And when you hit the wall, head west until you reach Castle Black. It will take a week, at least, but that is far less time than it would take for you to go south."

Lenora watched him, her eyes scanning over his face, "North," she finally agreed with a nod.

Theon nodded, "Tomorrow I will sneak away, I will head south, leaving a trail. When they notice you missing, they will head south."

She wanted to thank him, she wanted to beg him once more to come with her. But he turned away from her and climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. A moment later a rock dropped from above, a silent signal that it was safe for her to join him up on the ramparts.

She gathered her skirts and climbed, taking the stairs three at a time. When she reached the top Theon grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the right, rounding a corner to where he had tied the rope for her escape. He was in front of her so she was unable to see ahead of them, but when he stopped suddenly, she crashed into his back.

"Stay behind me, Nora," he ordered her, his lips barely moving with his whispered words.

"Come now, Reek," she heard a girl sneer, Myranda, she recognized the voice. "Do you really think you'll be able to protect her?" She laughed, high pitched and teasing. "Why, all I have to do is shoot you."

Theon shook his head, his hand still closed tightly around Lenora's wrist. She tried to move around him, to face Myranda herself, but he pushed her back. "I won't let you kill her,"

"She won't kill me," Lenora argued, finding her voice and wrenching her wrist free of Theon's grasp. She would not let him die for her. She pushed her way around him, coming to stand in front of him. Myranda was standing no more than four feet away from them, her bow drawn, arrow trained on Theon's chest. "Ramsay still needs me."

Myranda smirked at her, "Very true, Princess," she sneered at her. "Though I suppose he doesn't need _all_ of you. Only the parts he'll use to get an heir or two off of you." She shifted her aim, her arrow now trained on Lenora instead of Theon. "I don't think he'd blame me for having a bit of fun with you before I return you to your chambers."

Lenora's eyes narrowed as she watched Myranda change her aim. For a moment the arrow was pointed at her eye, the next her shoulder, a moment later her stomach, her breast. She did not allow her gaze to stray from the girl's face for a moment, afraid to give away her thoughts as she looked around the ramparts out of the corner of her eye, searching for something, anything to use against the girl.

"Where should we begin, Princess?" she sneered. "Do you have a preference? I know I would like to start with that lovely face of yours."

Lenora forced a smile onto her lips as she inched closer to the wall, her movements so careful, so quiet that Myranda barely seemed to notice them. She did not have a sword, she did not have a shield. But there was a bushel of arrows to her left. Keeping her eyes carefully on Myranda she moved faster now, lunging toward the arrows, grabbing one and rushing, low to the ground, toward Myranda.

She was too close, Myranda could not keep the arrow trained on her, she could not loose the arrow with any sort of accuracy. She released it, trained on where she was standing, but by the time the arrow clattered uselessly against the stone floor Lenora was no longer there. Instead she was behind the girl, one arm wrapped tightly around her neck, pulling her until her back was pressed against Lenora's chest, the arrow still in her right hand, the point pressing sharply against the girl's pale skin. "How about we start with you?" she whispered in Myranda's ear as the girl dropped her bow, her hands lifting for Lenora's arm to try to pry it away from her neck so that she could breathe.

For one brief moment Lenora felt sorry for her, she could still feel Ramsay's hand around her throat. She could remember what it felt like to be fighting for air, the little she was able to get never being enough. She could remember it all, she had been in Myranda's position not long before. The difference was, that Ramsay had been unable to kill her, while there was nothing stopping Lenora from killing Myranda.

She turned, quickly to the right, and pushed Myranda away from her, the girl stumbled, tripping over herself, no doubt unable to see straight. She realized a moment too late that she was headed for the edge of the rampart. "No!" she screamed just before she broke through the wooden railing and fell to the courtyard below.

Lenora quickly followed her to the railing. Theon following her, reaching for her hand and pulling her from the edge. "You must go!" he ordered her. "They'll have heard her. You won't have time! _Go!_ "

Lenora shook her head, " _Not yet_ ," she hissed at him. "I have to see it. I have to see her." Theon did not let go of her wrist as he followed her to the edge. He allowed her to look down at the bloody mess that Myranda had become on the courtyard floor.

"You've seen it," he told her. "You've seen _her_. Now, you _must_ go, before _they_ see _you_."

She allowed him to steer her back toward the ramparts, to the rope that would bring her to freedom. She stooped at the wall, grabbing Myranda's bow and arrows. She would never be completely comfortable with the weapon, but it would do until she could find a blade. She turned to Theon and offered him a small smile, "You taught me how to use this," she reminded him.

He nodded, his eyes dancing over her face and the bow. "I pray I taught you well enough to protect yourself," he told her as they came to stop in front of the rope.

She nodded, "You could come with me," she whispered, reaching out to grab his hand. "Theon please, you won't be any safer here than I was. _Please_."

Theon watched her for a moment. "I would take you all the way to the Wall," he told her, his voice a broken whisper. "I would die to get you there." She felt tears spring to her eyes, he would not come with her, he was saying goodbye to her. "But I will serve you better here than I will out there."

She nodded, staring at him for a moment before she threw her arms around his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment he tensed, and then his hands dropped to her waist, encircling her and pulling her tight. He pressed a kiss against her temple and nodded. " _Go_." he ordered her. " _Now_."

...

She was freezing, her skirts and cloak heavy with water and ice from the last river she had crossed. It was hard to move. The snow was falling more steadily. She could not feel her fingers or her nose. She feared frostbite, but she could not stop to light a fire to try to warm up. She had been walking all night, hoping it would get warmer when the sun rose. But come morning the sun had risen weak and grey and the snow had continued to fall.

She avoided main roads as Theon had instructed her, instead she stuck to the woods, at times walking through snow that was almost knee deep, struggling to keep upright the entire time. She had thought that she was making good time, she had thought it would work. But early afternoon the next day she heard them, the men and the hounds. Theon had not been able to fool them, they had found her. And they were gaining.

Her heart raced in her chest as she tried to run. She tripped over her feet, cursing as she fell to the ground, catching herself with her hands and plunging them into the already cold snow. She would not allow them to take her back alive, she refused. She continued to run north, trying to put as much distance between herself and Ramsay's men as she could, but knowing that she would never be able to outrun them.

She found a tree that had fallen over, its roots ripped from the ground. She had at best a quarter of an hour before they found her. She could not hide from the hounds and it wasn't long, but perhaps it was _just_ cold enough for what she had planned. She dropped down onto her hands and knees and crawled into the tangle of roots, her cloak snagged on a root and instead of freeing it, she untied it and let it fall from her shoulders. Once under the roots, hidden from sight she untied the laces of her dress and took it off, the second dress she was wearing soon followed, and the third. Soon she was wearing nothing but her shift.

The dogs were closer now, she could hear them, louder and more clearly. She curled into a ball, sinking deeper into the snow. Her heart was beating in her chest. The snow was cold and wet, she knew that, though she could not feel it. Her shivering stopped. When she had been running her heart had been beating quickly, but now it slowed. It was almost relaxing.

Robb had told her about people who froze to death in the North during winter. But he had never told her that it would be this painless. She had expected pain. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore the sound of the horses and the men as they approached her. "I'm coming, Robb," she whispered, she knew that he could hear her. She could _feel_ him, beside her, waiting for her. "I'm only sorry that it took me so long."

She could hear them now. They were in the clearing, the dogs and the men. They would find her soon. But it would be too late. "Lady Bolton!" one of the men called out to her. "Come out, you'll freeze to death!"

"Perhaps that is her aim," another man suggested.

"You want to be the one to tell Lord Ramsay that we lost his wife and let her freeze to death?" the first asked, rounding on the second. The dogs got closer, growling and barking at the roots of the tree. They could still smell her. "Over there!" the soldier ordered. "Pull her out by her hair if you have to."

Her heart beat sped up again, perhaps she had not been as close to death as she had hoped, as a man's boots appeared in her line of sight. Another pair appeared, and soon a third. And then one of the men was reaching between the roots, he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her out, chuckling darkly when he noticed that she wore nothing but a shift.

Lenora should have been watching him, she should have been watching all of them, it was how her uncle had trained her to fight. But there was someone approaching behind them. Two men on horse back and a giant wolf running at their side. "Robb!" she gasped, barely a whisper. _Now_ she _knew_ she was dying. And Robb had arrived to take her hand and lead her out of the world that had been so dark since he had left it.

The soldier that still had his hand wrapped around her upper arm turned to look at her, "What are you on about, you dumb bitch?" he asked her. "Robb Stark is dead."

Lenora shook her head, he was wrong - the soldier. Robb wasn't dead. He and Grey Wind had come to get her. They were approaching quickly, his sword raised. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, his hair was the wrong color. It was not the auburn she was accustomed to. But light. Golden. She shook her head, it wasn't possible. There was no reason that _he_ should be there, in the North, with a direwolf. "Gods," she whispered, struggling against the soldier that still held her close. "Uncle Jaime?"

The men turned, too late for some as Jaime and his companion rode through, their swords swinging. Jaime headed straight for the one who held onto Lenora. His sword making quick work of the man's neck and separating his head from the rest of his body.

His grip slackened and his body fell to the ground at her feet. For a moment Lenora remained frozen, standing still as a statue, as Jaime, the dark haired rider, and the wolf ran around the clearing, going after the Bolton men.

She wasn't going to die, she knew that much now, and she would not return to Ramsay Bolton. Her heart beat in her throat, she could hear her pulse in her ears. She could feel the blood moving through her veins. It was cold again. She bent, her movements a bit slow and sluggish and unsheathed the dead soldier's sword.

And then, wearing nothing but her shift, she joined the fight.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

He watched her, his beautiful niece, as she moved through the fight. Her skin was pale, too pale for comfort, her fingertips tinged blue. He did not know why she was wearing nothing but her shift, but it was wet and now it was covered with blood. When she had first picked up her sword her movements had been slow, jerky, as if it had been many months since she had picked up a sword. But like him with his left hand, it did well enough. The first soldier she came in contact with, swung his sword, aiming for her face. Lenora, holding the sword in both hands brought it up between her face and her attacker, blocking his swing and stepping back, away from him. The trick he had taught her years ago, to make her attacker believe she was on the run, to have him make chase, and then to attack when he least expected it.

The man moved closer to her again and Lenora stepped out of his way again, this time her sword swinging up, aiming for his face. He blocked it and her blade slid along his, the sound of steel moving against steel filling the air. At the last moment, using all of her strength, she pushed her sword down, toward the ground, and dislodging the soldier's grip on his own sword, sending it falling to the ground.

She grinned, and stepped forward now, her sword easily sliding up under the rim of his helmet and slicing its way through his neck. She withdrew her blade from his skin and stepped away, not even watching as the soldier fell to the ground. That first kill did it for her. As she moved away from him, ready for the next attack her movements were more relaxed, more fluid.

She was finding herself again.

And it was beautiful.

...

She fell to the ground when the fight was over. Her skin whiter than her shift, her grey eyes standing out like the clouds over a snowy field. Tears spilled down her cheeks. The wolf approached her first, sitting beside her, leaning into her as a human would have, lending her his warmth. Jaime watched her as her hand lifted to the wolf's fur, absentmindedly running over it before she turned, her grey eyes widening as she took in the wolf. "You're really here," she whispered, her voice little more than a breath as her eyes ran over the animal beside her. "Truly." Her gaze turned to Jaime. "And you too?" she asked quietly.

He smiled at her, moving a step closer. The wolf tensed, growling for a moment before he settled. "My sweet girl," he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her. "I'm here. Truly. And so are you." He reached out for her, meaning to pull her close to him and wrap her in his arms, to warm her until she stopped shivering. She tensed, leaning away from him. "Len?" he whispered. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, moving back away from him and standing on shaking legs. "What are you -" she asked him, shaking her head and cutting herself off before she finished the question. "Why are you -" she cut herself off again. Finally turning to look at him, more tears sliding down her cheeks and shining in her stormy eyes. "You _knew_ how I felt about him, Uncle Jaime," she told him, her voice breaking with the pain she had been carrying for so long. "You knew how I loved him. You all did. And then -" she cut herself off again, turning away from him.

"Lenora," Jaime sighed, finally understanding what she meant. She was talking about Robb Stark. She thought that he had played a part in her husband's death. In what had happened to her since. "No, Lenora, no. I had no part in what happened to Robb. I respected him, trusted him with you. I wouldn't have ordered his death especially in such a manner."

She turned on him again, her skin still pale, her steps a bit shaky, "Then where in the Seven Hells were you?" she asked him, her voice cracking in a half yell, half whisper. Now that she was standing straight up he could see the cuts and bruises covering her skin - _what had the bastard done to her?_

"Where were you, Jaime?"

He stepped toward her, both arms outstretched, an apology on his lips that he never got to give her. Her gaze dropped from his face, to his hands, his right hand. "What happened?" she asked him, stepping closer to him, her anger almost forgotten as she stared at his disgrace. "To your hand, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him when he didn't answer straight away. "What happened to your hand?"

He shook his head, quickly hiding it behind his back, "Nothing," he assured her. "Nothing you need worry about, doe."

She was still angry, he could feel it simmering under the surface as she moved closer to him. Her eyes were still stormy and cold, her shoulders still tight. Perhaps she did not believe him when he told her that he had played no part in Robb Stark's death, but she set it aside - her anger, her disgust, her distrust. Her gaze remained resolutely on his golden hand, and she shook her head, her dark hair flying around her, silently telling him that she did not believe him.

If his gaze hadn't been locked onto her, drinking in every inch of her, to make sure that she was truly there in front of him, and while worse for the wear, alive, he wouldn't have noticed the way her hands shook. Slowly, impossibly, dragging his gaze away from her he looked over her shoulder, his gaze landing on Bronn. The sellsword cleared his throat and looked away from them, "I'll just get the lady's dresses, shall I?" he asked before moving away, giving them the space they needed to reunite without an audience.

Carefully, so as not to startle her Jaime moved closer to the girl. Her steps faltered for a moment, as if she were second guessing herself, and his heart broke. In all the months he had imagined rescuing Lenora, he had never thought that she wouldn't want to see him, that she would be angry or hurt. He had pictured tears and relieved laughter as she launched herself into his arms, thanking him for saving her and begging him to take her home. He hadn't expected distance and hesitation, fear and timid footsteps. "Len," he whispered, his voice cracking, his chest tight as he begged her with that one word to trust him.

A sob burst out of her at the word. And she was no longer hesitating. She ran toward him, crossing the small distance between them in a few stumbling steps before she tripped and fell into his waiting arms. "Jaime," she gasped, repeating his name over and over again, her voice cracking each time as she buried her face in his neck. He could feel her tears, warm and wet as they slid off her cheeks to land on his neck. "You're here."

Those two words seemed to be filled with so much pain that Jaime's heart broke again. He could only imagine the months she had spent in this frozen wasteland, believing that she was alone and that no one would ever come rescue her. His arms tightened around her as he pulled her closer to him, giving her as much of his warmth as he could. "Of course I am, my doe," he whispered as he pressed a kiss against the top of her head. He thought back to when he had left her at Winterfell, it felt so long ago, he had promised her that he would visit her, making excuses to travel to Winterfell for the most mundane things. "I needed a new pair of boots," he told her, a bittersweet smile finding it's way to his lips.

A laugh bubbled up in her throat, only to be choked back by a sob. "I wish you had needed boots a few months ago," she told him, making a halfhearted joke herself.

Jaime loved her for it.

He pushed her away from him, not far enough to let go, but enough space to allow him to look at her. To really _look_ at her. "Are you alright, Len?" he asked her, his eyes dating over the bruises that colored her skin. There didn't seem to be a piece of her body that the bastard hadn't marked with his fists. "Did he," he winced, " _hurt_ you?" he finished, unable to think of a better way to finish his question.

"Not as much as he wanted to," Lenora told him, her voice darker and harder than he had ever heard it. Whatever had happened to her in the last few months had given his innocent niece an edge that she had not always had. "I got away before he could do the worst of it."

He wanted to ask her more, but her gaze had dropped to his golden right hand where it rested on her waist. "What happened to your hand, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him again, this time her voice made it clear that she expected an answer.

"One of Bolton's men cut it off," he told her honestly, though he would spare he most of the horrid details. "Before they sent me back to King's Landing as a gesture of good will."

Her grey eyes flashed, angry at his treatment and humiliation. And then her gaze lifted to his face, "And you swear it?" she whispered. "That you had nothing to do with what happened to Robb?"

Jaime reached his left hand up, clumsily cupping her cheek in his palm as his thumb ran across her cheek bone. "I promise, love," he assured her. "I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. I did not know. If I had I would have tried to stop it."

Her eyes were guarded, her shoulders heavy, "It was Grandfather, then," she guessed. "All of it."

She wasn't asking him a question. She knew her grandfather well enough to know that the plot _smelled_ of him. That no matter how much he loved her, he would put House in front of family any day. That he would try for an end of the war, at any cost, before he tried to save her. He heart didn't break, she had suffered too much for that already. She didn't need an answer from him either. She was quiet for a moment before her jaw clenched and she nodded. "We have to get Winterfell back," she told him, her voice brisk and hard, leaving no room for argument.

"You _have_ to go back to King's Landing," Jaime tried to argue anyway. "There's nothing for you here any longer, Len."

She shook her head. "There's nothing for me," she agreed. "But there's something for _them_. For Sansa, for Jon, for Arya if she's still alive. Ramsay has more men than Stannis, they have more experience fighting in the cold. He will win."

"It's not your fight, doe," Jaime tried again, though he could see by the set of his niece's jaw that there was very little he would be able to say to change her mind.

"Our family," she started before she shook her head, " _my_ family, has taken so much from them. It is my fight. We have to take it back."

Jaime watched her for a long moment before he sighed, "There's no talking you out of this?" he asked her. She shook her head, determined even as the tears continued to slide down her cheeks. He nodded, "Then where do you propose we go?" he asked her.

"To Castle Black," she answered quickly, as if she had already known the answer. And perhaps she had. She had to have been running somewhere when she escaped Winterfell. "To Jon."

Bronn cleared his throat behind them and both Jaime and Lenora slowly turned to face him, each of them hating to take their gaze off of each other, as if they might disappear. "If we're going to go to a castle filled with men who haven't had a proper fuck in years, you might want to put your dress back on, my lady."

* * *

Author's Note:

So many reunions in this chapter, you would almost think that this was a happy story instead of one from GoT. What did you think? I hope that I did not disappoint any of you. And I hope that you are all so excited for what's to come. I know that I am. (And it won't even be a surprise for me, I know what's coming and I'm still excited.)  
What did you think? Please take a few moments to write a review. They truly make my day every time I get to read one. So, support your local (or not so local) fanfiction author and write a review!  
Thank you to everyone who has favorited this story! To those of you that added it to your alerts list! To the wonderful people who have added this story to their communities! You are all rock stars!  
And to my reviewers ... **thank you** _ **.**_

 _StarkTeller:_ Ahhh! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! I was sure to include a bit of Bronn in there for you since I know how much you love him! (I love him too!)  
And I'm happy to say that as of this chapter, most of Lenora's suffering is over. If we look at the hero's journey, our hero - or in Lenora's case, _heroine_ \- is on her way to being back on top. And I'm so glad you noticed that Theon called her Nora. (That was on purpose!)  
I had to kill Bran. Even though I knew it would make a lot of you very angry. I had to do it. Partially because I am not following the three-eyed raven story line and partially because try as I might I just could not make him fit with where this story is going. That being said, it opens it up for another Stark sibling to potentially survive. No promises thought.  
I figured that you guys would enjoy Jamie killing Roose. We're going to touch on it further in the next chapter. But it felt like coming full circle for Jaime. He was the one who suggested that Roose team up with Tywin, so it felt fitting that he got revenge for his niece. Plus ... _the Lannisters send their regards_ \- I couldn't help myself.  
What music do I listen to? Umm it depends. Sometimes I listen the GoT soundtrack, sometimes when I want GoT themed music with words I listen to Karline (I think I spelled that right) she has hours of GoT songs that are just a complete treat to listen to. While writing this chapter I was in a completely wonderful, hipstery corner of the internet filled with the Lumineers and Gregory Alan Isakov and it was magic. So it depends on my mood really, but there's always music playing while I write. What do you listen to?  
And I owe you my congratulations, my Cavs failed me this Christmas against your Warriors.

 _G1234:_ You were right! There was a reunion with a certain blonde haired knight in store and I hope that I did not disappoint you with it! I'm so glad that you loved the last chapter, please say you loved this one too?

 _bellaphant:_ I'm sorry about Shaggydog and Summer. But it had to happen, the wolves wouldn't let the boys get captured if they were still alive after all. You have guessed right about why Theon did not tell Lenora about Rickon, and Lenora is going to learn about it soon enough. Lenora did not get to kill Roose, but I promise you, she's not going to be too upset about it for long. I hope you had a fantastic Christmas and New Years as well and hope that this chapter was worth the (impatient) wait!

 _Gamemaster77:_ Aw! That is so nice to hear that the last chapter hit all the right points! I hope this chapter continued this trend! Theon's back! I couldn't leave him as Reek forever, I like him too much for that. And I wish that there could be a Stark universe where all the Starks got to live happily ever after, but that's just not possible. So we will have to settle for two happy(ish) sisters on their way to find Jon.  
As for Theon and what I (and Ramsey) have in store for him ... you'll just have to see.  
This chapter did not include Jaime riding on Grey Wind either, I don't think the wolf would ever really allow that, but they did work together to save their princess, so I hope it's at least a consolation that they are now very much on the same team.  
You did bet wrong about who Lenora ran into first. I wanted to give the sisters some time alone, and they're still a bit south of Winterfell. I made the very deliberate choice to have Lenora turn north. She's been apart from her uncle for a bit too long.

 _Bells:_ I'm so glad that you love this story! I hope you continue to do so! And you're so sweet! It means a lot that you think I'm a good writer! Thank you so much for your review!

 _RHatch89:_ It was a bit of a mix as to how Lenora was rescued. A bit on her own, a bit with some help. But don't worry, the time when Lenora let other people decide things for her is quickly coming to an end. From now on, she will listen to Jaime's (and other's) advice and then do whatever the hell she wants. She's coming into her own now and no one is going to stop her.

 _Gyb:_ Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

 _Guest1995:_ I know, I know, I'm horrible. Everyone is mad at me! But Bran had to die. There were too many happy Starks in the future of this story which meant that Bran had to go. And with me saving Robb ... well I couldn't kill one of the girls. (Plus ... it was a surprise to all of you!)  
I hope that you have had a fantastic start to 2018, and I hope that this first chapter of the new year was worth the wait!

 _janaoliver:_ Two reviews! I love it just as much as you love this story! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you liked this chapter just as much! Yes, you were right, the big event was something very good for Lenora, and there's more of it in the future. Her star is now on the rise. (Though it will still be a bit before she runs into Robb.)  
It means a lot that you think this story (and me!) deserve two reviews! You really know how to spoil an author. I'm glad that you think I have a knack for finding the balance between canon and my own story elements, it always feels like I'm walking a bit of a tightrope, so it's nice to know that it's working.  
Thank you!

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ I'm glad that I surprised you with the Theon point of view. I think I've only done one of those in this story if I'm remembering correctly ... maybe two. It was just time for him to come back as Theon, and I couldn't show that change in anyone else's point of view. It had to be his. And I'm thrilled that you guys enjoyed it so much!

 _HPuni101:_ I know! It's strange when something heartbreaking (like Bran dying) happens, but you still want to say that it was a good chapter. It's so weird! But I'm glad you enjoyed it in spite of the sad twist. And I hope the same can be said for this chapter. It started off sadly, but I like to think it ended on a good note! I hope it was worth the wait!

 _Guest (1):_ Well now it has 670 reviews! (Twenty more than when you wrote your review!) And it is such a compliment to know that you think it deserves more. That really is one of the kindest things you could say to me. So thank you so much! I hope that you keep reading and keep enjoying!

 _Spidey-phd:_ Good. I'm glad you were blindsighted by his death. That was very much the point. It was kind of a signal, with the exception of Jon dying/being brought back (which I have a reason for!) and BotB, we are now starting to leave canon far behind and run wild with my imagination. Starting with Bran.  
As for Ramsey, I have a plan for him that will be both painful and humiliating and quite a bit of just desserts that I hope you guys enjoy. **Reward to anyone who can guess how. I've left hints.  
** As for where is Jon Snow? Dying alone at Castle Black. But not for long!

 _writingNOOB:_ I know, I know, I know! Everyone is so mad about Bran, and I knew that when I decided he was going to die. But I promise I had my reasons! I'm so glad you enjoyed the rest of the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _darkwolf76:_ That chapter was dark, but I hope I made it up with this chapter. Things are really going to start picking up now.  
I'm glad that you enjoyed Theon's redemption arc, it was time for him to stop hiding behind Reek and find his way back again. As for his death, quick or otherwise, you will just have to wait and see!  
It's so nice to hear that you think this story line is better than the Dorne plot. (Not that it's hard to be better than Dorne... still, very good to hear!)  
BotB getting closer every update! It might be a bit of a problem if the Northern Lords were to name Jon KitN just to have Robb return. So perhaps Robb will return before that. Or perhaps Robb won't want it. We'll all see soon enough!  
Yup. A garland that will still up until after the playoffs. My husband hates it, but that's what he gets for marrying a Cavs fan. As for my Jon/OC story, the one hint I will give you is this: it's post BotB and will involve White Walkers.  
Happy New Year!

 _CharlieSamantha:_ Oh my dear! I'm so sorry! I didn't want to kill you guys! It was just time to really, really start deviating from canon. And Bran was the first thing to change. I am glad that you enjoyed Roose's death, I was very excited about it. As for Jaime, he ran into his niece first! Hope you enjoyed it!

 _Guest(2):_ No promises about Rickon. We'll have to wait and see!

 _Danaren Reid:_ Thank you so much for saying that! I was pretty nervous about posting the Reek/Theon POV, so it's fantastic to know that you think it was well written!  
I had to kill Bran, it was a bit of a signal that we're going to start deviating from canon. And as much as I love the direwolves, they had to die too. They wouldn't let anyone take the boys if they were still alive, you know?  
You were right, Grey Wind, Jaime, and Bronn ran into Lenora in this chapter! I hope you enjoyed it!  
I hope your holidays were fantastic!

 _Guest(3):_ Well, welcome to binge reading club! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story so far and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! It means a lot that you could see Lenora in the GoT story. That is one of the ultimate compliments. So there were several reunions in this chapter and even more to come! I hope you enjoy them!

That's all I've got for now! Thank you guys so much!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	72. Chapter Seventy-Two: Honor

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me.)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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Hey you ... yeah _,_ **you.** Guess what? **You** want to be the **700th review**. We're so close. Four reviews away from 700. And you want to be the luck 700th.  
Why? Because if you are review **700** I will give you a prize as a thank you. Ask anything you want about this story and I will answer it. Think carefully, how much do you want to spoil? Is there something you've been wondering since the beginning? Something you're hoping for at the end? A mystery or hint you want? Be the 700th review and ask and I will answer!

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Two: Honor_

 _Davos_

They had arrived at the Wall before the men's betrayal. The young Lord Commander had welcomed them personally, he listened to Davos' plea for help, he sympathized with Stannis' army who at the very moment were most likely dying at Ramsay Bolton's hand, he heard the Red Woman's prophecies. But nothing swayed him, nothing changed his mind.

Many of his men already believed that Jon Snow had betrayed the Night's Watch by letting the Wildlings pass through the Wall, by giving them the very land they used to raid. Davos had been at Castle Black for less than an hour and he had already heard them grumbling. Jon would not press his luck, or his men's loyalty, a step further by interfering with the affairs of the realm.

Even if those affairs directly involved his home.

He firmly, though not unkindly, informed Davos that their return to the Wall had been a waste of time. Then he had promised them shelter and food until their departure and sent them away.

Davos had not seen Jon Snow since.

But on the evening of their third day at the Wall, just as he was making the decision that it was time to head south again, back toward Winterfell, to find Stannis if he was still alive, the Red Woman seemed to think he wasn't, he heard the wolf howling. His first thought was that the castle was under attack, perhaps by Wildlings still north of the Wall. But these howls did not sound like warning calls, and they did not stop.

Over and over the wolf called out, it was hard for Davos to even discern where one cry ended and the next began. It seemed almost as if it were one unending cry. The sound was impossible to drown out, and even more impossible not to feel. He could feel it in his chest, settling heavy in the pit of his stomach. It felt like sorrow, deep and gut wrenching, unfathomable heart ache. It felt like anger, and betrayal, and fear. It called out, _screamed_ , for revenge.

And he _knew_ , even as he prayed for any other outcome, even as he rushed through his chamber door as if he would be able to help somehow, he _knew_.

He knew the only thing that would make the strange wolf cry in such a manner.

And he believed that it would not bode well for anyone residing at Castle Black.

...

He had not been the only one to run outside at the wolf's howls, but he was the first to reach the body, cold and abandoned in the snow. A few men who the Lord Commander had considered his friends arrived too, confused and shocked by the murder of their brother and commander.

The only thing that shocked Davos was that the boy was not there. He followed Jon Snow everywhere, it was impossible to think that he had not been witness to whatever had befallen the young Lord Commander. Had then men imprisoned him? Killed him too and hidden the body? Davos did not know, but once they had moved the body inside he would be sure to find out.

They carried him into the Lord Commander's chambers and laid him down on his desk so that they could get a better look at his injuries. He had been stabbed. Five times by the look of it. Four times in the stomach and once in the heart. The blood on his vest was still wet, though it was no longer as warm as it should have been, it was starting to congeal.

Edd, his closest friend gently pushed Davos out of the way so that he could stand beside the body. One hand fell to Jon's chest, hovering over the wounds, the other to his head, closing the young man's eyes so that he was no longer staring blankly up at the ceiling. His breath came out in gasps, both angry and panicked. As if he was trying to reconcile what he was seeing before him with the impulse to deny it.

"Thorne did this," he growled, finally looking up from his fallen friend, making eye contact with each of the men in the chamber, daring them to argue with him.

"How many of the men do you think you can trust?" Davos asked, stepping forward. There would be a time for anger, but first the men needed to rally together, the ones who were still loyal to Jon Snow, there was a fight brewing at Castle Black.

And they were already behind.

"Trust?" Edd echoed, shaking his head. "The men in this room."

That wasn't very heartening, Davos included there were only four men in the room. Five if you counted Jon Snow's body. "Does the wolf know you?" Davos asked, he could still hear the beast howling outside. Edd turned to him, his brows furrowed in confusion. Davos shrugged, "We need all the help we can get."

Just as Edd was about to head out the door to grab the wolf there was knock on it. All four living men in the room turned toward the door, the Black Brothers drew their swords, ready to fight to the death. "Ser Davos," came the voice of the Red Woman on the other side of the door.

It was a stretch for Davos to say that he trusted her, the Red Woman, but there was very little more that she could do to Jon Snow now. The men sheathed their swords and Edd opened the door so that she could enter.

A strange sort of sadness settled over her face as she walked further into the room, coming to stand beside the desk to look down at Jon Snow's body. She shook her head, denying what her eyes were seeing. "I saw him in the flames," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Fighting at Winterfell."

Davos felt his eyebrows lift, she had seen a lot of things in the flames, and as far as he knew, not a single one of them had come true. "I can't speak for the flames, but he's gone."

...

When Edd returned with the wolf he brought more bad news. Thorne had called a meeting of the Brothers. He was presiding over it. Sitting in the Lord Commander's seat.

The two other Brothers in the room growled at the news, angry and disgusted that the man who had orchestrated the murder of their Lord Commander would now presume to take his seat. But they were missing the more troubling news, so absorbed in the insult of it all.

"He'll have seen that you didn't go," Davos warned them, watching as the wolf whimpered and walked away from the body, settling itself in the corner of the chambers. The behavior surprised him, he would have thought, especially after all the howling, that the wolf would have stayed at Jon's side. "He will have made it official by now. Castle Black is his. The Watch is his."

"I don't care who sits at the High Table," Edd growled. "Jon was my friend. And those fuckers butchered him. Now we'll return the favor."

The other two brothers were nodding. Davos sighed, beginning to understand why Stannis had named him his Hand. These three men were so angry, so bitter, they weren't thinking. Davos was not a learned man, but even he could see that this would not end well. "We don't have the numbers," he cautioned them.

"We have a direwolf," Edd countered.

The beast would do some damage, but not nearly enough. Eventually it would be killed, and Edd and his two men soon after. "I didn't know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe that he wouldn't have wanted to see his friends die for nothing."

Edd shook his head, "If you were planning to live to see tomorrow you picked the wrong room," he warned Davos. "We all die today, I say we do our best to take Thorne with us when we go."

Again Davos shook his head, Edd was planning a suicide mission when he did not have to be. "We need to fight," he agreed. "But we don't need to die. Not if we have help."

"Who is going to help us?" one of the other Brothers asked bitterly. "The rest of them were all at Thorne's meeting. Even Olly, and we all know how he loved Jon." He shook his head, spitting bitterly on the floor.

"You are not the only men who owe your lives to Jon Snow," Davos argued, turning his gaze to Edd and hoping that he would not have to spell it out for the man, hoping that he would understand the hint.

Edd stared at him for a moment before he glanced toward the door, south, his gaze darted back toward Davos, he understood. Davos nodded. Edd turned toward his men, "Bolt the door," he ordered. "Don't let anyone in. I'll be back as soon as I can."

...

The Watch waited for one day before they started to make their demands. Edd had not yet returned and Davos and the men in the room would not budge. They would not open the door, they would not meet with Thorne and his men. They would not give up Jon's body.

Thorne's demands - though they rarely came from Thorne himself - alternated between quiet requests, entreaties, promises of mercy and threats, angry outbursts, promises of violence.

And by early evening that day, they were no longer asking anything. They would take what they wanted, whether the men barricaded in the Lord Commander's chambers fought them or not.

That evening Thorne came to the door himself, knocking quietly. "It's time, Ser Davos," he announced, speaking solely to Davos as if he had the power to command the men in the room. "Open the door and the men can join their brothers in peace." Davos did not speak, this was not all Thorne had to say. "We'll even set the wolf free north of the Wall where it belongs," the self proclaimed Lord Commander promised.

A lie.

"Nobody needs to die tonight."

Those last words were both a threat and a promise. No one needed to die, but Davos was sure that everyone in the room would die if Thorne got his way. He turned to the men, grabbing Jon's sword. "I've never been much of a fighter," he told the men as he unsheathed the sword, "my apologies for what you are about to see."

They smiled grimly at him as they followed suit, unsheathing their own swords and preparing for battle. The wolf stood, coming to stand guard over Jon's body and Davos knew, that until the wolf was dead, no one would touch the Lord Commander.

On the other side of the door Thorne gave his men the order to chop it down so that they could force their way in. The man had just succeeded in chopping a small hole in the door when a much louder crash sounded from the courtyard. Thorne's men turned away from the door while Davos turned to the men inside the chamber, each of them praying that Edd had finally returned with as many Wildlings as were willing to help.

They waited until all of Thorne's men had left the hallway outside the chamber before they followed, leaving the wolf to stand guard over Jon Snow's body. When they made it to the walk above the courtyard they saw two dead bodies, one who had been killed with a sword, the other looked as though it had been thrown around by the giant. Many of the men, the ones only tentatively loyal to Thorne had dropped their swords in surrender.

"You're a fucking traitor," Thorne growled at Edd, his eyes sweeping over the band of Wildlings that Edd had led back to Castle Black.

"The only traitors are the men who shoved their knives into their Lord Commander's heart," Edd growled back, his voice like steel.

"For thousands of years the Night's Watch has held Castle Black against the Wildlings," Thorne argued, trying to put himself back on top, trying to paint himself as loyal.

"Until you," the tall red headed Wildling they called Tormund answered.

They gave themselves away then, the men who had followed Thorne and killed Jon Snow. There were six of them, the boy included, who still held their swords, who tried to attack Edd and the Wildlings. They were beaten easily and quickly escorted by Wildlings to the cells where they would await judgement.

Then Edd brought Tormund up the stairs to the Lord Commander's chambers so that he could see Jon as well.

The large Wildling looked down at him for a long moment before he glanced up at Davos. "It took a lot of knives," he whispered, there was a hint of pride in his voice, he was proud of the man who had been stabbed six times before he died. He glanced toward Edd, "I'll have my men gather wood," he told him. "There are bodies to burn."

He turned to leave the room.

Davos glanced down at Jon's body. His chest tightened at the words _bodies to burn_ , he supposed there were bodies to burn. But he was certain that Jon Snow's did not need to be one of them. He turned to Edd, "I'll be back," he told the Brother. "Don't let them touch him until I am."

"Where are you going?" Edd asked.

"To see the Red Woman."

...

He knocked to announce himself before he entered. "I'm sorry for interrupting, my Lady," he told her as he walked into the room.

She barely looked up from the flames she was staring at, he wondered what they told her now. He wondered if they told her anything.

"You interrupt nothing," she told him.

"I assume you know why I'm here," he told her hesitantly. He was not a fan of the woman's magic, but he could no longer claim himself a nonbeliever, not after everything he had seen her do. The woman held a sort of magic, and now he hoped that she would be able to use it on Jon Snow.

"I will after you tell me," came her answer.

"It's about the Lord Commander," he started.

"The _former_ Lord Commander?" she asked, her voice putting a dark emphasis on the word _former_.

"Does he have to be?" Davos asked, finally getting the woman to look at him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She could feel Jaime watching her while the three of them made camp that night, well away from Winterfell and Ramsay's dead men. He had barely let her out of his sight since he and Bronn had found her in the clearing. It had been a fight to get him to allow her to walk into the woods to make water, he had only agreed after she had promised him that she would bring Grey Wind with her.

They had taken the horses that had once belonged to Ramsay's dead men and when they rode Jaime rode as close to Lenora's horse as he had when she was a child learning to ride a pony. Always within arm's reach, always there to catch her if she slowed down or started to fall. Always there. Just as he had once promised her he would be.

When they made camp both man and wolf stayed by her side the entire time. She appreciated it, after so many months alone, she appreciated the support, but it felt strange. She was no longer used to having someone at her side, worrying about her, trying to take care of her. It made her as nervous as Ramsay's attention had once made her.

Because of that, after supper she found herself walking over to Bronn, the only one in the group that did not seem intent on treating her as if she might break at any moment.

He smiled at her for a brief moment when she sat down next to him and then he turned back to the flask in his hand. Lenora reached out, grabbing the flask before he could have a sip and claiming it for her own. Bronn did not tell her no, but he did turn to look at her, "Are you certain you can handle that, Your Grace?" he asked her, cautioning her with his words as she lifted the flask to her own lips. "This was not made for ladies."

She took a long pull from the flask, wincing slightly as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. This was ale, not the wine she was accustomed to. And it was much harsher than any of the ale her father had drank. But it served its purpose, warming her even as it burned her throat and settled uneasily in her stomach. She took another sip. "I haven't been treated like a lady in a very long time," she told him, her voice dark and bitter as she passed the flask back to him. "And please don't call me _Your Grace_."

The last person who had called her that had been Ramsay.

Bronn took a sip from his flask and nodded, "I imagine that it's hard," he told her, his voice slow and cautious. She turned, glancing at him. He was being careful not to look at her, as if worried that it would scare her off. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "I don't know much about this bastard, Bolton," he told her with a shrug, finally glancing at her, his light blue eyes dancing over the cuts and bruises that were visible on her face and neck. "But I can imagine that what I see isn't the worst of it." He shook his head, swallowing another gulp from his flask before he held it out to her, offering her more. She shook her head. "It must be difficult," he continued, coming around to his previous statement, "to suddenly be thrown back into a world where people care about you, where they worry about you," he glanced across the fire to where Jaime and Grey Wind sat. The wolf's yellow eyes shown in the fire light, they were locked on Lenora, Jaime was determinedly staring at the sword he was cleaning in his lap. "Where they'd sooner kill themselves than let someone hurt you."

Lenora turned to him, reaching out for the flask again, "You're remarkably perceptive, Ser Bronn," she told him as she took another large sip. She glanced back across the fire, watching the wolf and man. "How did you find Grey Wind?" she asked him, it was a question that had been plaguing her all day but she had not asked it yet. She was afraid to ask. Ever since Roose Bolton had taken her from the Twins she had thought that she had seen the wolf, she had thought it a ghost. But now, here he was, in the flesh. It gave her hope, something that she had learned long ago only led to heartache.

"The wolf found us," Bronn told her, glancing at the wolf too. "In the woods outside of Wintertown."

Lenora shook her head, denying it. It was strange to see the wolf so friendly with her uncle. The last time they had been together the wolf had looked at her uncle as an enemy, but now they sat side by side, not friends perhaps, but coconspirators on the same mission. "What were you doing up here?" she asked in a whisper.

"Rescuing you," Bronn told her, his voice slow as if he thought her stupid. "Of course."

"And what was your plan?" she asked him, laughter coloring her tone. It felt good to laugh at something, anything that wasn't Ramsay. It felt good to laugh because she thought something was funny, instead of out of relief that the bastard hadn't touched her. "A sellsword, a one-handed knight, and a direwolf? Were you going to storm the most fortified keep in the North and fight your way to my chambers?"

Bronn smiled and shook his head, "We were drawing them out. First the Bolton men, then the Lord himself."

Lenora turned to him sharply. "The raids in Wintertown were the two of you?" she asked. He nodded. She shook her head, "They were my uncle Stannis' men. Ramsay told me. Lord Bolton went out in search of the group and was killed by them, that's why Ramsay marched early, he assumed my uncle was closer than the scouts reported."

Bronn shook his head, "I can't speak for Stannis," he told her. "He might have been closer than anticipated. But the raids were us. And your uncle, your _Lannister_ uncle, killed Roose Bolton."

Lenora turned back to watch Jaime, he was struggling as he tried to sheath his sword again. "Why didn't he tell me?" she asked.

Bronn shrugged, "I suspect he feels guilty," he told her. "He did not plan your husband's murder, in fact he did not learn about it until he was returned to the capitol. But when he was brought to Roose Bolton he hinted that there were more beneficial relationships to be had in the Seven Kingdoms than the one he currently held with the Starks. He felt responsible, it was his duty to kill Roose Bolton for you."

Lenora's lips twisted into a bittersweet smile, it was _so_ like her uncle to take responsibility for something that was not his fault. He had done it for years, carrying the name _Kingslayer_ when all he had done was save everyone in the Seven Kingdoms. And now he wanted to do it again, carrying the weight of Robb's death on his shoulders when that belonged to her Grandfather alone. She shook her head as she stood from her seat and moved around the fire to be closer to her uncle. This game of guilt and blame would have to stop.

Grey Wind stood from his uneasy seat, both making room for Lenora between himself and Jaime and crowding into her personal space when she did not immediately sit down. She stood, the wolf now at her side, as she stared down at her uncle. To his credit, he continued to pretend not to be watching her, but his hand had stilled on his blade the moment she stood and started to make her way around the fire. "I thought we were done playing this game, Uncle Jaime," she scolded him playfully, smiling as warmly as she could when he finally lifted his gaze to her face.

"What game, doe?" he asked her, his brows furrowed, his tone serious.

"The game where you blame yourself for being the honorable, noble man that you are," she told him as she finally sat beside him, reaching out to take the sword from his hand so that she could slide it into its sheath on her own. Grey Wind sat down to her right, leaning into her, lending her his warmth. She smiled as she shook her head, "You are no more to blame for what happened to Robb, for what happened to me, than you are for killing the Mad King," she whispered to him as she dropped her hand on top of his golden hand.

She did not miss the way he winced when she touched his false hand, as if ashamed. He shook his head. "I left you," he whispered. "Even if I did not play a part in planning that gods forsaken farce of a wedding, I left you. Catelyn Stark set me free and instead of refusing or staying in the woods near Riverrun and awaiting your return. I left. If I had been there -"

"If you had been there you would have been left at Riverrun while our party traveled to the Twins for the wedding," Lenora interrupted him. She loved her uncle, but she would not allow him to wallow in self pity. "If you had been there, Walder Frey still would have sent you back to King's Landing, or perhaps he would have killed you. The Freys hold Riverrun now, either way you would have belonged to a man who was already in Grandfather's pocket." She gestured toward her face, " _This_ is not your fault, Jaime."

He reached out for her face and she forced herself not to flinch away from him. For so long the only gentle hand she had known had been Theon's, it was strange now, to know that she would soon be surrounded by men who would never dream of hurting her. His left hand covered the entire side of her face, cupping her entire jaw line from ear to chin, his thumb brushing lightly against her bruised cheekbone. "What did he do to you, Len?" he asked her, his voice little more than a whisper. "You said he didn't hurt you, but your face is evidence enough that that was a falsehood. What did he do to you?"

She could have told him all of it. Stories of starvation, of humiliation, the whippings, the beatings, the words he had called her while she laughed at him, if only to protect herself with his own humiliation. But it would do neither of them any good. It would only serve to make her uncle feel more guilty for how long it had taken him to get to her, or his imagined part in the entire scheme. And it was over now, Ramsay would never be allowed to touch her again, she was free; the last thing she needed to do was remind herself of a time when she wasn't.

She shook her head and glanced away from him, absentmindedly patting his golden hand as her gaze landed on the fire in front of them. "He caused no serious, or lasting, damage Uncle Jaime," she promised the older man. She turned back to him and forced a smile onto her lips, hoping he would believe it. "He did the worst he could imagine, and I survived. That is all either of us need to remember now."

Jaime shook his head, "I will kill him," he growled. His own words echoed by the growl of the wolf to her right. Lenora dropped her free hand onto of Grey Wind's head and gently scratched the large wolf behind the ears, hoping to calm the beast down.

"You will do no such thing," she admonished her uncle sharply, turning at the last moment to glance at the wolf as well so that the animal understood that her warning was for both of them.

Jaime turned to her, his Lannister green eyes - the ones her siblings had inherited from him - wide, "Lenora," he whispered, his voice just as sharp as hers had been. "You are my niece, and regardless of what you say I need to remember, he abused you. Honor compels -"

Lenora smiled softly and held up her left hand, her palm facing him, a silent signal that she wanted him to stop talking. He did. "Honor compels that he must die," she agreed with a nod. "But it was not _you_ he abused, Uncle. _When_ he dies, it will be by my hand. Not yours."

Jaime stared at her for a moment before he wrapped his right arm around the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him, pressing a hard kiss against her forehead. "Where did you get your strength, doe?" he asked her, his lips still pressed against her skin.

She laughed as she pulled away from him, just enough to press a kiss of her own against his cheek. "What else do you expect from a fawn raised by a lion?" she asked him. "And then married to a wolf?" She shook her head, "I had no choice than to be strong or I would have been eaten alive."

...

She finally asked about her mother the next morning while they were cleaning up their camp, trying their best to make it look as though no one had been there, before they left. She had just finished burying the remains of their fire when Jaime approached her, leading a horse toward her.

"He's not Casterly," he supplied, speaking of the horse she had had to leave behind at Winterfell. "But he's fast and strong."

Lenora smiled as she stepped closer to the horse and raised her hand to stroke his nose. "He'll do," she promised her uncle. They stood for a moment, staring at the horse before she turned back to her uncle. "When you were in King's Landing," she started, the words dragging out slowly, like sap from a tree on a cold day. "You saw Mother?" Jaime nodded, his gaze dropping to her face though he did not say a word. "How is she?" Lenora asked. She shook her head, "I know that Joff's death must have been -" she stopped. She couldn't finish the statement. She hated imagining that it had been difficult for her mother when her monster of a brother had died. She hated living in a world where her mother could miss him.

She didn't need to finish her sentence though, Jaime understood. He nodded, "Your mother handled Joffrey's death as well as she could," he told her. Lenora arched an eyebrow, silently imagining what that meant. Jaime sighed, "She blamed Sansa Stark," he told her, hiding nothing from her. "And when the girl disappeared from the city, she blamed Tyrion."

"Tyrion would never -" Lenora started, then she stopped. This was not news to her, it felt like a lifetime ago, but Roose Bolton had told her this. When he told her that Tyrion had also killed her grandfather. "Tyrion did not kill Joffrey," she told her uncle, her voice full of conviction. "And neither did Sansa Stark." Jaime nodded, he believed her. "But he did kill Grandfather," Lenora continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Didn't he?"

Jaime nodded again, "My fault, that one," he admitted to her. "I was the one that set him loose. I hoped that he had traveled north, to find you. But before he left he killed Father."

"And do you blame yourself for that as well?" Lenora asked, her voice almost teasing.

The right corner of her uncle's lips turned up and he shook his head. "Your mother would," he told her, his voice soft. "But after that farce of a trial, after everything Father put Tyrion through," he paused, his green eyes distant as he thought back to his short time in King's Landing. "I should have known when I set him free that Father's chambers would be his first stop."

Lenora watched him for a moment before she shook her head. "What have we done to each other, Uncle Jaime?" she asked him, her voice quiet and resigned. "My father hurt my mother because she wasn't Lyanna Stark. Mother hurt Father because he wasn't _you_. Joffrey tried to hurt me because I stood in the way of his claim for legitimacy. Uncle Stannis and Renly fought each other for a throne their nephew sat on. Grandfather arranged for the murder of my husband and then left me to the devices of his murderers. He and Mother hurt Tyrion because he killed Grandmother. He killed Grandfather because Grandfather tried to kill him." Her voice cracked and she looked away from him, shaking her head again. "My family is a broken mess."

Jaime's hands, both of them, fell heavy on her shoulders, he squeezed her right shoulder with his left hand. "But _you_ are not, Lenora."

"I'll have to return," she told him, looking away from him. "Once we take Winterfell back for the Starks. I will have to return to King's Landing. How will I ever look at Mother in the eye? How will I do that now that I know everything that she has done to tear my family apart?"

Something crossed over her uncle's face, something dark and angry that she did not understand. "You don't know it all, doe," he told her, his voice as dark as his look. "And it's best you don't. But know _this_. She is your mother, there will always be a part of you that loves her. Love her, but don't trust her."

She watched him carefully, "You don't trust her." A statement rather than a question.

Jaime shook his head, his jaw clenched, "I haven't for almost twenty years," he told her, his voice bitter and clipped.

Lenora wanted to ask why, but Bronn interrupted their conversation. "We should get going," he warned the two of them. "You can talk on the road if you must, but we're wasting daylight now."

She smiled at the brunette man and turned back to her uncle. "It's been many moons since I've saddled a horse," she told him, her lips turning up at the corners, her tone teasing. "Could you lend me a hand, Uncle Jaime?"

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide before his lips turned up as well and he laughed, shaking his head, "Funny Len," he congratulated her. "Very funny. Because I only have one, right?"

-.-.-.-.-

 _Arya_

For the first week the group traveled together peacefully. It wasn't until the second week when the harmony between the two Stark sisters and their guardians was broken.

It began when they came upon a recently abandoned camp a ways northwest of Winterfell. Whoever had made camp in the woods had done their best to hide their tracks, but they had been in a hurry, they left enough evidence that the Hound was able to guess at how many had made camp there. _Three_ , he swore. _With five horses and a large dog_. And which direction they were traveling. _Due north_.

He suggested that they track the group.

Brienne had argued. They had no reason to track the group, they were headed to Castle Black, why should they follow a group?

 _For their supplies_ , the Hound had growled at her as if the woman knight was touched. "No doubt they have more than we do. It will be a long walk North. They have five horses, we have five riders."

Brienne still said no, it wasn't honorable to steal from fellow travelers. Whoever these three were, they were no doubt in as much danger as their own party, it would be dishonorable to take from them. "What sort of example you must have set for Lady Arya while you were on the road together," Brienne had scolded.

"I taught the girl to survive," the Hound shot back. "That's a fair deal more than you've taught the little bird. She'd be dead by tomorrow if you abandoned her."

Sansa had taken offense to that, no matter how true it was, and she and Podrick had sided with Brienne. They would not track these travelers. They would not steal from them. They would continue their own, honorable path to the Wall.

Sansa had turned then, looking toward her sister and waiting for Arya to voice her agreement. They would all go together and leave the Hound to his hunt. But Arya glanced between the two sides of her party and realized that the Hound was right. He had been gruff while they traveled, sometimes even cruel, but he had taught her so much. Brienne was honorable, and she did not doubt that the blonde woman would do everything she could to get the two sisters to Jon at Castle Black, but this world - it belonged to the Hound. He knew how to survive.

She turned back to her sister and shrugged, "We would get to Castle Black faster if we had horses," she told her sister, pointedly ignoring the smirk that slipped onto the Hound's lips when he realized that she had taken his side.

Sansa shook her head, disbelieving. "Arya," she snapped. "You can't be serious."

Arya nodded, she was. "They probably have weapons too," she guessed.

"And how do you prepose we catch them, Lady Arya?" Brienne asked her, hoping to help the girl see reason. "They are on horseback, they could be miles ahead of us."

The Hound shrugged, "The ride is not an easy or comfortable one," he told the woman knight. "They will stop to rest." He gestured toward the abandoned camp. "They stop at night. If we kept moving through the night, we might catch them."

Brienne shook her head, "We will not," she argued.

Arya turned toward Sansa and made eye contact with her sister, she wanted the elder girl to realize just how serious she was. "I'm going with the Hound," she told her sister. "You can come with me or you can stay with Brienne and I will see you at Castle Black. The choice is yours."

"Arya," Sansa gasped, staring at her sister. "How could you? Those people _need_ those horses. They _need_ their weapons. Father would never -"

It was the wrong thing to say. Arya felt her jaw clench, "And Father is dead," she bit out angrily, flinching at her own words. "He lived by a code of honor that does not work in the world the Lannisters created. It got him killed." She looked away from her sister, ashamed at her own words even though she would not take them back. " _That_ is what I have seen honor do. You might not think that _this_ is honorable, but I know it will keep us alive. And I'm going."

She pointedly lifted her chin, holding her head as high as she could as she turned and stepped closer to the Hound, further declaring her position. She turned to face Sansa, waiting for her sister to do what she always did when she did not get her way, to pout and stamp her foot and cry. She was surprised when for a moment Sansa bit her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth before she nodded and turned to Brienne, her own head held high. "I will be going with my sister and Sandor," she announced.

It was almost enough to make Arya grin, to realize that for once her stubborn, proper sister had listened to her. But the smile quickly slipped from her lips when she remembered what they were going to do. For all of her bluster, she wanted her father to be proud of her, and there was no honor amongst thieves.

...

It took them two nights to find the group, or rather for the group to find them. It seemed that at some point they had realized that they might be being followed and had sent one of the riders doubling back and around the larger group to scout them out.

The scout found them while they were enjoying one of the few rests that Brienne and Sansa had insisted on and that the Hound and Arya had agreed to. He was quiet, the scout, the only clue that he had found them was the quiet slide of steel as he unsheathed his sword and the dark chuckle when he realized that his would be attackers included three women and a boy.

Arya who had been sleeping uneasily since she had left King's Landing awoke with a start, reaching for _Needle_ only to realize that her tiny sword was not next to her as it had been when she had fallen asleep. She sat up, blinking rapidly as she looked around her group and realized that almost all of them were missing their weapons, only the Hound who slept with his sword still belted around his waist had managed to keep his. Podrick, who was supposed to be keeping watch while the others had fallen asleep, was snoring against a tree trunk.

She turned to study the man who had come upon them like a ghost. He was sitting comfortably in his saddle, their weapons across his lap. His skin was dark, tanned by the sun, and weathered as if he had spent a great deal of his time outside. His eyes were a pale blue, his brown hair wispy and windblown. He was whistling a tune that she was unfamiliar with.

Arya stood, kicking the Hound hard in the ribs to wake him up before gently nudging her sister. It would be unfair to let Sansa be captured while she was sleeping. "You've made a mistake," she warned the man, nodding toward the Hound. "He was once the King's personal guard. He's a very good swordsman."

The man raised his eyebrows and nodded, "I know who he is," he told her, "and I know who you are too, Lady Stark." That surprised her, she swallowed a lump in her throat, wondering what the man intended to do with them. The man glanced to his left, toward the trees around them, she turned too, half expecting to see a larger group of men, but there was nothing there, save shadows. "Well, go on then," the stranger told the shadows and the trees. "Go get them."

Arya thought the man insane, speaking to the trees. It wasn't until the almost glowing yellow eyes had disappeared that she realized they had even been there in the first place. The man hadn't been speaking to the trees. He had been speaking to something hiding in them.

The Hound groaned as he woke up, his groan turning to a growl when his eyes landed on the stranger on horseback. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked the man, making no move to attack him.

Arya glanced between the two men, wondering how they knew each other. The man on horseback smiled as he untied a wine sack from around his waist and threw it toward the Hound. The scarred man caught the sack with ease and didn't think twice about opening it and drinking from it. "Saving your pretty face," the stranger told him with a smile.

Sansa sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes as she turned toward the stranger. For a moment she looked alarmed, but then she smiled. Arya stared, wondering why everyone in her group, including the now awake Brienne and Podrick seemed so calm around this man who had stolen their weapons and could attack them at any time. "Ser Bronn," Sansa called out to the man, her voice a good deal more friendly than the Hound's had been. "What in the Seven Kingdoms are you doing here?"

The man's answer to her was less teasing than it had been to the Hound. "I was escorting a princess to Castle Black," he told them. "She thought you might want to join her."

"A princess?" Arya asked, walking closer to him and impatiently reaching out for _Needle_ now that it seemed that the man was not going to attack them and that they were not going to attack him. "Lenora? You were traveling with Lenora Baratheon?"

The man nodded, handing her his sword and inclining his head, "Ser Bronn," he introduced himself to her. "Hero of the Blackwater, rescuer of princesses, and, owner of a castle, if that damned Lannister is to be believed."

...

Arya was not certain what surprised her more.

When the princess arrived an hour later riding on horseback, followed by her uncle, covered in bruises and thoroughly excited to see the two Stark sisters. Or the direwolf that was following the princess and her blonde Lannister guard. It was Grey Wind, Arya would wager her life on it, but it didn't make any sense. The Freys had sewn Grey Wind's head onto Robb's body, she had seen it, glimpses of it as the Hound had carried her away from the battle at the Twins.

 _King in the North! King in the North! All hail the King in the North!_

She could still hear their words echoing in her head as they cheered and paraded the body around the keep. But over those joy-filled words, and under them too, she could hear another voice, gasping out his last words.

 _Tell Queen Lenora that I tried. That I found the key, but it was too late. The wolf ran for the woods_.

She remembered now, the night she had been trying so hard to bury and forget, the night she had lost both her mother and her eldest brother. Something about that entire night hadn't sat right. The wolf had run for the woods, but the body and the parade had come from the castle. And the head, during the quick glimpse she had been allowed, had looked too small.

"It wasn't him," she whispered to herself as she watched Lenora leap down from her saddle. The wolf moved closer to her, shadowing her as if he refused to let her out of his sight, even here surrounded by people who would not dream of harming her. "It wasn't Grey Wind," she whispered again, turning toward the Hound for confirmation.

The Hound was staring at the wolf too, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Lenora stood in front of Arya and Sansa, her hands fisted in her skirts as if she was forcing them not to reach out to them. Her brows were furrowed, her grey eyes dark with worry and swimming with tears. Her mouth opened and shut, no sound coming out, as if she had a thousand words she wanted to say and didn't know which to say first.

Arya could understand. Her gaze drifting from the large wolf at Lenora's side to the princess and back. Again and again. She had so much she wanted to say, but she did not know which was the most important.

Sansa was the first of the three young women to remember her place. She inclined her head and sank into a deep curtsy, reaching out and pulling Arya clumsily into one as well, "Your Grace," she greeted, remembering her courtesies as she always did.

A mix of a giggle and a sob escaped Lenora's lips and in a rush of fabric from her skirts she rushed the few feet between her and the Stark sisters and dropped down to her knees, an arm around each of them as she hugged them tightly and pulled them down with her.

"Your skirts," Sansa scolded the princess, even as she wrapped both of her arms around the older woman.

"Fuck my skirts!" Lenora whispered harshly, letting go of Arya for a moment so that she could brush away some of the tears in her eyes before her arm fell back around the younger girl, tighter than before. Arya smiled, she had always liked the princess. "You're here?" Lenora asked, pulling away from them, her gaze landing on Sansa's face for a moment before darting to Arya's and studying her as well. "How in the Seven Hells did you find each other?" She shook her head, "How did you find us? Where are you going? Oh you sweet girls, I am so sorry!"

Arya couldn't imagine what the princess was apologizing for. And she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her lips as Lenora let go of her for a moment to cup Sansa's face in her hands as if to make sure that she was real. "You survived my mother," Lenora was whispering to Sansa. "And my brother. I was so worried about you." She let go of Sansa and turned toward Arya, cupping her face in her hands as well, "And you!" she gasped in a whisper. "Where have you been, you little monster?" Her voice caressed the word _monster_ in a way that made it an endearment and reminded Arya so much of Robb that it _hurt_. "Everyone said that you were dead, but I knew you couldn't be! You were too stubborn for that! Where have you been?"

Before either of them could answer Lenora was pulling them to their feet and brushing away more tears from her eyes. Arya's gaze fell on the direwolf, it was watching her and Sansa with interest, as if making a decision about them. Arya pointed at it, "Where -" she started before she decided that was not the right question. "How -" but that wasn't right either.

Lenora seemed to understand though, she reached her hand out for the wolf and he submissively walked closer to her, inclining his large head so that she could pet it. "He must have escaped the Twins somehow," Lenora whispered, knowing that she wouldn't have to explain what happened there to either of the Stark sisters. They would know. "He's been following me ever since." She glanced up, her grey eyes landing on Jaime and Bronn. "They found him in the Wolf's Wood outside of Winterfell."

Arya nodded, watching as Brienne approached Jaime Lannister. The lady knight, reached for her sword, unsheathing it. For one terrifying moment Arya thought the blonde woman meant to fight the Kingslayer. It was not a fight that she would be opposed to seeing, but she knew that it would upset Lenora, and most likely Sansa, her older sister had told her how Brienne had found her because Jaime Lannister had sent her out to find them.

But Brienne did not attack, instead she turned the sword around, presenting it to Jaime. The blonde man smiled ruefully though he did not reach out for the sword, "Found them both," he whispered to Brienne, his voice heavy with unspoken pride. "Just as you said you would."

"Because _you_ trusted me to keep your word," Brienne counted, still offering up the sword. "This sword belongs to you, Ser Jaime."

Arya watched, waiting for the Lannister to take the sword, the one that had been made from her father's own great sword. His hand didn't even twitch. He shook his head. "It's yours," he told Brienne, his voice even softer than before. "It will always be yours." His gaze lifted from Brienne and fell on Arya and Sansa, "Or the Stark sisters'" he added, his green eyes sparkling as if he knew that Arya was listening to him. "Though I suspect the eldest isn't one to take to sword play and it might a bit large for the smaller one." He winked at Arya, a ghost of the playful confident man she had met at Winterfell a lifetime ago, "Perhaps she will grow into it."

...

She awoke early, as she had become accustomed to with the Hound. Since joining Sansa, Brienne, and Podrick it was usually she and Sandor who woke up first. And then Brienne and Pod. Sansa was always the last one to wake. But not this morning, this morning when she woke Jaime and Lenora were already awake.

They were practicing from the sounds of it. Arya laid there for a moment, her eyes closed listening to the mix of laughter and clashing steel as the two practiced together.

"You've gotten sloppy, Len," Jaime taunted her, laughter coloring his tone.

Lenora laughed back, "So have you, Uncle Jaime!" she teased. "This is much easier than it should be. Keep the tip of your sword up! _Up!_ "

"I lost my sword hand!" Jaime defended himself, some of the laughter leaving his voice. Still, he did not sound as broken as Arya would have imagined.

"And I haven't held a sword in almost a year!" Lenora countered back.

"Turn sideface," Jaime reminded her. "You're too large of a target."

"And you're too heavy on your feet," Lenora laughed. "Balls of your feet, Uncle Jaime! Balls of your feet!"

She sat up, a smile coming to her lips without her permission. The knight and his niece were standing facing each other, their faces were red, smiles on their lips, and eyes sparkling. Ever since she had heard that Joffrey and the rest belonged to Jaime she had focused on how much the three younger children had looked like Jaime Lannister. But now, as she watched the two of them she realized how much _Lenora_ looked like her uncle.

It wasn't in her looks, she was Baratheon in her coloring. It was in her smile. The way she looked most alive when she had a sword in her hand. It was the sparkle in her eyes as they taunted each other playfully, and the strength with which she moved. She was a stag, or doe rather, with the heart of a lion.

Lenora stepped forward on the offensive, about to start fighting again when Jaime held up his hand, stilling her attack. "What is it?" she asked, dropping the point of her sword toward the ground. "Uncle Jaime, what do you hear?"

"A battle," he told her, his voice quiet. "We've found Stannis and Ramsay."

* * *

Author's Note:

Boom! Another chapter in the books!  
And good news for you guys! I've been telling everyone that this story would have eighty-three chapters, well _this_ chapter and the _next_ were supposed to be combined. But they were larger than I planned. And so .. you get another chapter out of me and this story.  
Now there are **eighty-four** chapters in this story.  
So yay! For extra chapters!  
Thank you so much my friends for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts and favorites lists! But most of all ... thank you for your reviews! You guys are all wonderful!

 _bellaphant:_ Yes! I hope you realize how good it makes me feel to hear that I made you cry during the last chapter! That is a huge compliment! So thank you so much! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! (No tears this time! Or maybe tears, that's up to you!)

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ I'm happy that you enjoyed the last chapter! Even though it was not the reunion you wanted. Don't worry, that one is coming, I promise! I've got my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _JanaOliver:_ Aww! Hopefully the wait between chapters was worth it! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that this one was just as fantastic! As for the Jaime/Robb/Tyrion/Greywind/etc fight against Ramsay ... some of them will be fighting him, but you will have to wait and see which ones! Thank you so much for your review!

 _RHatch89:_ Yes, Lenora is finally away from that "fuckety fuck" and on her way to Castle Black! As for Robb's memories, I would assume that now that Lenora is with Grey Wind, he's going to remember a bit more now.

 _TINABELCHERISMYSPIRITANIMAL:_ He might still have a crush on Brienne... we'll have to wait and see!

 _StarkTeller:_ Oh no! I'm sorry that your super long review got erased! But I'm glad that you stuck around and reviewed again. And I'm even happier that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!  
Different theme songs for different characters, huh? That's actually a really good idea, because different characters _feel_ like certain songs. I should try that next time I sit down to write!

 _HPuni101:_ I figured that I had given you guys enough pain that it would be mean to kill Jon and not give you a reunion or two. And I am so glad that you guys enjoyed it! I'm glad that you enjoyed Sansa and Arya's reunion. The show tried to cause drama between them when there was absolutely no reason for it. I tried to fix it with this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ I'm so glad that you were happy with the last chapter! I hope (even more) that you are happy with this chapter as well! As for your hopes ... Robb might be a bit aways, but clearly the girls weren't that far behind.

 _Bun:_ Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Guest1995:_ That is a good point. With Bran dead, how will they know that Littlefinger was behind the War of the Five Kings. What do I have in mind? Hmmm. You will have to wait and see, won't you? I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, and I hope you enjoyed this one as well, dear!

 _G1234:_ I'm so glad that you "love love loved" the last chapter! It means a lot to hear that Lenora's reunion with Jaime brought some tears to your eyes! Be prepared, I imagine there will be a few more tears by the end of the story! Thank you so much for your reviews and support!

 _Kimberley:_ Aww! I'm glad that it continues to get better and I hope that this chapter continued the trend! Thank you so much for your review and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Falcon Lair:_ Thank you so much!

 _purple-pygmy-puff16:_ I'm so glad that you loved it! I hope that this chapter did not disappoint!

 _Guest (1):_ I'm so glad that you're glad that this story is still going! What we're looking at right now is about twelve more chapters, though ... maybe a few more. We'll see.

 _Guest99:_ I'm so glad that you found this story as well! Thank you so much for your review! You're perfect!

 _sltsky96:_ Oh. My. God! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! And I hope you know how much I enjoyed reading your review. I could feel your excitement! I'm so glad that you are beyond ready for the rest of this story. Because it's coming. You should be ready!

 _Maddy:_ I'm glad that you noticed that. Part of me (as the writer) wanted her to throw herself into Jamie's arms and let him take care of her because I knew that throughout the story he had never done anything to betray her or turn away from her. But Lenora didn't know, and as much as I didn't want it, the hesitation felt _right_. Don't worry about Robb, his next part is coming up in just a chapter or two! (And it's a good one, if I do say so myself!) I so hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _darkwolf76:_ I felt like everyone was due a happy chapter or two. Me, you guys, the characters. It's GoT so things can't be perfect and happy forever, but they can be for a chapter or two. And you are not the only one who notices the ridiculousness of calling the chapter that starts with Jon dying a _breath of fresh air_.  
I'm glad you ... enjoyed(?) that part of the chapter though. I couldn't keep Olly from helping kill Jon, but I wanted to make it as human as possible. The boy isn't just angry, he's completely broken.  
Yeah Arya and Sansa were fluff, but the sisters kind of needed that. And I wasn't about to cause drama with them just for the sake of causing drama. They're allowed to be happy. As for Jamie going along with Lenora's plan to take back Winterfell. I think he realizes that he doesn't have much of a choice. Lenora may be bruised, but she's stronger now than she ever was before. He could tell her no, but she won't listen. Not anymore.  
Don't worry, you weren't nitpicky about that part in Lenora's escape. I wanted Lenora to help take part in her won rescue, but I didn't really think it through (no one's perfect, not even me :p) until after I had posted it. Thank you for keeping me honest!  
Good prediction for Ramsay's just desserts! I can one hundred per cent say that one of those predictions is completely accurate. _But which one?_ As for your questions, I will try to answer them as best I can without giving too much away. Will Robb and the Brotherhood show up before the BotB? No. But perhaps very soon after.  
Don't worry! Robb/Lenora reunion is coming. And it will be good As for the White Walkers, I'm just going to dance around them. But the next story I write ... will be all about the Walkers.  
You watched the game with your Grandfather? Nice. Spreading the Cavs love across the country. I like it! I do have some plans for a future GoT/ASOIAF story. It's about Jon post being named KITN. And then, weirdly enough ... there's another one that's a modern AU that I've been playing with during bouts of writer's block which I might publish. So there are a few!

 _The Dragon Singer:_ You have finally caught up! Congratulations! Thank you so much for your review!

That's all for now, my friends!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	73. Chapter Seventy-three: From Darkness

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Be ready my friends, BotB is coming! I get to start writing it today!

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Three: From Darkness, Light_

 _Jaime_

There were tears in her eyes, turning them to liquid silver. Jaime had never particularly liked Stannis Baratheon, and he knew that the stern man had never been Lenora's favorite uncle, but he could imagine what it felt like for her to have to stare down at his dead body. She had no more family on her father's side, Stannis had been the last and he was dead now.

She turned, not bothering wipe the tears from her eyes as she looked around the woods surrounding them. "I knew he would die," she told Jaime, her voice quiet, barely a whisper. "He had fewer men than Ramsay. They were not practiced in fighting in the cold and the snow. They were southern men." She shook her head, "I knew he would die." Her voice was gruff, she was trying to convince herself as much as him that she wasn't upset.

"But you hoped he wouldn't," Jaime spoke quietly, stepping closer to her. He glanced to his right, Brienne was standing there, watching the two of them with careful blue eyes. He could still remember her, when he first met her, talking about a shadow with Stannis' face killing Renly Baratheon. She had sworn she would kill him in Renly's name. He hoped that she would have the good sense not to bring that up now.

Lenora nodded, looking torn between standing straight and tall and throwing herself into his arms. She was still so young, she had seen too much death for one so young. He was surprised that she was still standing now. Even if Stannis had been the least dear of her uncles, he was still her blood, her last tie to her father. And he had been taken from her, just as the rest of her family had been taken.

"He was always so hard," she whispered. "So stern. Not as strong in battle as my father, perhaps, but smarter. He could have lived, perhaps."

"My Lady," Brienne started, stepping forward, her head inclined in a silent apology before she started speaking.

Lenora turned toward the blonde woman, her brows furrowed, no doubt wondering what the woman had to say. Jaime stepped forward, trying to block the taller woman from his niece's view. He wasn't sure who he was protecting - Brienne from his niece's anger and pain, or Lenora from realizing that one of the Stark sister's guardians had killed her uncle. "I'm sure that Lady Brienne wishes to convey her condolences," he assured his niece, the words sounding stiff and unnatural even to his own ears.

Lenora watched him, her brows furrowed, "And I am sure that she can speak for herself, Uncle Jaime," she told him, stepping around him so that she could look at Brienne. Her grey eyes narrowed, dancing over the look on Brienne's face. The woman knight did not look ashamed, in fact, she looked triumphant, but there was a cautious look about her eyes, at odds with the confident set of her jaw. "Though something tells me that condolences are not what she wishes to share," Lenora mused slowly.

Brienne stared at the girl for a moment before she dropped down to her knees, unsheathing _Oathkeeper_ and placing the point of the sword into the snowy ground at her feet. "Your Grace," she started, glancing up at Lenora for a brief moment before looking back at the ground. "It was not the Bolton bastard or any of his men that killed your uncle. It was I," she paused for a moment before she glanced back up at Lenora, her eyes were still careful, her jaw still set. "I killed Stannis Baratheon."

Jaime was not sure what he expected from his niece. Perhaps tears, perhaps anger. He did not expect the dark, rueful laugh that escaped her lips as she shook her head. "I had wondered why you trusted Jaime, Bronn, and the Hound with the girls," she told the blonde woman. "Uncle Jaime told me how much your vow to Catelyn Stark meant to you, I found it odd that you forsook it to scout out the woods after Ramsay's men began to march back toward Winterfell. Only another vow, one you thought more important. Which vow brought you here, Brienne?"

"A vow I made to myself," the blonde woman answered, her earnest blue eyes locked on Lenora's face. "When I served as King's Guard to your uncle Renly. I was there the night he died. Myself and Lady Catelyn were in the tent with him. I saw him murdered by a shadow. One that bore Stannis Baratheon's face."

If Lenora thought Brienne's story was ridiculous, she did not let on. She watched the woman carefully. "My uncle Stannis killed Renly?" she asked in a quiet deadpan. She was not shocked or saddened by Brienne's confession, perhaps she had seen too much as of late to be shocked or saddened by anything. "With a shadow?"

Brienne nodded, "I am aware of how strange that sounds, my lady," she defended herself. "And I understand if you would see me beheaded for it. But I hope _you_ understand that I was honor bound to do it by my position as one of Renly's guard and the only witness to the crime."

Lenora glanced at Jaime, the tears were still shining in her eyes, but there weren't as many. She raised a single eyebrow, silently asking her uncle if he believed what Brienne was telling her. Jaime nodded, "Brienne's sense of honor might be both annoying and mind numbingly boring," he told his niece, "But I do not doubt it."

Lenora nodded as she turned back to Brienne, "Did he confess?" she asked the woman, her voice steady and strong. "Stannis? Did he confess to the crime you hold him accountable for?"

Brienne nodded, surprised at how calmly Lenora was taking the news. "He did, Your Grace," she told her. "He confessed to using blood magic to murder his brother."

Lenora bit her lip and nodded. "And his last words?" she asked. "Did he have any?"

"He said, _Go on, do your duty_ , Your Grace," Brienne told her. "He died well, Your Grace."

Lenora nodded, "Of course he did," she told the woman who was still kneeling in the snow. "He does everything well - _did_ everything well. He had all the knowledge of a king, but not the people's love. And Renly, Gods help him, had all of the love and none of the knowledge." She shook her head, laughing bitterly as she glanced at her uncle. "Could there be another man more ill suited for the throne than my two Baratheon uncles?" she asked him.

Jaime smirked, in spite of the situation. Now was not necessarily the time for a joke, but it was all he had to offer, "Perhaps Joffrey," he suggested.

Lenora scoffed as she moved away from Brienne, her dark skirts trailing through the blood soaked snow, she neither noticed, nor cared. "My father was not so great at it either," she admitted out loud for the first time Jaime's presence. "Tommen could be, perhaps, if he weren't trapped under Mother's thumb and _your_ bastard."

Brienne stared, wide eyed at Lenora's reaction and her course words. Jaime, who knew his niece much better was less surprised, though he could not follow her thoughts. "What are you thinking, Len?" he asked her quietly.

She didn't answer him, instead she turned to Brienne, "I imagine that you have spent a great deal of your life being made to feel ridiculous for what you are," she told the woman, her grey eyes dancing over Brienne's face. "A woman and a knight," she specified.

Brienne nodded, "Yes, Your Grace."

Lenora nodded, "And how have you dealt with it, Brienne?"

The blonde's eyes widened, she gave her head a brief shake, "I ignore it, Your Grace," she told her, simply.

Lenora nodded, glancing at Jaime, "She ignores it," she echoed.

"What are you thinking, Len?" Jaime asked her again.

Lenora ignored him again, "I suppose you want me to allow you to escort the Stark girls to Jon Snow before?" she asked.

Brienne's brows furrowed, "Before what, Your Grace?" she asked.

"Before you become part of my Queensguard," Lenora told her simply.

Both Jaime and Brienne's eyes widened. "Your Grace?" Brienne asked.

"Len -" Jaime started.

Lenora turned to Jaime, she had never looked more sure of herself, more certain than she did now, in this moment. "You too, Uncle Jaime," she told him, so confident that he would say yes. She shook her head gently, "I'm going to need a skilled Lord Commander of my guard if I plan to be the first queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jaime watched her, surprised, "Lenora," he whispered, shaking his head. He wasn't saying no, he just couldn't believe that she had made her decision so quickly. She glanced at him, her eyes cautious, she was suddenly uncertain of herself. He shook his head again, "No, sweet girl," he assured her. "Of course I would be the Lord Commander of your Queensguard, but wouldn't you rather have someone," he paused, "whole?"

She shook her head, tears in her eyes again, "I wouldn't want anyone but you, Uncle Jaime."

He nodded, his throat tight, his words catching. But she _knew_.

"Your Grace," Brienne told her from the ground, "I would be honored, but I will have to be released from the vows I made to Lady Sansa first."

Lenora nodded, "I wouldn't expect anything less," she told the blonde. "Now, please stand up."

Brienne remained on the ground, "Why?" she asked, still staring at the young woman in front of them. "Why didn't you kill me? Your uncle -"

"My uncle killed his brother," she told Brienne. "By the laws of the realm he would have had to die for that. You made a vow to protect Renly and you kept it. The realm is in short supply of _annoying, mind numbingly boring honor_ ," she shot a glance at Jaime before he gaze fell back on Brienne, she reached down, pulling Brienne to her feet, "and that same honor is exactly what I need with me on the battlefield."

Jaime stared at her, his mouth falling open. She was remarkable, putting the needs of the kingdom in front of her own personal feelings and desires. Just as a ruler would. "Len," he whispered, shaking his head.

She smiled, rolling her eyes almost playfully, "Go ahead and say it, Uncle Jaime," she told him.

"Say what, Len?" he asked her.

"That I will be an amazing queen."

...

She was standing in front of them, shoulders set, wearing armor that had been made for a squire, and still slightly too big for her, a poor imitation of the armor Robb Stark had had made for her, over a pair of breeches and shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back, tied into a tight plait. Sandor Clegane, Brienne, the wolf, and Jaime stood behind her, her unofficial guard as she addressed the few of Stannis' men they had been able to round up in the woods after the battle.

Most of Stannis' men were dead, many of those who had survived the battle were already trying to sneak south again. She was left with those who had been injured. Jaime had cautioned her not to waste her time, but she had laughed at him. "We need every man we can get, Uncle Jaime," she told him. "Before we head south we will have to beat Ramsay. We need these men, even if they are injured. They can heal on the way to Castle Black."

And with that she had stood in front of them, the one hundred men who were injured enough to be left behind, but that Jaime had deemed whole enough to heal and fight again.

She turned to them now, her jaw set, her eyes narrowed. The very picture of strength in spite of their circumstances and her sex.

"You don't know me," she called out to the men. "You don't love me. I'm a stranger to you. But you fought for my uncle Stannis, some of you fought for my uncle Renly as well! They are both gone now! But you are here and so am I! I am Lenora Baratheon, the only legitimate child of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister. With my uncles gone I have as much of a claim to the Iron Throne as anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. More than most. And I will be queen." Her voice softened as she continued to speak. "I know how much you have already risked. Your House, your family name, your lives. I am asking you all to risk it again to follow me south to take King's Landing and the Iron Throne."

It was quiet for a moment before one of the men spoke up, a knight of a lesser House in the middle of the group. "And why should we?" he yelled to her. The men around him grumbled out their agreement. Jaime stepped forward, his left hand on the pommel of his sword, ready to defend his niece, but without looking at him she held up her hand, silently sending him back to his place behind her as she turned her attention on the knight who had spoken out.

He seemed rather cowed by her attention, no longer as self assured as he had been when he had first spoken. "I mean no offense, Your Grace," he told Lenora, not making eye contact with her. "But my House was sworn to Stannis because of honor. He was as much a stranger to me as you are. As much a stranger as the bastard boy who sits on the throne now. And to be honest, it doesn't much matter to me who is sitting on the throne."

She watched him for a moment before she nodded, "I suppose in your day to day life it does not matter to you who is on the throne," she told the knight. "Any of you," she added, turning her gaze on the rest of the men. "But there will come a time when the Stark words ring true and Winter comes to the Seven Kingdoms again. In those cold nights you will want someone on the Iron Throne who is not only looking out for themselves but for you, and those sworn to you, as well." She shook her head, "Do you think my mother will much care if House Massey of Stonedance is starving in their keep as long as she can still get shipments of her favorite Dornish Red?"

The men in the crowd in front of her laughed uneasily. Her question rang true and they knew the answer to it, but that did not mean that they enjoyed facing the uneasy truth of it. Cersei was only the Queen mother, but she had the young king under her thumb and she would watch the rest of the Seven Kingdoms burn before she allowed herself or her son to face any discomfort. Jaime smirked, proud of his niece because she had done something very intelligent with her question. The man had not identified himself, but she had shown him that she knew him, even as a stranger. The young knight's shield was emblazoned with a triple spiral red, green, and blue on white. The sigil of House Massey, a lesser House that a princess of the realm would have no reason to know, but that a woman asking the men to fight, would need to know.

Lenora continued, her voice quiet and soft, and yet it carried out to the men, strong and hard at the same time. Steel wrapped in velvet, ice buried under snow. The heart of a lion, the soul of a doe.

"I have nothing to promise you," she told the men. "No riches, no gold, no honor. I cannot promise you your lives, or even that we will succeed in our endeavor. I cannot order you to follow me, nor compel you to. You owe me nothing. But I will ask you. I will ask you to pick up your swords once again and swear them to me. I will ask you to be willing to die for a throne you will never sit on. I will ask you to believe in me. And in return, I will believe in you!"

Some of the men were standing now, others struggling to their feet with the help of their neighbors. For one moment Jaime worried that they were preparing to leave. But they remained, standing in front of her, their eyes locked on Lenora's face. She turned to him, her brows raised, wondering what she should make of it. He smiled to encourage her and nodded. _Keep going_.

She turned back to the men. "And more than that I vow that if we succeed, I will be an honorable and just queen, a ruler of which the Seven Kingdoms has not seen since before the Mad King. I will never ask anything of you that I am not also willing to give. I will not ask you to march _for_ me, I will ask you to march _with_ me. I will not ask you to fight _for_ me, I will ask you to fight _with me_. I will not ask you to die _for_ me, I will ask you to die _with_ me. You will not only be my soldiers, but my brothers! I will be your sword and shield and all of you will be mine."

It was quiet for one long moment before the cheer started. It started slow, a few men here and there but it grew, louder and stronger as each man leant his voice to the cry.

 _Baratheon! Baratheon! Baratheon!_

...

In the end eighty of the one hundred men swore their swords and shields to Lenora's cause. It was not a large army; if Jaime hadn't seen their enthusiasm for their new queen with his own eyes, he wouldn't have called it an army at all. But what they lacked in numbers they made up for with heart.

And Lenora loved them all. They were _hers_ in a way that he suspected even _he_ had never been. They did not love her because they were her family. They did not follow her because of who her father was, or who her brother was, or even who her husband was. They followed her because they believed in her. And because she was _theirs_ every bit as much as they were hers.

And it had taken a great deal of convincing to persuade her to ride ahead of them to Castle Black. She had not been swayed by Brienne's argument that it was normal and even expected for the leader of a host to arrive ahead of their men. And Jaime's impassioned pleas to get her to the Wall before Ramsay, who now most certainly knew of her escape from Winterfell, could find her had done nothing, save make her smile and press a kiss against his cheek for his worry.

In truth, it had been the men themselves that finally changed her mind. Many were still injured, there would be no training until they had reached the Wall, but they had elected leaders amongst themselves, one of them was the young knight who had spoken out against Lenora on the day she had called them to arms, Ser Justin Massey of Stonedance.

He approached her on the second day of what could have been a five day ride to the Wall but was quickly turning into what would be a slow, fortnight long crawl and asked to speak to her. He shared his concerns with her about the speed they were moving, the dwindling supplies, "If only you could ride ahead, to the Wall, and send back supplies, horses, at the very least a wagon," he had hinted.

Lenora fought him at first. Just as she had done with Brienne and Jaime. "These men agreed to follow me," she argued. "I can't abandon them now."

"Aye," Ser Justin agreed. "We did agree to follow you. But it'll be hard to do that if Bolton's bastard finds you and drags you back to Winterfell. We few barely survived our fist battle with him, we won't survive a second in the state we're in now."

She glanced between Ser Justin and Jaime, her brows furrowed, "What would you have me do?" she asked the two of them, her voice heavy.

"Take your horse and ride north," Ser Justin told her. "Take you uncle, the Lady Brienne, and the two Stark ladies. See them safely to their brother and then send back supplies, even if you have to steal them. I fear this march to Castle Black will do little to help us, save give the men a place to recuperate, but perhaps even that is enough. But if you continue to move slowly with us -" he shook his head, "I fear all will be lost, Your Grace."

In the end she took his advice, leaving Bronn and Sandor Clegane with the men so that they would know that she was not abandoning them. And taking Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, Sansa, and Arya with her to the Wall. And the wolf of course, who would not leave her side.

They only had five horses, and so Arya, the littlest of them all was forced to ride with another. Sometimes with Sansa, squished in front of her sister, telling each other stories of Winterfell and making plans. Sometimes with Lenora, sitting behind the princess, her arms wrapped around Lenora's waist as they pushed the horse to ride as fast as it could, their laughter mixing with the wind as they rode. And now, to, he sensed, her immense displeasure with him.

She had not wanted to ride behind him, she would not deign to wrap her arms around his waist, but now that she sat, perched in the saddle, in front of him she seemed just as displeased. "Are you unhappy, my lady?" Jaime asked her, his tone teasing as he looked up and caught Brienne's eye. Something told him that Arya Stark and Brienne of Tarth were cut from the same cloth - that Arya would enjoy being called _my lady_ as much as the wench did.

He could hear the growl that rose in her throat even before she answered. This girl was wild. "I'm riding sidesaddle with the man who tried to kill my brother," she threw back at him, turning slightly in her seat to glare. "Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"Arya!" Sansa hissed at her sister, always the first of the Stark sisters to remember her courtesies. "You mustn't speak to Ser Jaime in such a manner. He promised Mother he would return us home and he is doing everything in his power to do so."

Lenora snorted from his other side, glancing at her uncle with a smirk. He imagined there had been a time when Sansa Stark had not spoken so highly of him. But there had also been a time when the girl had fancied herself in love with Joffrey. It was only natural for her to grow up and see the right of things. Lenora had never expressly forgiven Jaime for what he had done to Bran, but he had the distinct feeling that she understood why he had done it. It had been for her. For her family. Sansa seemed to be determined to forgive him, if only because Brienne thought so highly of him. Arya did not share either of the older girls' attitudes when it came to Jaime.

"Why'd you do it, Kingslayer?" she fired at him as she turned her gaze forward again, misliking looking at him.

Jaime winced at her casual, cruel use of the nickname. But he did not rise to the bait. "For my family," he told the small girl in front of him as his eyes drifted to Lenora. She was sitting straighter in her saddle, her spine a rod, her chin held high. She had understood why he had done it, but she didn't like to be reminded of it, of all the pain her family had brought on the Starks, of all the pain they were still bringing on the Starks.

Arya snorted, "For Joffrey?" she fired back. "You were worried that my brother would tell people what he saw? What he saw you and the queen doing? Worried King Robert would cut off her pretty neck and throw your children on the streets?"

"They aren't my children," Jaime threw back quickly, even if Cersei had wanted them to be, it would have been impossible. After what Cersei had done to Lenora he was ashamed every time he thought about the lengths Cersei had gone through to make a cuckold of Robert Baratheon, the things she had bribed and coerced and threatened him into taking part in. "And we weren't _doing_ anything," he defended himself. "He caught her talking about it. He heard her say the three youngest weren't Robert's."

Arya's small spine straightened, she sat up taller, "And you worried that he would tell someone and your precious children, your sister, and yourself would be killed for it." She wasn't asking him a question, she was making a judgement. She was small, a girl, but he could hear the ghost of the honorable Ned Stark in her voice. She was judging him, just as her father had always done.

He bristled, "I didn't give a shit about my sister or the three children," he told her honestly, his voice sharp. "I didn't care about my neck either. I cared about Lenora and the danger that the news would put her in."

Arya was quiet for a long moment, her head turning slightly so that she could look at Lenora. "A fuck lot of good that did for her," she commented. Sansa gasped, begging her sister not to speak in such a manner, but Lenora smirked silently on her horse. Arya watched her for a moment longer before she turned to look at Jaime again, studying him. "Joff and the other two aren't your children," she told him, repeating his words. "But you think of Lenora as yours?"

Jaime looked away from Arya, watching Lenora instead. "I do," he told them both. Lenora's smirk softened into a contented smile.

Arya nodded, "You did what you did to protect your family, I can understand that." And then, because perhaps the young girl thought that she had been too kind, too understanding with the _Kingslayer_ her jaw tightened, "But if you ever do anything to protect your family at the expense of _mine_ again. I will kill you."

Sansa did not scold her. Jaime smiled, letting go of the reins with one of his hands so that he could hold it out to the young child so that she could shake his hand. "You have my word, Stark," he told her, his voice a good deal warmer than he would have ever imagined.

She shook his hand once before she dropped it and turned to face forward again, "And you have mine, Kingslayer."

When she said the hated words a second time it was not as cold, or cruel, as it usually was, it almost felt like a friendly term.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

 _There was a lightness about him that he had not felt in so long, not since he was a pup. For a long time he had been without his pack, but now he had found some of them again._

 _He had found her. It did not matter that it had been with the help of the golden lion or his companion that smelled so strongly of ale. He had found her. And with their help he had tasted the blood of the man who had kept her from him._

 _They had left the keep he had once called home, traveling through woods that he first recognized, but soon were as unfamiliar as the great water he had once tracked her to. It was there that they found the other two, the human pups, the girls. He had smelled them, looking for the scent of his sisters but he could not find them. He had lost the scent of two of his brothers too._

 _But as they continued to move north, the air colder and more clear with each day, he could smell the last one. The white one with the red eyes. The one that always smelled ... other._

 _His pack would never be whole again, but it would be enough. It had to be._

 _He barely left her side, as pleased as he was to know the girl human pups had survived. She had been the one he had followed. She had been the one he was supposed to protect. And it seemed that she needed him the most._

 _She no longer smelled of fear, bitter and metallic like blood. There was a strength about her that had been missing since she had been taken from them. A strength and a courage. Courage that smelled like the woods he had grown up in after a rain. He could hear it in her voice, it sounded like steel and thunder. He could feel it in his very bones - a rush._

 _They were moving north now, away from the place he had once called home, but they would return. She had promised one of the human pups. And he knew from the thunder in her voice, the ice and rushing waters, and the steel. She was telling the truth._

 _They would go home_.

...

He couldn't understand it. In his dreams they were so _close_. He was closer to her, to Lenora, than he had been in almost a year. He could see her, he could hear her, he could smell her, he could touch her. He could almost _taste_ her in the air.

And when he woke, in those few distorted moments between asleep and awake - when he could almost belong to the name _Robb Stark_ and she was with him - he was able to forget everything that had happened. He was able to imagine that she was there with him, sleeping in his arms.

But then the noises of the men around him would reach his ears, the sounds of the forest so unlike the one he had grown up in, the smell of mud and dirt and burnt breakfast. And his arms would be empty.

Before he even opened his eyes he would return to being nameless. To being no one. And she was gone, so far out of his reach that he forgot what it was to hold her.

Every day was the same, he would wake and his heart would break again when he realized that he was alone. At night he was Robb Stark, or at least a wolf, during the day he was a stranger, walking alone in the dark. One who could barely remember himself and was constantly chasing after the ghost of the woman he loved.

He was further south than he had ever been. Further south than he had ever wanted to go. It made him feel uneasy. The warmth, the humidity. The members of the Brotherhood complained that it was too cold, but they had never known cold. The air here was heavy, it sat warm like a fur coat on his skin and left him yearning for the cool, crisp air at the home he was still struggling to remember.

And with each step he took he could feel the distance between them growing. He could feel his daylight memories of her fading, no matter how he fought against it. He worried that the closer they got to the capitol, where the Brotherhood swore she was, the less he would remember of her. She would be a stranger to him, one he could only recall in his dreams.

...

According to Thoros they had made good time one day. Not that it meant much to him. Every day was the same - the never ending press south, the avoidance of main roads and towns, the trees that were as foreign to him as the Wolf's Wood must have been to Lenora when she first arrived at Winterfell. It was all the same. He could not tell the difference between a day when they made good time and a day when they made no time at all.

All the same the Brotherhood decided that they would stop early, they would set up camp while the sun still shone in the sky. That Anguy would hunt for food for their supper.

He went through the motions of setting up camp, helping when he could, staying out of the way when he couldn't. And when they were done, a fire already burning, Tom Sevenstrings rewarded them with a song while Anguy prepared to leave to hunt.

 _My featherbed is deep and soft,  
_ _and there I'll lay you down.  
_ _I'll dress you all in yellow silk,  
_ _and on your head a crown._

 _For you shall be my lady love,  
_ _and I shall be your lord.  
_ _I'll always keep you warm and safe,  
_ _and guard you with my sword._

He had never heard the song before. The rest of the men seemed to know the song very well. They sang along, they clapped out a beat with their hands, they hummed. He had never felt more alone in the group as he did now.

 _And how she smiled and how she laughed,  
_ _the maiden of the tree.  
_ _She spun away and said to him,  
_ _no featherbed for me._

 _I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,  
_ _and bind my hair with grass.  
_ _But you can be my forest love,  
_ _and me your forest lass_.

The song sat heavy on his chest, just like the air. It made it hard to breathe. Lenora had loved to sing, he could remember her voice clear and bright, like bells as she sang a song that a princess had no business knowing. A song that was so different from this one, and yet the same. They both spoke of love, and an unattainable woman.

He stood up from his seat by the fire. He could not listen any longer. The red priest arched a brow at him, silently asking where he meant to go.

"I'll go with Anguy," he told then, his voice a growl and leaving no room for argument.

They let him go.

...

They hunted the entire afternoon, until the sun hung low in the sky and the dusk made it difficult to see. Then they turned to return to camp. He hoped they weren't still singing when they returned.

As it was, it was something much worse.

They could hear the voices as they approached the camp, a mix of the men that he had become used to hearing - Lem, Tom Seven Strings, Thoros, and the others. And two new ones. One he was certain that he had never heard before in his life. And another that he could drag from his memory, slow and sluggish like trying to remember a dream from a different lifetime.

He stopped in his tracks, reaching out his hand and stilling Anguy who was in a hurry to get back to the fire with the deer they had killed. He couldn't go back yet, something deep inside told him they would stop talking the moment they saw him. And something deeper inside told him he needed to hear what they had to say.

"You're going the wrong way," the voice he thought he recognized said, equal parts teasing and serious. "Why on earth would you think they would send her south? She's the only power they held over Cersei. Bolton is more intelligent than that," there was a pause, a self confident scoff, "at least marginally more intelligent than that."

"Where is she then?" the Red Priest asked. "If you know so much?"

"Winterfell," the first responded, so certain and sure. "Where she was always meant to end up."

"And you were going to rescue her?" Lem asked, unconcealed laughter coloring his tone, "A dwarf and a bastard?"

Before the first voice could answer, the second new voice chimed in. "Didn't think you'd see me again, did you?" the man growled, sounding like both a boy and a man. Weak and strong, broken and complete at the same time. "Don't trust him," he warned his companion. "Don't trust any of them."

The first voice laughed, humorless, "I wouldn't trust them as far as they could throw me," he assured the younger man. "They're the Brotherhood."

"And the last time I saw them they sold me to a Red Witch to be murdered," the second voice added. "Who's to say that they won't do the same to you? To me again?"

"Nothing's to say," the first responded, lilting and playful. "Except they know as well as most, a Lannister always pays his debts. Cersei would pay a lot to see me dead, _Jaime_ would pay more to see me alive. Twice that if I brought our niece home." The man was quiet for a moment, no doubt studying the group around the fire. "We're on the same side."

It was then that the man's words seemed to travel from his ears to his head. Then that he finally understood all that he had heard. One of the newcomers was a Lannister, his enemy. He felt a growl rising in his throat as he moved forward, no longer cautious, no longer fearful.

The Lannisters had taken everything from him. They had stolen his wife, the life he had hoped to live with her. They had killed him. And he would kill every one of them until he found Lenora again. He would start with this one.

He charged, like a wolf on the hunt, moving quietly through the trees until he reached the group, instinctively reaching for a sword that was no there. It did not matter, he would kill the man with his bare hands, he would taste his blood if he had to.

But the boy stopped him before he could get to the Lannister. The boy was tall, almost a man. He looked so _damn_ familiar. He stopped, staring as the boy turned and it hit him. Silver and black. The same colors he had fallen in love with. Eyes that could be as warm as melted silver or as cold as castle-forged steel. Hair that was as black as a raven's wings. Baratheon colors.

He felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop open as he stared, shaking his head. "You look like her," he whispered, the statement made ridiculous by how very different the two were in stature. But their coloring was the same.

The boy was pushed roughly aside, in his place stood a short man, one who barely came up to his waist, one that he did know. _Tyrion Lannister_.

"You're supposed to be dead," the imp whispered, his own brows furrowed as he stared at Robb Stark, the last man he had ever expected to find in the Southern woods.

And in that moment, he was no longer no one. He belonged to his past. He belonged to his name.

He was Robb Stark.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Davos_

They weren't alone. The majority of Jon Snow's defenders and friends were in the room. Edd, Davos, the wolf, the giant red haired Wildling who had seemed so skeptical and nervous when Davos shared his plans.

 _Bodies were for burning_ he had argued. Davos had promised him that if it did not work he would allow Jon Snow to be burned with the others. But first they _had_ to try. The Red Woman had shown him that miracles existed. And though she did not seem to believe, he believed for her.

She began by having the men strip him down. There was no shame for the dead. And then, carefully, gently, almost lovingly she washed each of his wounds with warm water. Until his skin was clean, and nothing remained from his attack, but the deep gashes.

Then, speaking in a language he would never understand she began to cut his hair, throwing strands of it into the fire, she trimmed his beard and did the same. Then she washed his hair with the same slow, caution, she had used to clean his wounds.

The wolf slept at her feet as she worked, apparently calm in the knowledge that no one in the chamber would harm his master.

"Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon," she whispered, her voice deep and guttural as she washed his wounds. She had told them what she would be asking during the ritual, sharing her secrets with them so that they could pray too, so that perhaps all of their prayers would be heard by her fire god.

 _We ask the Lord to shine his light, and lead a soul out of darkness._

"Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon," she whispered as she cut his hair and trimmed his beard.

 _We beg the Lord to share his fire, and light a candle that has gone out._

And then she seemed to still for a moment, to reach deep inside herself as she brought her hands to rest over his wounds, her left hand resting above the gashes on his abdomen, her right over his heart.

"Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson."

 _From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life._

Davos held his breath, watching closely, waiting for it to work, for the young man to wake up. He was afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid that making even the smallest sound would break the spell.

Nothing happened.

Melisandre lifted her hands, waiting as well. When nothing happened, she turned slightly, looking toward, of all people, Davos for instruction. He nodded, encouraging her to try again.

She turned back to the body in front of her and placed her hands on his broken skin again. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson." Her voice was more sure of herself now, there was more force to it.

Davos repeated the words quietly in his head, hoping to help.

 _From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life._

Nothing changed.

She lifted her hands again to place him back on his body. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson," she whispered, her voice taking on a frantic quality as she tried again and again. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson." Her voice was faster, more desperate. "Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson."

He knew she had given up when she sighed.

" _Please_ " she whispered.

 _From darkness, light_ , he thought as she lifted her hands from his chest and turned to look toward Davos, silently admitting her defeat.

The red headed Wildling sighed and stormed from the room.

 _From ashes, fire_.

Melisandre and Edd left.

Davos moved closer to the table, looking down at the young Lord Commander. Nothing had changed, he sighed and turned away, leaving the man, at last, in peace.

 _From death, life_.

...

He wasn't sure what had drawn him back to the room while everyone else gathered wood for his fire. Perhaps he had heard the wolf whimper. Or perhaps it was his complete faith in what he had seen the Red Woman do. He had seen her drink poison and live when it had killed a man. He had seen her give birth to a shadow demon that had killed a would be king. He could not understand why she would not be able to bring a man back from the dead.

The room was completely dark, the fire had gone out. And all the candles. The direwolf's red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as it stood, eyes trained on the body on the table that was suddenly breathing, loud, panicked gasps as he sat up, his gaze and his hand falling to the wounds on his chest.

The man, who at the moment looked more like a boy, stared at him with wide eyes, struggling to get off the table, stumbling.

"Easy," Davos told him, trying to comfort the young man as he tore off his cloak to drape over his shoulders to cover his nakedness. "Easy."

The man was still gasping, his entire body shaking with the effort. Just as Davos did not know what had drawn him back to the room, he did not know what brought _her_ , but without looking over his shoulder he knew that the Red Woman was with them. He guided Jon to a seat, gave him a moment to try to get his bearings before he asked, "What do you remember?"

"They stabbed me," the poor young man told them, his dark eyes distant and haunted as they looked past Davos, staring intently at nothing. "Olly," he paused, "he put a knife in my heart." He shook his head, tears swimming in his dark eyes as he finally turned to look at Davos, searching for answers he didn't seem to know how to ask for. "I shouldn't be here," he told the older man, his voice broken.

"The lady brought you back," Davos told him, gesturing toward Melisandre. It was a poor explanation, but the only one he had.

Jon turned to the woman, his brows still furrowed, his crumpled face still reminding Davos so much of a scared child's. He was still searching for answers. But Melisandre was searching for her own. She moved closer to him, kneeling so that she could be on his level. "Afterwards," she said breathlessly, "after they stabbed you, after you died, where did you go?"

Her questions were rushed and hurried. Davos felt sorry for the boy. Jon thought he shouldn't be there, but he wasn't entirely sure if the boy knew he had died. It was a lot to swallow, waking up and learning that not only had he died, but that he had been brought back by some strange woman, and an even stranger magic.

"What did you see?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment before he shook his head, his face apologizing for disappointing them before he had even given them his answer. "Nothing," he rasped out. "There was nothing at all."

Melisandre stared up at him, shaking her head slightly, "The Lord let you come back for a reason," she pushed him. "Stannis is not the Prince that was Promised, but someone has to be."

Jon looked down, as if worried that he had disappointed the woman somehow.

Davos leaned down, his voice soft and warm, he did not want to frighten the boy anymore than he already was. "Could you give us a moment, please?" he asked the Red Woman. He was grateful to her for bringing Jon Snow back, but he worried that she would only confuse him with her words about the Lord of Light and the Prince that was Promised. Jon did not know where he had gone and he did not know why he was back. And he did not need her confusing him.

Davos waited until she had risen and slowly left the room before he spoke again. He grabbed a chair and sat down in front of the boy, being sure to give him as much space as possible. "You were dead," he told the boy simply, keeping everything as simple as he could. "And now you're not. That's completely fucking mad, seems to me. I can only imagine how it seems to you."

Jon nodded, his dark eyes trained on Davos' face as if he were a lifeline. "I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. And now I'm back. Why?"

Davos shook his head, "I don't know," he told the boy honestly. "Maybe we'll never know. What does it matter? You go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much shit as you can."

Jon shook his head, his eyes still locked on Davos' face. "I don't know how to do that," he admitted quietly. "I thought I did, but ... I failed." There were those tears again, as he looked down, ashamed.

Davos wondered if the boy was upset because he thought he had failed himself or because he thought he had failed his men. Knowing what little he did about the former Lord Commander, he would wager the latter. "Good," he told the boy, waiting for him to look back up at him before he continued. "Now go fail again."

* * *

Author's Note:

I have to say, I'm pretty proud of myself for this chapter. There was a reason I chose these three POVs. There was a reason I focused on these events. There was a reason I gave the chapter its name. Can you find the link?  
Plus, as a bonus, a lot of you have been asking about Tyrion and Robb and it just so happened that they were already going to appear and find each other in this chapter, even without your questions. It's just funny that it worked out that way.  
What do you guys think? Loved it (I hope so!), liked it (good!), hated it (I sincerely hope not!). Let me know in the reviews!  
Thank you so much for stopping by to read. For adding this story to your communities. To your favorites lists and alert lists! But most of all, thank you for your reviews! They really let me know that I am on the right track here! You would think after seventy-two chapters I would be pretty sure of myself, but I still need the encouragement sometimes!

 _JanaOliver:_ I'm so glad that you were excited that I updated! And I hope that you were just as excited about this chapter! Don't worry, Lenora will reunite with Robb and get her revenge on Ramsay, though the first might come with a bit of a wait before it happens!

 _StarkTeller:_ Yes! I love when I make people cry! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter (and I hope you went back to finish the story you abandoned when you got the notification!) You and me both, about the BotB! I cannot wait to officially start writing it.  
What speech did Kara give Mon-El? I've never seen the show.

 _RHatch89:_ And in this chapter they got another step closer! I kind of like having Ramsay around, but at the same time I cannot wait for Lenora to get her revenge!

 _bellaphant:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! There was another reunion in this chapter and if you can't tell, I'm gearing up for a pretty big reunion in the next one. Your wish is my command about Tyrion and Gendry, they were on a crash course with the Brotherhood. (There will be more of them coming up soon! I think in the next chapter!) As for what Jon tells Lenora ... you'll have to wait and see.

 _TheDragonSinger:_ Dude! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you for your review!

 _matrixboy122:_ I think you actually were the 700th review, my friend. What chapter does Robb see Lenora again? Chapter 82. Nine more chapters until they see each other again. It'll be worth it, I promise.

 _HPuni101:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! And I hope this one at least scratched the Robb and Tyrion itch. Thank you so much for your review!

 _Lulu14168:_ What heart-wrenching thing do I have planned next? You'll have to wait and see. Maybe nothing at all. Or maybe something very big. But I figured I should give you guys a bit of a breather before we continued.

 _Gamemaster77:_ Aww! Well based on your standards, you will be satisfied with this story. I can promise you that both Stark sisters and Lenora make it safely to Castle Black. Whatever happens after that ... I will hold you to your statement, even if they all "immediately die afterwards!"  
There was another reunion in this chapter. It did involve Tyrion and Gendry. But they were a bit further south. Even though they left King's Landing before Jaime, they've been sneaking whereas Jaime and Bronn left with horses and supplies and Cersei's blessing. So they moved a bit faster.  
You are right. Ramsay will not get the same death he got in the show, but it is a question of how far Lenora will be willing to go to get her revenge. That part is going to be very internal and dark. Is she willing to stoop to his level? To become a monster like him? She'll consider it at the very least!

 _Ariaofrosewood:_ I'm so glad that you've enjoyed the reunions so far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! As for Rickon? You'll find out soon!

 _Guest1995:_ Yeah, Lenora and Jaime deserve some happiness. As do the Starks. But this is GoT. There's still some heartbreak left for everyone in the story, no matter how nice I'm being right now.  
Gendry and Tyrion didn't run into trouble, but they did run into a very lost wolf. They're going to set him on the right track soon!  
Aww two reviews! I'm sorry for the wait! But I wanted to make sure that it was perfect before I sent it out to you guys! As for Tyrion, Gendry, and Lenora. They're going to meet up separately. Gendry's going to find Lenora first. And I needed them to be separate because I want to highlight both of them and I was scared that one would get lost if they happened in the same chapter.  
Yes Lenora will see both Cersei and Robb again. And I can't wait for you to read them! They're pretty spectacular.

 _Falcon Lair:_ You're welcome! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Thank you for your review!

 _Maddy:_ Hahaha. Nice try! I had some editing I wanted to do on this chapter before I posted it. Otherwise I might have posted it right on top of the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed it!

 _ZabuzazGirl:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the reunions. And I hope you're looking forward to the big one that is coming up soon!

 _Kimberley:_ I'm so glad that you're excited! We are ridiculously close to finishing now. Eleven chapters left I think. That's insane. I never thought this story would get this far. But I'm so happy that it did! You are so sweet! It really means a lot to hear that this is the best GoT story you've read.

 _Vun:_ I'm sorry for the wait! But I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _darkwolf76:_ You don't need to apologize. Enjoying Jon's death is probably the wrong way to phrase it on my part. But I knew what you were trying to say. I both hated writing about his death, but loved the challenge it presented and what it brought out of me. And I think you were feeling the same thing.  
Not many dark scenes in this chapter either. I'm spoiling you guys (and the characters) but that won't last forever. Prepare yourselves ... _Winter is coming_. I'm glad you're shipping Jaime and Brienne. I'm a subtle shipper for them. And I love that you enjoy how I write Bronn. He's not a major character in this story, but I love him so he gets sprinkled in here and there. And it makes me happy when people notice him.  
I'm glad the dialogue in this story is meaningful. My stories are always, generally dialogue heavy (with the exception of Jon's POVs) because I feel like the dialogue is what makes the characters come to life. Every time they speak they become a little more real. And with every chapter it is my job to continue that trend.  
We did get some of Robb and the Brotherhood in this chapter! You guys are like mind readers. This is not the first time I've gotten a string of reviews asking about a character or a situation only to already have written it for the next chapter. And you were the only one to predict they'd run into Tyrion and Gendry. Bravo.  
Thank you for your offer to help with future stories! I will probably take you up on that!

That's all I've got for now! Thank you so much for your reviews! They mean the world!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	74. Chapter Seventy-Four: Never

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you. The reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Just casually editing this while making the husband watch _Fifty Shades of Grey_ because I am, as he quotes, "a very mean wife."  
But sometimes you just have to watch a really bad movie.

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Four: Never Should Have Left_

 _Tyrion_

Once he had gotten over his initial shock at seeing the Young Wolf very much alive, even though by all reports he should have been dead; and after Robb Stark had gotten over his initial desire to wrap his hands around Tyrion's throat and strangle him - they moved a bit away from the fire and the men of the Brotherhood so that they could speak.

The young northman seemed torn between glaring at Tyrion and begging him for news. Tyrion wondered what the Brotherhood had told the young man of the current way of the world, he suspected very little.

He knew the boy had questions of Lenora, but he would not give the answers until he asked. It was the only card he had, as far as he was concerned, to keep Robb Stark's hands from his throat and he would play it as long as he could.

"What happened to you?" he asked the surly young man after several long minutes of silence. "You're supposed to be dead."

Robb shrugged his shoulders, somewhat uncertain, "I was," he admitted, his voice as hard as stone. "For almost a week, the way they tell it," he nodded toward the circle of men around the fire, his face darkening.

It was comforting to know that he did not reserve his ire for only Lannisters. If these men were still alive than Tyrion stood a chance. He wanted to ask more, but that was not the way the game was played. If he wanted information he would have to share some. He had asked his question and now it was Robb's turn to ask one of his own. He wondered if it would be about Lenora, or if the sudden reappearance of her uncle in his life would be enough to make it difficult for the young king to say her name.

Robb nodded toward Gendry, the young man was standing awkwardly between the two groups. Dividing his time between glaring at the Brotherhood who had betrayed him and shooting curious looks at the man who had married his half sister. "Who is he?" Robb asked, his blue eyes still locked on Gendry.

Tyrion smirked and took a sip from the wineskin that Thoros of Myr had given him. "That's not the question you mean to ask, boy," he scolded, smirking wider when the boy winced at the word _boy_. Though he supposed, being dead and then brought back to life awarded a man the right to be upset at being called a child. "You want to know why he looks like _her_."

The Stark boy dragged his gaze off of Gendry and turned, leveling Tyrion with a glare. He was not in the mood for Tyrion's games, as much as he wanted the man's information. "Fine, _Imp_ ," he growled. "Why does he look like her?"

"Because they're siblings," Tyrion told him with a shrug, as casual as he could be, as if he spoke to dead men every day. "Or half siblings. Like you and Jon Snow." He was still watching the boy closely, he noticed how his gaze drifted back to Gendry, as if he could not keep his eyes off of him. He knew that Robb Stark was not interested in men, he attributed it to Gendry being the closest thing that Robb had seen to Lenora since the Twins. "He's one of Robert Baratheon's bastards," he added, in case the boy was slower than he had been the last time they had met.

Robb nodded, his gaze never leaving Gendry's face, "Did he ever meet her?" he asked, his voice quiet and gentle.

Tyrion's jaw clenched, perhaps the boy did not know how the game was played. It was _Tyrion's_ turn to ask a question, not his turn to ask a second. But he would allow it. "No," he told Robb, speaking just as quietly as the wolf beside him. "I'm bringing him to meet her now." He paused for a moment, not long enough for Robb to ask another question, but just long enough to reset. "What do you remember?" he asked.

His brow furrowed. His blue eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. "We were at the Twins," he told Tyrion, his gaze finally leaving Gendry's face so that it could drop to the hands in his lap, they were clenched tightly into fists, his nails digging into the soft skin of his palms, Tyrion would not be surprised if he drew blood. "For Edmure's wedding. Frey would not let me have Grey Wind inside." He shook his head, for some reason, that was important. "Everything was going well ... until it wasn't."

"Until it wasn't?" Tyrion echoed, gently nudging the boy to continue telling his tale. "What happened?" He knew what had happened, but he wanted to hear it from the boy. He needed to know exactly what had happened to his niece and how the Stark boy had managed to escape while everyone thought that he was murdered.

He shook his head, drawing on memories that Tyrion would wager he did not think on very often. "We were separated," he whispered. "I had danced with Dacey Mormont and then the bedding ceremony. We stayed behind with many of the Freys and a few of my men. Nora -" he shook his head, his blue eyes filled with a pain that Tyrion had never felt. If he had ever doubted that the Stark boy loved his niece, he could doubt no longer. "Nora was with Smalljon. I told him if anything happened, he was to save her before he came back for me."

"If anything happened?" Tyrion repeated, his brows furrowed. "You didn't trust your bannermen?"

The ghost of a smile played at the corner's of Robb's mouth. Bitter and rueful. " _Nora_ did not trust my bannermen," he told Tyrion. "And Mother. They spent the ride to the Twins cautioning me against trusting the Freys. I took precautions because of them, and I still managed to lose them both."

For a moment Tyrion fancied that he saw tears in Robb Stark's eyes, but the boy blinked them away quickly and shook his head. " _The Rains of Castamere_ started to play and that was when I _knew_. I was going to lose Lenora and your father had planned it all." He turned to glare at Tyrion for a moment, but there wasn't much heat in it. It was as if he carried most of his anger and hatred for himself when he told _this_ tale. "I hadn't even thought that I would die," he admitted. "I only thought of her. I remember thinking, _this is when I lose her_."

"And instead she lost you," Tyrion supplied, not very helpfully.

"She knew," Robb admitted to him. "Before I was struck with the first bolt, _she knew_. She was already fighting against Smalljon, already struggling get to me." He shook his head again, that same bitter ghost of a smile. "She always was smarter than me in the ways of war."

Tyrion had more he wanted to ask. But once again, it was no longer his turn. He stared at Robb, waiting for the boy to meet his gaze and then he nodded, a silent admission that it was now the younger's turn to ask a question.

"They say that Joffrey and your father are dead," Robb told him, not a question. Tyrion nodded, still waiting for what Robb wanted to know. "Who did it?" he asked after a moment.

"I killed my father," Tyrion told him, admitting what he had done out loud for the first time. "I shot him with a crossbow in the privy."

In spite of the seriousness of their conversation Robb chuckled, low and dark. The sound made a tingle run down Tyrion's spine and he wondered if the young king was regretting that he had not been the one to do it. "And the bastard?" he asked.

"I was blamed for it," Tyrion told him. "Though many also blamed your sister, Lady Sansa." He saw the look of dread and panic settle in Robb's eyes and he was quick to reassure him. "She found a way to escape the city before anyone could get their hands on her. Wherever she is now, it's as well kept of a secret as your return."

That did not assure the young man as much as he had meant it to. Robb shook his head, "Arya's lost, Sansa, Lenora. My brothers are dead, my parents." He stopped talking for a moment, turning toward Tyrion and giving the man a look of complete hopelessness. "How will I find any of them?" he asked, his voice breaking. "And how will I make amends when I do?"

"I hardly think _you_ need to make amends," Tyrion told him softly.

Robb shook his head, "I began this war to keep my family safe," he told Tyrion, his voice heavy. "All I wanted was to keep them safe. And then Father died. And the girls were in the capitol. I thought that by keeping Nora at my side -" his voice faltered. He closed his mouth and swallowed a lump in his throat. "and I lost her."

Tyrion could have told him that he thought he knew where Lenora was, but he had one last question to ask. Then their game would be finished. "How did you get out?" he asked. "By all reports at the capitol they had chopped off your head and sewn your direwolf's on in its place." He gestured toward the young man standing in front of him. "Obviously that did not happen."

"I crawled," he told him. "And when I couldn't do that, I dragged myself. Bolton left the door open when he carried her out. All I could think of doing was following her. _Getting to her_. She needed me. I would not fail her. In the chaos no one seemed to notice. Your father had planned it all to kill me, but Walder Frey was enjoying slaughtering my men too much to realize that his prize was quickly disappearing. I made it out of the hall and to a side door, I did not think that Bolton would keep her at the Twins, I thought he'd leave with her so I dragged myself out of the castle." His voice was distant and hollow, he kept sayin _I_ , but he was speaking as if he were talking about someone else entirely. "The Green Fork was flooded," he told Tyrion. "It had been storming all week, made for a miserable march from Riverrun. I dragged myself out the door and found chaos outside, Frey's men were attacking my men outside the keep as well. Grey Wind was howling in his kennel. I had to get away, that was the only way I could save Lenora. I dragged myself to the river, thinking it would carry me far enough down stream that I could escape the Freys."

Tyrion stared at him, surprised at how much the young man had endured, all the while thinking of nothing but Lenora. "And then what happened?" he asked.

Robb was quiet for a moment, the haunted look in his eyes intensifying. "Nothing," he told Tyrion, his voice sounded dead. "Nothing happened. All I can see is a darkness. I heard nothing. I felt nothing. Everything was black and cold, the only thing I can remember are their faces."

"The Brotherhood's?" Tyrion pressed.

Robb shook his head, "Walder Frey," he told Tyrion, his jaw clenching. "Roose Bolton. I saw their faces. My only thoughts were of revenge and darkness." He paused for a moment. "And then there was a light when they brought me back. Bright and warm, and silver. It was Nora, before I could even remember her name. Before I could even remember my name."

He reached out, grabbing the wine sack out of Tyrion's grasp and taking a swig himself. "Where is she?" he asked, his voice harsh. He brought his gaze to land on Tyrion's face and he stared down at him. "I've answered your questions and now you will answer mine. Where is she? They -" he nodded toward the men around the fire. "They say she's south. But if that's the case why are you here?"

"Because she's not," Tyrion told him, his voice gentle and apologetic. The Brotherhood had had the poor boy believing that he was getting closer to Lenora every day, all while dragging him even further away. "Roose Bolton did not return her," he told Robb as the young man continued to drink from the wine sack, draining it of everything it held. "He kept her north. The last I heard he had brought her to Winterfell."

A strangled noise escaped Robb's lips, something between a groan, a sob, and a curse. Tyrion felt horrible for the boy, but he pushed on, that was not the worst of it, and he felt the boy deserved to know everything. "Little birds in the capitol have been telling stories of a lost princess forced to marry a bastard in the Godswood of Winterfell," he told Robb, quoting the last thing Varys had shared with him. "They say Bolton married her to his recently legitimized bastard in a way to solidify his claim over Winterfell. No news has made its way south since then, but there were whispers before. They say the bastard is a monster."

He made the sound again, this time more curse than anything else. He stood, throwing the wine sack to the ground. "And I've been heading south this whole fucking time?" he growled, turning his glare on the men around the fire. "Because of them?" He shook his head, falling back onto the log he had been sitting on. "I _knew_ it," he admitted to Tyrion softly, his head falling into his hands. "I _fucking_ knew it. And they never listened. They never believed."

He sounded very nearly defeated. Something that Tyrion could not allow. He was going to need the Young Wolf's help. It would not do for him to be so defeated. "It's not all lost," he promised the boy. "You know now. And now you have the means to go get her."

"And how will we do that?" Robb asked, turning his glare on Tyrion. "Are they just going to let us leave?"

Tyrion smirked, Gendry hadn't been standing still during his conversation with the Stark boy. The younger boy had moved around the fire quietly, just out of sight. Stealing supplies, weapons, quietly leading horses away. Save the two he and Tyrion had ridden from the capitol, and the one he had saved for Robb Stark. Without saying a word Tyrion nodded toward the three horses, "They won't have much of a choice," he whispered as the young man's eyes fell on the horses. "I left the capitol intent on rescuing my niece. It seems to me that you and I might be of like mind."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

He had never been more uncertain of anything in his life. Not even as a child at Winterfell, unsure of why Lady Catelyn seemed to hate him so much. He had been killed, murdered by his own men, but now he was alive. He had sworn himself to the Night's Watch until his death, but now that he had come back he was unsure if that freed him from his vows. He still had friends at the Wall, Edd and others, but could they really expect him to stay after his own brothers had stabbed him to death. After Olly ...?

His last official act as Lord Commander had been to hang the traitors, the men who had betrayed the Watch and turned their knives on one of their own. Though they had not deserved it he gave them the chance to say their last words, to find a bit of peace before he sent them into the darkness that he knew was waiting for them on the other side.

"You shouldn't be alive," Bowen Marsh told him, his voice shaking. "It isn't right."

"Neither was killing me," Jon answered, his voice cold. He would not allow the man's fear to soften his heart.

He moved past him to Othell Yarwyck, a brow arched, silently waiting. "My mother still lives at White Harbor," Yarwyck told him, his voice was shaking as well, though there was less fear in his eyes. He knew that whatever happened, he deserved it. "Could you write her? Tell her I died fighting the Wildlings."

That was not up to Jon, he would not be the Lord Commander for much longer. It would not be his decision to lie to Yarwyck's mother or not. He did not much care either way. He moved past him, staring up at Alliser Throne, waiting to see what this man, who had always hated him, would say.

To his credit, Thorne held his gaze when he spoke. His voice did not shake, he did not whimper or beg, or ask that after his death his family was shielded from his treasonous behavior. He did not make excuses. He gave him an explanation. "I had a choice, _Lord Commander_ , betray the Night's Watch or betray _you_. You brought an army of Wildlings into our lands," his gaze lifted from Jon to look at the Wildlings that were still living at Castle Black at Jon's insistence. "An army of murderers and rapers." His gaze fell back on Jon. "If I had to do it all over again, knowing where I would end up, I _pray_ I would make the right choice again."

Jon nodded, appreciating in some strange way, how Thorne stuck to his beliefs. He would still die for them, but at least as far as Thorne was concerned, Jon had not died for nothing. "I'm sure you would, Ser Alliser," he told the older man - the kindest, most respectful thing that he could say for the man.

Ser Alliser nodded, as if he understood what Jon was saying. Perhaps he did. "I fought. I lost." He paused, nodding again to himself. "Now, I rest. But _you_ , _Lord Snow_ , you'll be fighting their battles forever." He lifted his chin then, he had said his peace and now he was done.

Olly was the last, and the most painful. Jon moved to stand in front of him, hesitating for a long moment before he brought his gaze to the boy's face. Olly had meant so much to him, the decision to include him in this horrible line up had been the most difficult. And a part of him knew that if Olly asked, he would forgive the boy. He would untie his noose and let the boy live. But as he lifted his gaze to the boy's face he was met with a look of such anger, such betrayal, that he knew the boy would never ask. He was not ashamed of his actions, he felt no remorse for tricking Jon and leading him to his death. He was still angry. He would die angry and bitter.

Jon nodded to himself, it was no way to go. The anger and the bitterness. But he could do nothing to save Olly now.

He moved away, turning his back on the four and drawing his sword. He stood for a moment, his back still facing them, panting and then he lifted _Longclaw_ and swung it, cutting the rope and yanking the barrels out from underneath the men, leaving them to hang.

He wanted to keep his back turned, it had been hard enough to look at his former brothers, to look at Olly, and know that he would be the death of them. He didn't want to have to watch it. But he could still remember the words he had whispered to Bran so long ago.

 _Don't look away_ , he reminded himself as he turned to watch the men. _They will know._

He watched them until they were still, until their mouths hung open and their eyes bulged. Olly was the last to die, not heavy enough to snap his neck when he fell. Some of the Wildlings had stepped forward, grabbing the boy's legs and pulling in an attempt to end his suffering early. Jon would be forever grateful to them.

Once he was sure that they were dead he put _Longclaw_ back in its sheath and turned around. Edd was faithfully standing behind him, his mouth set in a grim line as his dark eyes watched the bodies. "We should burn them," he suggested.

" _You_ should," Jon told him, proud when his voice did not shake. He reached back and took his heavy black cloak off, the one he had worn since he had taken the Black. He handed it to Edd, he felt nothing.

"What do you want me to do with this?" Edd asked.

"Wear it," Jon suggested. "Burn it. Whatever you want. You have Castle Black." He started to walk away, waiting until he had finished climbing down the steps from the makeshift scaffold before he continued. "My Watch has ended."

...

He gave himself a day at Castle Black to pack his belongings, what little he had. He did not know where he was going to go, or what he was going to do. His mind alternated between thoughts of making a life among the Wildlings who now planned on farming the Gift, or traveling further into the Seven Kingdoms, searching every corner until he found out what had happened to each member of his family or traveling to Oldtown and finding Sam.

All three ideas seemed equally good and equally miserable.

"Where are you going to go?" Edd asked him the next afternoon as he stood in the Lord Commander's chambers and watched Jon pack.

"I'll go south," Jon told him, that had been what he had been leaning toward the moment Edd asked. If he were to ask again in a minute, the answer would have changed.

"What are you going to do?" Edd asked.

"Get warm," Jon joked.

Edd did not appreciate the joke. "How can you leave us?" he asked, moving closer to Jon and staring him down. "How can you leave me?"

"How can I stay?" Jon countered, an equally difficult question.

"You swore a _vow_ ," Edd reminded him.

"Aye," Jon agreed. "I pledged my life to the Night's Watch. I _gave_ my life."

"For all night's to come!" Edd fired back.

"They _killed_ me, Edd!" Jon yelled, turning on him. "My own brothers! You expect me to stay after that?" His decision to leave had come so easily the day before, but now it felt harder. It sat heavy in the pit of his stomach, his chest tightened as he thought it. From the moment he had understood what he was as a child, a bastard, he had thought of nothing else save the Night's Watch. The place where a bastard could hope to rise as high as Lord Commander. These men had been his family. And even though he had killed the ones who had betrayed him, he could not look at them the same way anymore. They were all tainted.

Edd looked as though he meant to argue when the horn sounded. On instinct, Jon grabbed _Longclaw_ as they both turned toward the door.

 _Once for riders_ , he thought as he heard the men's cries. The orders to open the gate. They weren't opening the northern gate, but rather the southern one. The riders came from the kingdoms. He followed Edd out of the chambers and toward the courtyard. They had not been expecting any new recruits. He wondered who had traveled so far.

There were five horses, six riders, and a wolf. A large one with grey fur and yellow eyes. Behind him he heard Ghost whimper. He watched as they rode in, the largest woman he had ever seen in front, dressed in armor like a knight. She was followed by two horses. One held a single rider, young and small, her hair red. The other held two women, or rather, one woman and a girl. Both with dark hair, one's cut short, and the other's braided and thrown over her shoulder, escaping from under the hood she wore pulled over her face. Slightly back and on either side of the women riders were two more male riders. A young one with chubby cheeks and armor riding to the redhead's left. And a blonde man, wearing Lannister red and gold armor to the right of the two girls.

The wolf took up the rear.

Involuntarily Jon felt his hand clench into a fist as his eyes locked on the Lannister as the riders continued into the courtyard. The redhead looking around, as if searching for someone. He dragged his gaze from the Lannister and stopped in his tracks when he finally looked at the redhead.

She looked just like her mother. She always had, though now, as her blue eyes sought him out, there was a softer look about her face, one he had never seen at Winterfell.

"Sansa," he whispered as he started to walk down the stairs, forcing himself not to run, lest this were some trick of his mind and she was not truly there.

His steps quickened a moment later when he heard a childish yell. The smallest girl had thrown herself from behind her companion, tripping as she hit the ground. One of the Wildlings in the courtyard moved forward to help her right herself, but she was already standing, rushing toward him on stumbling feet. "Jon!" she yelled as he recognized the impossibly thin sword that was belted around her waist. "Jon!"

"Arya!" he called back, his voice breaking. In the many times he had imagined finding his sisters, he had never in his wildest dreams thought that _they_ would ride to Castle Black to find him.

There were tears in Arya's eyes as she threw herself at him, launching herself into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as her hands clutched at his leather jerkin. Trusting him to catch her. He laughed, tears clogging his throat, their audience be damned. It was just so like Arya. She never did things half way. Everything was done with her whole heart, even reuniting with her bastard half brother leagues away from where she should have been.

He caught her, wrapping his arms tightly around her and squeezing her even more tightly for good measure. She kept saying his name over and over again - half chant, half prayer. Alternating between laughing happily and crying into his shoulder.

"Jon," she cried when she finally unwrapped her legs from around his waist and allowed him to lower her to the ground. They both kept their arms around each other, as if afraid to let go. "Jon! Everything's a mess! He has Winterfell. And Robb's dead. We had to find you! We _had_ to."

At the word _we_ , Jon looked up again, his eyes searching for Sansa. The blonde woman dressed as a knight and the young boy had climbed from their saddles. The boy had helped Sansa down, she was standing no more than ten feet away from him, her hands knotted in front of her, watching him uncertainly.

Jon squeezed Arya one more time and dropped a kiss on the top of her head before he pulled himself out of her arms. He did not let go of her, instead he dragged her with him as he began walking toward Sansa. To his right the two large wolves were play fighting, standing on their hind legs, batting at each other and snarling. There was no bite to it though, no matter how the men stared at them fearfully. _This_ was a game they had played since birth.

He would remind himself to wonder at Grey Wind's survival later.

He paused when he and Arya were less than two feet away from Sansa. She had always treated him so coldly at Winterfell, he thought his heart would break if she continued to do so now. They were all they had left. She watched him for one long moment before she sobbed and threw herself into his arms with reckless abandon, much like Arya. He caught her too, with one arm, pulling her closer to him as he yanked Arya in too, hugging both of his sisters to him as if he could not breathe without them.

He felt Sansa's tears warm on his neck and he opened his eyes, looking toward the last two riders.

The Lannister knight had dismounted and walked over to the last horse, helping the girl down with much care. He had not known her long, but he _knew_ her too, as the dark haired woman reached up and lowered her hood. He was met with warm, silver eyes and a face that was covered in bruises and cuts.

He nodded to her, silently thanking his brother's wife for whatever she had been through to return his sisters to him.

...

Lenora left him and his sisters alone for the afternoon. Not wanting to intrude on their reunion. Apparently she had arrangements to make, horses and medical supplies, and a large cart to send south to rescue a group of men she had left somewhere between Winterfell and Castle Black.

She finally came to him, still dressed in breeches and a shirt, though she had taken off her ill fitting armored vest, after the girls had fallen asleep.

Jon couldn't bear to let them out of his sight, when Arya had started to yawn he had suggested they take the bed in the Lord Commander's chambers. Sansa had tried to argue, it was _his_ bed, she had told him. But Jon had already picked Arya up and carried his young sister over, tucking her gently into the bed and putting an end to all of Sansa's arguments.

She had knocked quietly on the chamber door and hesitated in the doorway once he had opened it. It was as if she was worried that he wouldn't want to see her. He had smirked at her ridiculous worry and grabbed her arm, pulling her not only into the chamber, but to his chest so that he could wrap his arms around her. She had brought his sisters back to him, the only family he had left. He would never _not_ want to see her.

As his arms settled around her she winced, almost pulling away from him before she took a deep breath, calming herself, and moved closer to him, wrapping her own arms around him. They stood for a moment, wrapped around each other, he could have sworn that he felt her shaking in his arms. But then she pulled away from him, her head turning toward his sleeping sisters, she reached up, brushing at her face. "They've been through a lot to get here," she told him, her voice little more than a whisper.

His brows furrowed as he looked at her. The firelight was dancing on her skin. He could still see the bruises and cuts on her face. There was a handprint bruised into her neck, slashes on her collarbones. " _You've_ been through a lot to get them here," he told her, gratitude seeping into his words, warming them as he looked at her.

The corners of her lips twitched, a flash of a bitter smile before they turned down again. "It was the least I could do," she told him, moving closer to the fire and sitting down in one of the chairs in front of it. "After ..." her voice faded, she couldn't say the words.

Jon followed her, sitting in the second chair and leaning forward, getting as close to her as he could. "You are not to blame for what has happened to my family, Lenora," he told her, keeping his gaze locked on her face, hoping she could read how much he meant it in his eyes.

The ghost of a grimace reappeared and she looked away from him. "What happened to you?" she asked, her voice still quiet. "I heard some of the men talking today. They talk about you like you're some sort of god. One of them told me that you died and you came back to life?" She laughed, short and bitter and unbelieving. "I had never thought the Night's Watch would believe in fairytales."

Jon stood from his chair and grabbed a horn and pitcher of ale from the desk. If they were going to have this conversation, he was not going to do it completely sober. "I'm no god," he told her bitterly as he poured ale into the horn. "But I was dead."

She turned to him sharply, her eyebrows raised. She shook her head, "I don't understand,"

He sighed, he still didn't understand either. He wasn't sure if he ever would. "I don't either," he told her, his voice cracking. And then slowly, cautiously he told her what had happened to him, _everything_. His time north of the Wall with the Wildlings, how he had let the Wildlings pass through to farm the Gift. She didn't ask any questions, the entire time, she sat beside him, watching him him and waiting for him to get to the part of the story that she was most confused by.

"And the worst part is," Jon told her after he had explained that Olly had tricked him to go to the courtyard by telling him that they had found someone who knew his uncle. "The worst part is that after they stabbed me I couldn't be angry at any of them. I lay in the snow, bleeding to death and I saw their damn side of it. I thought that it wasn't such a bad place to die."

Lenora watched him carefully for a long moment. "They stabbed you?" she asked, her voice slow - making each word its own sentence.

She wasn't judging him, her voice was too soft for that. Her grey eyes had a far away look in them, distant and haunted. She was thinking about Robb. Jon cursed quietly, Robb had been stabbed as well. he hadn't though about that when he told her his story. He hadn't realized what kind of history he would drag up. "Nora," he started, "I'm so-"

She shook her head, silently interrupting his apology. "What was it like?" she asked him. Her already pale skin seemed even paler in the firelight. "What do you remember?"

It was the question everyone asked him if they believed that he had been brought back to life. They all wanted to know what he had seen and heard. He always felt like he was disappointing them, but he had never felt that way so much so as now. He knew she wanted him to tell her that there was some great place that people went after they died, she needed to hear it so that she could imagine Robb there. But he would not lie to her. He sighed, "I don't remember anything," he told her. "It was dark and cold. I was there, but I wasn't. I wasn't anywhere until she brought me back." He paused _this_ was where he always had trouble. He could talk about the men stabbing him, but he didn't like to talk about coming back. "She said that I was brought back for a reason," he shook his head, "I don't know what to do now," he told her, turning to look at her, his brows furrowed, silently asking her what she thought.

She watched him for a long moment, quiet, and then she shrugged her left shoulder, "I suppose you go out there and you find out what that reason is," she told him, her voice soft and gentle.

He smirked, it sounded very familiar to what Davos had told him. _Go out and fail again_.

She was still watching him, "Have you told the girls?" she asked him, nodding toward the bed without looking in its direction.

Jon shook his head. "I don't know how to yet," he admitted to her. "And even if I did. You brought them here to feel safe. I can't tell them here. It will only make them feel more unsafe than they already do."

She nodded, her grey gaze still locked on his face. After a moment she shook her head. "You are the only person I could hear this from and believe it," she told him, her grey eyes still never leaving his face. "But you -" she shook her head again, finally looking away from him. Tears filled her grey eyes.

He knew what she was thinking. She liked him, she was happy that he was alive. But there was a part of her that was heartbroken. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he had died and somehow come back, but that Robb had been stolen from her and would never return.

"I'm sorry about Robb," he told her, reaching out for her hand.

She smiled ruefully, " _You_ are the last person who needs to say that," she told him, her voice heavy with the tears that still swam in her eyes. "He was your brother."

"And your husband," Jon told her. She looked away from him as if she was ashamed. "Sansa told me about Bolton," he told her, he was careful not to let the anger he felt rising in his chest enter his voice, he didn't want her to think that he was angry at _her_. "Lenora, he wouldn't blame you for _anything_."

She still wouldn't look at him, her gaze was locked on the fire in front of them, some of her dark hair had escaped her braid and was laying on her cheek, partially covering a dark bruise across her cheek bone. His jaw clenched, he would have been angry if a man had treated _any_ woman the way he imagined Ramsay Bolton had treated Lenora, but she was his brother's wife, Robb had loved her and Jon had loved her because Robb had loved her.

His brother was no longer there to protect her. It was now up to Jon.

"What did he do to you, Lenora?"

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"What did he do to you, Lenora?"

His voice rumbled like a storm was raging deep inside of him; it was low and soft and yet it held the power to send chills running up her spine. She knew that Jon would never hurt her, but in that moment he sounded dangerous. His words crashing like a wave through the room until it was the only thing she could hear.

She turned away from the fire, glancing at him. He still held a horn of ale in his hand. She reached out for it. She had not judged him when he had needed the liquid courage to tell her what had happened to him and she would not allow him to judge her when she needed it as well.

He arched a brow at her, but handed it over. "I don't know if you can handle it," he teased her.

She shook her head, "I am the daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister," she told him, smiling bitterly at the thought of her parents. "I have yet to meet a type of alcohol that I can't handle." She was confident, but when she took a sip of the ale she coughed, sputtering as it burned its way down her throat and settled warm and heavy in her stomach, the flask she had shared with Bronn after he and her uncle had rescued her had been the worst she had ever tasted, and _this_ made that taste sweet as honey.

Jon smirked and nodded, laughing. "You'd think after a thousand years the Night's Watch would have figured out how to make a good ale," he told her, reaching for the horn again.

She did not give it up. The ale was awful, but it was all they had. And she needed it. She had not come to see him with the intention of telling him what had happened to her. All she had wanted to do was tell him that she would help him retake Winterfell if he wanted it. But he had asked. And there had been something in his voice that made her consider telling him.

She still hadn't shared it all with Jaime. She wasn't certain if she ever would. He would blame himself for it, internalize it, and spend his life worrying about how he could make it up to her. He would try to fix it. She didn't want him to feel guilty, the only one to blame for her mistreatment was the man who had done it. She didn't want him to fix it. She wanted someone who would listen. And she thought that perhaps, that was what Jon would do. _Listen_.

It didn't make it easier though.

He seemed to understand that she planned to tell him, and was only struggling with where to start because he did not pressure her. He did not ask her again. He sat beside her, quietly staring into the fire and waiting.

"I should have know that Lord Bolton meant to marry me to his bastard," she told him, her voice cracking a bit. She winced, the last thing she wanted was to sound weak and broken. "Why else would he have kept me instead of returning me to my family? Why else would he have been so focused on legitimizing Ramsay? Why would he bring me to Winterfell?"

"You couldn't have seen it," Jon argued with her. "It is so far outside the realm of expected behavior."

She arched a brow at the drinking horn in her hand and took another swig. "Because murdering your king at a wedding is inside of that realm?" she asked him bitterly. She shook her head. "I should have seen it. Perhaps I did, and I just did not want to admit it to myself. I kept waiting for Lord Bolton to realize it was ridiculous, I kept waiting for someone to come rescue me, I kept waiting for -" she cut herself off and shook her head.

"Robb," Jon said quietly, finishing her sentence. "You kept waiting for Robb."

She nodded, "I did," she agreed. "And by the time that I realized that no one was coming for me. Not Robb, not any of my uncles, not my brother, not my grandfather, not even my mother. By the time I realized that it was too late. I was at Winterfell and completely at the Boltons' mercy."

He watched her, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Didn't you think of running?" he asked her. His voice was soft like silk. He didn't want her to think that he was judging her. He was curious.

She nodded, "I did," she whispered, a distant memory of an ill planned run through the Wolf's Wood. "Before we left the Dreadfort. He caught me." She shook her head, still trapped in the memory of that day. "That was the first time the bastard hit me," she told him. He had hurt her, but looking back on it he had been far more gentle that day than he had been once they were married.

"But not the last," Jon guessed, his dark eyes dancing over her face.

"He was more careful with my face back then," she told him, trying to make light of everything that had happened to her, "I had to look beautiful for our wedding." The look on Jon's face was dark, stormy, he would not take her story lightly. She took another swig of ale before she continued, it was going down easier now, a sure sign that she had had too much. But she kept drinking. "We were married in the Godswood at Winterfell," she told him, the words spilling out of her with more ease now. She hadn't wanted to share her story with him, but now that she was she could not stop it. "There weren't many witnesses, those who lived at Winterfell, a few lesser Northern Houses that were loyal to the Boltons, the children whose lives he had threatened to get me to play my part -"

Jon growled, low and deep in his throat. And for a moment he reminded her so much of Grey Wind that she stopped speaking, turning to look for the wolf. He was curled in the corner with his white brother, his golden eyes fixed on her face, but he seemed calm enough; sure that here, at least, she would be safe.

"Did he ever -" Jon started, his voice fading before he could finish his question. But she didn't need him to finish it, she knew what he meant.

"Force himself on me?" she finished for him since he was having so much trouble. She shook her head. "We were married for forty nights before I got away. And for forty nights he was unable to touch me." She told him how she had cut Ramsay with his own knife on their wedding night, how she had kept him at bay by laughing at him and humiliating him.

"How did you get away?" Jon asked when she was done. He was looking at her differently now. There was still pity in his dark eyes, but there was a sort of respect too.

"He left Winterfell to fight Stannis," she told him. "He was so certain that he would succeed, he left a skeleton force behind. The night he left Theon came to my chambers and helped me escape. I wanted him to come with me, but -" she shook her head, still uncertain of why Theon had chosen to stay. She suspected that Ramsay would know that it had been his once faithful prisoner who had helped her. "He told me to head north, to find you. The few men that Ramsay had left behind tracked me, they found me the next afternoon. I was not going to go back. I was prepared to die when Bronn, Jaime, and Grey Wind arrived. I thought they were ghosts. I thought Robb and Grey Wind were there to help me die. Instead it was my uncle, a sellsword, and the wolf there to help me survive."

Jon shook his head, chuckling, "I never thought I would be grateful for a Lannister," he told her, his gaze drifting toward where his sisters still slept in the bed. "But _they're_ here because of _you_. And _you're_ here because of him."

"And Theon," she reminded him.

He shook his head again, this time he did not laugh. "I will never be grateful to him," he told her, his voice dark and heavy again. "No matter what he did to help you. A little good does not cancel out all the bad."

"He didn't kill the boys," she told him realizing that Sansa and Arya must have left that part out during their reunion. She couldn't think of why they would, perhaps too happy to be with their brother to bring up the bad news. "He faked it, with two peasant boys. Bran and Rickon escaped."

"They're still alive?" Jon asked, turning to look at her with wide eyes.

She looked down at her lap, maybe this was why the girls hadn't told him. She had gotten his hopes up. At best _one_ of them was alive. "Not Bran," she told him, still looking at her lap. _Kill the cripple_. "One of the smaller northern Houses, trying to curry favor with Ramsay and Roose, they found Bran and brought him to Winterfell. For the first time since the Godswood he let me out of my chambers, brought me down to the hall and gave me just enough time to recognize Bran before he had one of the Karstarks slit his throat." She glanced up at Jon, expecting anger, she saw nothing but regret. "I'm so sorry, Jon," she whispered, shaking her head. "I should have just left them both dead."

Jon shook his head, "No," he told her, his voice firm in spite of the look on his face. "It was good that you told me. I needed to know." His gaze fell to the fire in front of them. "We never should have left Winterfell," he whispered, his gaze darting to her for a moment. "Any of us."

"Where will you go?" she asked him after a long moment.

His gaze drifted to his sisters and then back to her, "Where will _we_ go?" he corrected her.

"That's what I meant," she told him, "where will you and the girls go?" She hoped that he would say he Winterfell back, that was why she was there.

"And you," Jon told her, his fervent gaze never leaving her face. "If I don't watch over you Robb's ghost will come back and murder me."

She smiled softly, Jon had always been ridiculously honorable. Now was not the time for her to tell him that she did not plan on staying in the North, or with him and the girls. There would be plenty of time for that, _after_ they had taken Winterfell back. "There's only one place I can think of to go," she told him, watching him carefully. " _Home_." She hoped that he understood that she felt Winterfell was her home as much as his.

He scoffed, grabbing the drinking horn from her hand and downing the rest of it in one long pull. "Should we tell Ramsay to pack it up and leave?" he asked, mocking her.

She didn't let it phase her, "We'll take it back from him," she deadpanned.

He stared at her, as if suddenly realizing that she was serious. "I don't have an army."

"I have eighty men," she told him. "They're injured, but on the mend. How many Wildlings did you let past the Wall?"

He shook his head, "They didn't come here to serve me," he told her. "They were free beyond the Wall, they will be free here as well."

"And do you think they will be safe with Ramsay Bolton acting as Warden of the North?" Lenora snapped at him. "Do you think they'll be _free_?" She stood up, walking away from him. "The least you could do is ask them. There's got to be some Houses in the North that are still loyal to the Starks. Ask them too."

"And if they all say no?" Jon asked her bitterly. "What then? Do we take your eighty injured men and fight with them?"

"If we have to," Lenora answered, turning to look at him.

"Lenora," Jon whispered, trying to get her to see reason.

"Winterfell is your home," she interrupted him, her voice burning as much as the ale had. "It's yours. It's mine. It's Sansa and Arya's. And Rickon's wherever he is. It belongs to the Starks." She stared at him for a moment, hedging her bets. "There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," she reminded him. "You have to _fight_ for it."

"I'm tired of fighting," Jon growled at her, standing and turning to face her fully. "That's all I've done since I've left home. I've killed Brothers of the Night's Watch. I've killed Wildlings. I've killed men that I admired. I hanged a _boy!_ Younger the Bran." He paused, his chest heaving as he breathed. "I fought," he told her, his voice much softer now, all the fight gone from his body. "I lost."

She stared at him, realizing now that he was so much more broken than she had imagined. More broken that perhaps she was. He was afraid. He had the right to be, perhaps, but she could not allow it. She took a step closer to him. "If we don't take back the North, you will never be safe," she warned him, her gaze drifted to Arya and Sansa, " _they_ will never be safe. If you can't do it for yourself, do it for them."

He watched her for a moment, "Why is it so important to you?" he asked her.

She turned away from him, "My family has taken so much from you," she told him. "They've taken so much from everyone in Westeros. It's time I start giving it back." She turned back. "I want you to help me," she told him, "but I will do it myself if I have to."

He stared at her for a long moment, "Gods," he whispered. "You mean it don't you?" She did not answer, she did not nod. She stood, staring at him, _willing_ him to see the truth. He sighed, "Seven Hells," he cursed. "I'll have to help. Someone has to protect you from Ramsay."

She smiled at him ruefully, "Forgive me Jon," she told him, shaking her head. "But I am done letting men protect me. It's time I fight my own battles."

* * *

Author's Note:

What? Two chapters in one week? It's been a while since I've done that!  
It's because I was so excited about this chapter. And also because you guys are so completely wonderful, I had to give you another chapter before I head off to work tomorrow.  
I hope you enjoyed it. This chapter has been a long time coming. And I sincerely hope that I did it justice. You'll have to let me know.  
Anyway, thank you for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites, your communities. But most of all thank you for your wonderful reviews! They give me life during my ridiculously long work weeks!

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ Go Queen Lenora! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one just as much! You were right, their reunion was in this chapter and I hope that I did it justice!

 _bellaphant:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! Things are finally starting to look up for Lenora and co. And Robb too. I'm so happy that everyone is so happy about Tyrion and Robb. I didn't know I needed them in my life until I decided that they were going to meet up and then it was all I wanted. So it's nice that other people like the odd combination as well!

 _sltsky96:_ I got you right in the feels? Good! I meant to!  
I'm glad that you enjoyed the Jaime/Arya interaction. I had to do something for them because even though Arya is softer in this story than in the series, there is no way she would happily travel to the Wall with Jaime Lannister without saying something. I was terrified that I was going to do it wrong. So I'm glad that it worked out.  
BotB is one of my favorite episodes! And I have been excitedly waiting to write that chapter since I started this story. So fingers crossed it will be good!

 _StarkTeller:_ I'm glad that Lenora's speech got you hyped! That was the intention and I'm glad that it worked! She was in the dark, a bit lost after everything that had happened to her with the Bolton's, but after the last chapter she has found her purpose again. And I'm really excited for her!  
I really like Robb broody and darkish too. I want to keep him like this forever. But eventually he's going to get a bit of a happy ending and he won't be so dark anymore. Until then, I'll have fun with him though!.  
You caught the link. Three children who have now grown up and are becoming what they were meant to be.  
I youtubed the speech you were talking about. It's really good. Like really good. I know nothing about the characters, but that speech was _so good_.

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed it!

 _Padfottette:_ I'm glad you loved it! I hope that you loved this chapter as well!

 _HPuni101:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. There were some major developments for everyone in it. As for Jaime telling Lenora about Cersei ... he might not be the one who tells her. It might be someone else. Someone that will be a bit more ... gut wrenching.  
Yeah. I'm not a fan of Dany so much on the show anymore. I wanted to like her, but she's a bit too much like her father sometimes and I'm not a fan.

 _Guest(1):_ Thank you so much! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Guest1995:_ I'm really excited for when Lenora and Gendry meet. She's been without any Baratheon family for so long that I really cannot wait for her to learn she has a brother.  
As of this chapter Robb is officially Northbound. Finally headed back where he belongs and not soon enough. He's allowed the Brotherhood to pull him south for too long.  
I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _JanaOliver:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! It was pretty jam packed with a lot of exciting things for all of our favorites. And I like to think that this chapter was just as full of exciting things. Hopefully you enjoyed it!

 _BigWilly526:_ He is one of the best to have around. I love that guy a lot, so you'll be seeing a bit of him!

 _LunaEvannaLongbottom:_ Those are my favorite surprises! The ones you don't know you want in your life until you have them. And then you realize that is exactly what you needed. You didn't have to wait too long for the Stark reunion at Castle Black. I couldn't wait a week to get it out to you guys. I was too excited!

 _darkwolf76:_ And like an hour after I messaged you fanfiction stopped being glitchy and I was able to see the whole thing. Thank you so much for your kind words. They really mean a lot! And I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm pretty sure that it is going to go down in history as the best chapter I have ever written. Everything just flowed and connected so perfectly. I don't know if I'll ever top it, really.  
I'm happy that I was able to provide you with some inspiration for your story. I know how much writer's block sucks, so I am more than happy that I was able to help you in whatever way I could.  
You can make a request and I hope that I was able to fulfill it even a little bit. It always bothered me on the show that they completely glossed over it between Sansa and Jon, but at the same time I can see how they didn't want to eat up too much time showing the same conversation over and over again. But I wanted to show a bit of it between Lenora and Jon. As for Jon and the girls, that will wait until Winterfell. (And perhaps even until Robb makes his reappearance.

 _Guest (2):_ Here's me hoping that ignoring studying for you physics midterm didn't set you back too far! But I am thrilled that you enjoy this story as much as you do! I'm right there with you, I wish Len was on the tv shows as well. Thank you so much for your review!

 _Guest (3):_ Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Falcon Lair:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed it!

 _Bjm:_ I hope I didn't make you wait too long for the update!

 _Guest (4):_ I'm so glad you are happy that Robb is back! I am happy too!

 _bluefalcon0207:_ Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you are enjoying this story so far and I hope that you continue to do so!

 _WildThing:_ Aww! I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story so far! And that you are liking Lenora! It means a lot to me to hear that! OCs are a bit of a risk. I hope you enjoyed the Stark reunion!

 _Gamemaster77:_ I'm so happy that you enjoyed the last chapter! I'm glad that you understood how Lenora was feeling when she learned about Stannis. Not that I think she would have done anything to Brienne anyway, but she was too drained to do anything to her. And too tired of all the shit happening in the seven kingdoms to think of anything besides trying to fix it.  
Arya would make an excellent addition to the Queensguard! That's a thought! That I really like! As for your question about Sansa and Arya, they do know. I just didn't show that conversation because there were other things that I found more important (which almost seems ridiculous, but such is Game of Thrones.)  
I'm glad that you're enjoyed Tyrion, Gendry, and Robb. There's going to be quite a bit of them in upcoming chapters. Gendry and Robb are going to have a lot of questions for each other, you are right about that. I think I'm going to tell that in Tyrion's POV, I can just imagine his sarcastic mental quips as he listens to them!

That's all I've got for now friends!  
Thank you so much!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	75. Chapter Seventy-Five: A Woman's Game

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Here it is, the long awaited update! No I did not forget you, just was super busy my last week off, but I did not forget you guys and I hope that you know that!

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Five: A Woman's Game_

 _Jaime_

They had been at Castle Black for almost a month. Lenora's men had arrived a little more than week after she did, since then most of them had recuperated and started training. Each morning he and Lenora would leave Castle Black with her men, they stuck close to the castle, Jaime still worried about enemy forces, but in the snow covered emptiness just south of the Wall they trained. Each day they got stronger.

Each day _Jaime_ got stronger. For the first time since Tyrion had suggested it, he actually thought that he might stand a chance fighting with his left hand. The first day they left Arya snuck out after them, always staying out of sight, hiding behind trees. But she wasn't as much of a shadow as she thought she was. If he wasn't training himself, he could hear it, her tiny little sword whistling through the air. He could see her movements out of the corner of his eye.

She was watching what they were doing. And practicing as well.

He let her think she was fooling everyone for four days before he snuck up on her, leaning against a tree and watching her as she practiced with her back to him. When she finally turned, she seemed surprised to see him, her pale blue eyes widened for a moment and her jaw clenched. "Tell me, Stark," Jaime drawled out, still leaning against the tree. "Are you planning on fighting the bastard too?"

Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her sword, extending it toward him in a challenge. "It's my home," she told him, her gaze intense. Her lips tugged down at the corners when he did not immediately lift his sword to meet her challenge. "Of course I mean to fight for it."

Jaime snorted, she would be easy to beat, the girl, even with only his left hand. He lifted his sword and moved closer to her, turning sideface and standing on the balls of his feet, ready to move as soon as she attacked. "You're so little though," he teased her as she lunged forward, her tiny sword clashing against his larger one. She had been intent on driving him backwards, he didn't budge an inch. "Do you really thing that your brother or your sister will let you?"

He jerked his sword to the left, sending her own down toward the ground, the tiny girl stumbling after it. It was a wonder that her blade did not break in two.

She glared at him, "They don't have to know," she told him defiantly. He almost would have believed her confidence if her eyes hadn't been begging him to keep her secret.

"Do you think _I_ will let you?" he asked her, chuckling as he moved forward, swinging his sword gently in her direction, she blocked it with a Half Iron Gate, whoever had started her training had done fairly well.

"You let Lenora fight when she was my age," the little Stark girl countered, stepping away from him.

Jaime snorted, "Not in a war," he told her, attacking again. This time it was a Boar's Tooth defense. He watched as she threw her sword into her left hand and attacked him again. _Ah_ , he thought to himself, _that's what it is._ He had seen something _other_ in her fighting when she had practiced with the Hound on their journey. Bravosi water dancing.

"You don't know what I'm capable of, Kingslayer," she argued. "You don't know what I've done."

"Killed a man, have you?" he asked her, half joking. Something in the way she stopped moving to look at him made him think that perhaps she had. He nodded, "With that little toothpick?"

Her face darkened, "No," she told him. "With a different sword. He had stolen this one."

Jaime nodded, lowering his sword toward the ground before he jerked it up, the broad side of the blade hitting the girl's hand and sending her sword into the air. It was so little, it was not too much work to catch it in his left hand so that he was holding both blades in his good hand. "You want to be like the princess?" he asked the girl, staring her down.

She glared at him for taking her sword, but she nodded earnestly. "She's strong," Arya told him. "And brave. I heard her on the first night we were here. She and Jon thought we were sleeping but I was only pretending. She doesn't let anyone tell her no."

Jaime smirked, the girl was right in that. He had spent the last month trying to talk Lenora out of it all. He tried to tell her no when he realized that the Snow boy was too stupid to do it himself. When they had ridden to Castle Black he had hoped that perhaps Jon Snow would say no when she told him of her plan to take Winterfell from the Boltons. And perhaps the boy had. But she hadn't listened to either of them. And every day they spent with the Night's Watch she seemed to become even more determined. She didn't let anyone tell her no.

He supposed he was partly to blame for that. She had heard the word so rarely when she was in his care.

"One of the first rules of sword play I ever taught Len was that if you lose your sword in a fight, you don't deserve to have it," he told the Stark girl, staring pointedly at the tiny blade in his hand.

Her blue eyes narrowed into a glare. "Give it back," she ordered him.

He smirked and shook his head, remembering the day he had taught Lenora this same lesson. "Take it from me," he ordered her.

The girl let out a noise, something between a war cry and a groan before she lunged forward, swordless and desperate.

After that afternoon, she came every day to train. No longer hiding or sneaking, but walking proudly with Lenora and Jaime. Jaime and Lenora would alternate, one training with the men, the other practicing with Arya. Each of them teaching her things that the other couldn't. It was still out of the question, letting her fight against the Boltons. But after that afternoon she never let anyone take her sword again.

...

"My lady, Ser Jaime," Ser Justin called out to them one afternoon, approaching them quickly with two horses. "It's time to go."

Lenora glanced at the knight, the young Massey knight had quickly risen in her favor. She trusted him and his judgement. She liked him. But she did not take well to being ordered by him. "It's not yet evening," she argued. "We still have much to do."

"Our scouts spotted a Bolton rider," Ser Justin told them, his gaze falling on Jaime. He knew that Lenora might not be swayed, but her uncle would be. "Still a few miles out and he appears to be alone, but we won't take chances."

Lenora arched an eyebrow, "It seems that _I_ would be the one to take the chance, Ser Justin," she countered. "What if I want to risk it?"

The knight shook his head, pressing the reins of the first horse into her hand. "These men follow you, my lady. _I_ follow you, my lady. We would name you queen. We will not take a chance on our queen."

Jaime waited, thinking that she might argue with him still. But then his niece surprised him by turning toward Arya, "Arya," she called out to the young girl. "It's time we return to the castle. Ride with me?"

After Arya nodded and moved, somewhat reluctantly toward the horse Lenora turned back to Ser Justin, "See all the men safely returned to Castle Black," she ordered him as she climbed into the saddle.

Jaime stared at her as he helped give the young Stark girl a boost. Lenora smirked at him, waiting silently for the question she knew was coming. He climbed into his own saddle and they started to ride back toward the Wall before he spoke. "Who are you?" he asked the young woman riding beside him. "And what have you done with my headstrong, stubborn niece."

"I'm still here, Uncle Jaime," she told him, her smirk softening into a rueful twist of her lips, the ghost of a smile. She glanced down at Arya for a moment, cautious and unsure, "I saw Robb ignore the advice from his advisors many times," she told him. "I saw them turn on him. I saw him die for it." She shook her head, her grey eyes stormy and distant as she looked away from him. "I will not let him die in vain. _I_ will learn the lessons he should have."

...

The Bolton rider was so far out that it was evening before he arrived at Castle Black, carrying a white flag as a symbol of peace and delivering a letter for the Lord Commander. He had not been allowed past the courtyard and under Jon's instructions the Black Brothers had not offered him a bed in their keep as was the usual custom. They gave him a new horse and sent him toward Moletown to find a bed until he was ready for the return ride to Winterfell.

They had been inside the Lord Commander's chambers when the rider arrived. Lenora, Jaime, the Stark girls, the wench, Jon Snow, his Black Brother Edd, a giant red haired Wildling man named Tormund, and Ser Justin were all eating dinner, trying to pretend that they weren't all anxiously awaiting his arrival.

When the horn sounded, once for a rider he was informed, they all jumped. Even if they hadn't known that the rider came from Winterfell, he would have known the man was an enemy by the way Grey Wind began to growl. The wolf could smell the man from the chamber, and he did not trust him. That was enough for Jaime.

It was one of the men from the Knight's Watch, a steward who brought the scroll to them.

In their worry they were all eating quietly. At one point Edd glanced up across the table at the Stark girls. Arya seemed to have no problem with the food, she had persuaded Jon to practice swordplay with her in the courtyard that afternoon and she was tired, that paired with her anxiousness made her hungry. Sansa on the other hand, sitting between Arya and Lenora was picking at her food delicately, leaving most of it on her plate.

"I'm sorry about the food," Edd apologized to the eldest Stark sister. "It's not what we're known for."

"That's alright," Sansa told the man, smiling at him as her blue eyes swept toward Lenora, "there are more important things.

In the month they had spent at Castle Black the bruises had faded from Lenora's skin. The cuts on her face and her neck had healed with very little scaring. But there was a deep cut on her right collarbone that had not healed completely, and when it did there would be a raised scar. And sometimes after an afternoon of difficult sword play the back of Lenora's shirt would be wet and stained with blood from wounds on her back that she never let Jaime see, torn open again by her movements.

Yes, Lenora was a walking, talking, breathing reminder that there were much worse, much more important things than the bad food at Castle Black.

The steward knocked on the door before he entered, moving straight toward Jon Snow. "A letter for you, Lord Commander," he announced, holding out a sealed scroll to Jon.

"I'm not Lord Commander anymore," the young man told him. And then after a moment he took the scroll. Even if they hadn't been waiting for it all afternoon, it was easy to see why Jon took it. The seal was red, it bore the sigil of the flayed man. There were only two people at the table that letter could have been meant for.

He stared down at the seal for a moment, his dark eyes involuntarily lifting to gaze at Lenora before he slid the seal off the scroll and dropped it on the table, far out of her reach. Lenora took a deep shaky breath and forced a tight smile onto her lips, "We all know who it's from, Jon," she told the young man, her eyes never leaving the seal. "You don't need to hide it for my sake."

Jon stared at her for a moment longer before he sighed and unrolled the letter.

" _To the traitor and bastard, Jon Snow,_

 _You allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind. You have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard._

 _Come and see._

 _The false southern king is dead, bastard. He and all his host were smashed in seven days of battle. Their heads upon the walls of Winterfell._

 _Come and see._ "

He glanced up at Lenora, his eyes warm and sympathetic. She neither needed, nor wanted his sympathy. She waved at him to continue, no doubt waiting as Jaime was to see if Ramsay knew that she was there.

Jaime reached out for her under the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. She squeezed back, her nails digging into his skin with the effort to keep her hand from shaking.

Jon turned back to the letter.

" _Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon -_ "

Again Jon paused, this time his gaze landing on Sansa and Arya, his dark eyes wide. Sansa dropped her fork, no longer pretending to want to eat. Arya's fists clenched around her knife, the tiny, useless blade shaking in her hand.

Lenora groaned quietly, shaking her head and for a moment leaning into Jaime for support. "Theon," she groaned, finally realizing why the man who had helped her escape had not come with her. He had stayed behind for Rickon.

Jon turned back to the letter, starting again from the last line.

" _Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon. His Direwolf's fur is on my floor. The beast's head hangs on the wall in the Hall._

 _Come and see._

 _I want my bride back. Send her to me, bastard, and I will not trouble you or your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride north and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection._

 _You will watch as I skin them living, you will -_ "

He cut himself off, shaking his head and dropping the letter back to the table. Jaime could not blame him, he could barely stomach what he was hearing himself, he could hardly imagine having to read out loud.

"Go on," Lenora commanded him. Her voice no longer shook.

Jon shook his head again, pulling the letter as close to him as he could so that she couldn't see it. "It's just more of the same," he told her, his voice cold and dark.

Lenora let go of Jaime's hand and stood from her seat, leaning across the table so that she could grab the letter from him before she sat back down.

"Nora," Jon warned, his word a caution that she did not heed.

Her hands shook when she unrolled the parchment. But her voice was strong.

" _You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your good sister. Not even her one handed uncle will be able to save her. You will watch as I peel the skin from her body one piece at a time. You will watch as she suffers._

 _Come and see._

 _You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. You will watch when I turn your two younger sisters into my new toys. Then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest._

 _Come and see._

 _Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_."

Jaime turned to look at her, his mouth hanging open. She had told him several times not to think or worry about her time at Winterfell. She had sworn to him that it was not nearly as terrible as he wanted to imagine. But as he listened to everything Ramsay Bolton planned to do to not only Lenora, but the rest of his companions at the table he realized, bone deep, that for perhaps the first time in her life, Lenora had lied to him.

He began to wonder if it were even possible for him to imagine something worse than what Ramsay Bolton wanted to do to the girl sitting beside him.

Lenora cleared her throat and dropped the letter on the table.

"He has Rickon?" Sansa asked, looking between Jon and Lenora, tears filling her blue eyes.

"We don't know that," Jon told her softly.

" _Yes we do_ ," Lenora interrupted him. "It will do no good to lie to her, Jon. This whole time, since my escape, I have wondered why Theon did not come with me. Why he stayed behind. It was for Rickon. I wouldn't have left if I had known, he knew that."

"So a monster has our home and our brother?" Sansa asked, her eyes locked on Jon's face.

"And is calling himself by Father's titles," Arya added, her jaw tight.

The Wildling man turned to Lenora, "How many men does he have in his army?"

For a moment Lenora was quiet, thinking, "I heard him say five thousand once while talking about my uncle's attack," she told him. She turned to glance toward Jaime and Brienne. "There weren't many Bolton men on that battlefield."

"No," Jaime confirmed for her, shaking his head. He was having trouble speaking, he was still trying to process everything from the letter. His hand was shaking.

Jon turned toward the Wildling. "How many do you have?"

"That can march and fight?" the Wildling asked, his eyes moving across the table as he counted in his head. "Two thousand. The rest are children and old people."

Jaime watched as Jon's head dropped, his gaze on the table. He felt defeated, a feeling Jaime knew well. He leaned forward, rapping his fist against the table to get the boy's attention. "You are the son of the last true Warden of the North, boy," he told Jon. "Northern families are loyal, they will fight for you if you ask."

He seemed surprised to be getting encouragement from Jaime Lannister, but the boy nodded.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Sansa_

Jon was angry. The day before he had let Lenora, Ser Jaime, and Sansa herself convince him that they needed to take Winterfell back from Ramsay Bolton. But now, as they sat at a table, staring at a map of the North, marked with Ramsay's forces and their own he seemed to realize that it would be a difficult, near impossible task.

"We need more men," he growled, glaring down at the map as he walked away from the table.

Sansa lifted her gaze, it darting between Lenora and Jaime, waiting for one of them to speak up. Neither did, they were leaning into each other, their eyes glued to the map on the table, whispering to each other so quietly that their lips barely moved. Whatever they were discussing they were not ready to share with the others yet. It was Ser Davos, the smuggler turned knight turned Hand of the King and Stannis' closest advisor who spoke up.

"Aside from the Starks and the Boltons the most powerful Houses in the North are the Umbers, the Karstarks, and the Manderlys," he told them, pointing at the Houses respective keeps in turn. Sansa's lips turned up at the corners, the man had worked hard to earn his position as Stannis' Hand. There was absolutely no reason for a Southern smuggler to know the Great Northern Houses, but this man had. He reminded her a bit of Maester Luwin when he spoke.

He stood, reaching out for the rocks that had been painted with the Karstark sigil, "The Karstarks have already declared for the Boltons so we're not doing so well there."

Sansa's gaze darted to Jon, "The Karstarks killed Bran, as far as I am concerned, they can hang," she announced, her voice as hard as the men's around the table. She sighed then, "But they declared for the Boltons before they knew that they had another choice. They could redeem themselves -"

"Begging your pardon, my lady," Ser Davos interrupted her. "But they know that a Stark beheaded their father. I don't think they'll want to redeem themselves."

He had a point, Sansa could admit that. But she was not ready to back down yet. "How well do you know the North, Ser Davos?" she asked him.

"Precious little, my lady," the older man admitted.

She nodded, "My father always said that Northerners were different. More loyal, more suspicious of outsiders -"

"They may very well be loyal," Ser Davos interrupted her again. "But how many of them rose up against the Boltons when they betrayed your family?"

She had no answer for that. But Lenora did. "None of them," the princess whispered, pulling away from her uncle so that she could watch both Sansa and Jon, aware of how much her words would hurt them. "Not a single one. They didn't all declare for the Boltons like the Karstarks, but they didn't stand against them either. Their silence bought their safety. And that was more important than loyalty."

Ser Davos nodded, "I may not know the North, but I know _men,_ " Ser Davos told her. "They're more or less the same in every corner of the world. And even the bravest of them don't want to see their wives and children skinned for a lost cause. If Jon's going to convince them to fight along side him, he needs to convince them it's a fight they can win."

Ser Jaime leaned forward now, his golden hand landing on the map. "There are more than three Houses in the North," he suggested. "Glover, Mormont, Cerwyn, Mazin, Hornwood. And two dozen more. Together they equal all the others."

He glanced up at Jon, the gold hand still tapping the map, he nodded. Jon nodded as well, "We can start small and build," he agreed. "Many of the smaller houses would have escaped Ramsay's notice. He won't expect us to gather our strength there because he wouldn't do it that way."

"The North remembers," Sansa told them, nodding. "They remember the Stark name. People will still risk everything for it. From White Harbor to Ramsay's own door."

"I don't doubt it," Ser Davos told her, his eyes darting toward Jon. "But Jon doesn't have the Stark name."

"No," Lenora agreed. "But I do." She glanced across the table at Sansa, "And so does she. And Arya too." She turned to Jon. "Take us with you when you meet with the other Houses. Let us be a reminder of the House they have tried to forget."

Jon shook his head, "Len -" he started. Sansa knew that he wanted to involve them as little as possible. He was even hesitant about Lenora, though he had no chance of keeping her from the battle.

"I was their _queen_ , Jon," Lenora told him, standing from her seat. "They may be keeping their heads down and not pressing their luck against the Boltons. But they can't forget that. I was not born a Stark, but I chose to be one. I chose to be their queen. Bring me with you, let them stare at me, the queen they abandoned. Let me be a reminder of the king they couldn't save."

Jon sighed, still unhappy, but Sansa could already see in his eyes that he would agree. It was decided that they would leave Castle Black and travel to some of the smaller Northern Houses in two days time, it would be a small group, so as not to attract unwanted attention, but Sansa and Arya would be part of it.

As they left the hall to start making their arrangements Lenora moved to stand beside Sansa. "You did well," the older girl told her. "Much better than I did at my first war council."

Sansa shook her head, "He wouldn't have listened to me if it weren't for you," she admitted, watching Jon as he, Ser Davos, Tormund, and Ser Jaime left the room together, still talking quietly. "I will always bee a little girl in his eyes."

Lenora shook her head, "Then make him listen to you," she suggested. "You didn't sound like a little girl to me."

Sansa scoffed, "Please don't say that I sounded like a younger you," she joked as they started to leave the room.

Lenora watched her for a moment, her grey eyes a shade darker, a rueful smile settling on her lips. "I wouldn't have," she finally admitted. "I thought you sounded -" she cut herself off and shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"Who?" Sansa asked, suddenly sure that it did _matter_. "Who did I sound like?"

"My mother," Lenora told her quietly. "You sounded like Cersei."

For a moment Sansa felt bile rising in her throat. The last person in the Seven Kingdoms that she wanted to be compared to was Cersei Lannister. The woman was horrible, she was a vile monster who didn't care about anything and anyone except her own family. She was cold and calculating and evil. She was callous and cruel, and so - _intelligent_. The bile was back, this time in response to her own thoughts. She did not want to think that even a part of her respected anything about Cersei Lannister. "I learned a great deal from her," she admitted, her voice quiet and timid.

She glanced up at Lenora, expecting to see judgement or anger, it was what she would have seen if she had had the conversation with Arya, but Lenora's face was soft, sympathetic. She nodded, "My mother is very good with those," she admitted in a whisper. "The lessons." She was quiet for a moment, still staring at Sansa as if searching for something. "But take care that you don't learn them too well," she warned.

Sansa nodded. Lenora watched her for a moment longer before she turned to leave the hall. Sansa followed behind, but instead of going to the chamber she shared with Arya she turned to head toward the maester's chambers. There was no maester at Castle Black now, but there were still ravens and parchment and quills.

And if she had finally come to terms with the fact that a part of her respected Cersei Lannister she might as well start using the lessons she had learned under the terrible queen. And one of the things Cersei had taught her was that she didn't need to like someone or even trust them to use them. All that mattered was that she had leverage.

...

The great hall on Bear Island was smaller than Sansa would have imagined. It was dark, light streaming in from only one window, and empty. When she, Jon, Lenora, and Ser Davos entered the hall they equaled the number of Mormont men. Ser Jaime had wanted to come too, but Lenora had thought it better that they not bring a Lannister knight to any of their proceedings.

They had sent ravens to all the Lesser Northern Houses. And as of yet, House Mormont had been the only one to respond.

The Lady of the House, a young girl of perhaps nine was seated in the High Seat between her maester and Master of Arms. And she did not look happy to see them.

"Lady Mormont," Jon greeted her, inclining his head.

She stared at him for a moment, the corners of her lips drawn down into a frown. "Welcome to Bear Island," she told them, her gaze landing on each visitor in turn, though not looking particularly welcoming. She said nothing more, leaving her visitors to feel awkward and uncomfortable, scrambling for something to say to fill the silence and make the young girl more inclined to listen to their plea.

Jon turned, glancing at Sansa, his eyes wide, silently asking her for help. Sansa swallowed and nodded, "I remember when you were born, my lady," she said softly, smiling at the girl though she got little encouragement in return. "You were named for my aunt Lyanna. It is said she was a great beauty, I'm sure you will be too -"

"I doubt it," the little lady interrupted her, her voice stern. "My mother wasn't a great beauty, or any other kind of beauty. She was a great warrior though. She died fighting for your brother Robb."

The smile died on Sansa's lips as Lyanna turned toward Jon. An eyebrow raised, silently waiting for his attempt at changing her mind. Sansa glanced at Jon, her own eyes wide this time.

"I served under your uncle at Castle Black, Lady Lyanna," Jon started. "He was also a great warrior and an honorable man. I was his steward. In fact I -"

"I think we've had enough small talk," Lyanna interrupted again. Her voice just as hard and unfriendly as it had been when she spoke to Sansa. "Why are you here?"

Jon hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Stannis Baratheon garrisoned at Castle Black before he marched on Winterfell and was killed. He showed me the letter you wrote to him when he petitioned for men. It said -"

"I remember what it said," Lyanna snapped at him, impatient as only a child pretending to be an adult could be. It was a tone that Sansa knew she had used often as a child herself. " _Bear Island knows no King, but the King in the North, whose name is Stark_."

Jon was quiet for a moment, stilled by such loyal words from such a young girl. "Robb is gone," he told Lyanna, Sansa watched as his dark eyes shifted to look at Lenora as he said the words as well. "But House Stark is not. And it needs your support now more than ever. I've come with my sisters to ask for House Mormont's allegiance." He gestured toward Sansa and Lenora in turn.

Lyanna watched him for a moment before she leaned toward her maester, whispering to him before turning back, her stubborn gaze on Sansa again. "Lady Sansa is a Lannister," she told Jon, her gaze turning toward Lenora for the first time since their group had entered the hall. "And Lady Lenora is a Baratheon, or perhaps a Bolton. I've heard conflicting reports."

Sansa took a step forward, angry on both their behalf. "We did what we needed to survive," she defended. "But I am a Stark. I will always be a Stark."

Lyanna seemed almost bored by Sansa's defense. She turned to look at Lenora, her brows still raised. "And you have nothing to say for yourself, Lady Lenora?" she asked.

Lenora watched her for a moment, no doubt debating what she should say. "The first time I met your mother she was yelling at Robb," she told the young girl, her lips tugging up at the corners at the memory. Sansa wanted to interrupt her, she wanted to tell Lenora that going the sentimental route with this girl would not work, but it was too late, Lyanna was watching her too closely for her to stop now. "Robb had called all the banners and he thought to give your mother an order. She told him that he was young enough to be her grandson and had no business giving her commands, but she had a granddaughter she would be willing to have him marry. She was a She-Bear through and through and _so_ strong. Your sister Dacey was the same way, Dacey was part of Robb's personal guard and one of the few people I trusted to keep him alive and safe on the battlefield."

She was quiet for a moment, watching Lyanna carefully. The princess seemed surprised that the girl hadn't interrupted her yet. "Your mother and sister fought for what they believed in - a North, no longer ruled by a southern king, but by a Stark. They died for that belief. Now, Jon Snow might not bear the name Stark, but he has Ned Stark's blood running through his veins. He has Robb Stark's blood running through his veins. If you wish for your mother and your sister to die in vain, then by all means send us away. But if you want their deaths to mean anything at all, then give Jon your allegiance."

The girl turned her gaze on Jon. "You don't want just my allegiance though, you want my fighting men."

Jon nodded, "Ramsay Bolton cannot be allowed to continue to hold Winterfell, my lady," he told her. "What you must understand is -"

"I understand that I am responsible for every man, woman, and child on Bear Island," Lyanna interrupted. "Tell me, why should I risk one more Mormont life on someone else's war."

Jon stilled, turning to look at first Sansa and then Lenora, hoping that one of them could explain it to her. His gaze lingered on Lenora, the only one to be able to finish her statement with the young girl. But it was Ser Davos who spoke up, stepping forward into the young girl's view. "If it please, my lady, I understand how you feel."

Lyanna shook her head, "I don't know you. Ser?"

"Davos, my lady, of House Seaworth." Davos smiled as Lyanna leaned toward her maester again. "You needn't ask your maester about my House, my Lady, it's rather new."

She turned back to him and nodded, "Very well, Ser Davos of House Seaworth. How is it you know how I feel?"

"You never imagined you would find yourself in your current position," he told her, seeming more sure of himself as he continued to speak. "To be responsible for so many lives at such a young age. I never imagined myself in my position. I was a crabber's son, then I was a smuggler, and now I find myself addressing the Lady of a Great House in time of war. But I'm here because this isn't _someone else's_ war. It's ours _._ It's his war," he nodded toward Jon. "And hers," he nodded toward Lenora. "And the Lady Sansa's. And yours as well, my lady."

Lyanna raised a silent eyebrow, _go on_. Ser Davos nodded, "As long as House Bolton holds Winterfell the North is divided," he told the girl. "You are responsible for every life on Bear Island and yet you still hold loyal to House Stark. Ramsay Bolton will not let that stand for long. He will come for you as he will for every other House in the North that defies him or remains quietly loyal to House Stark. For now, he is weakened by his battle with Stannis Baratheon, but that will not be the case for long. Join us to fight for him now and we will return the North to the way it was, safe and proud and loyal to the Stark name."

Lyanna stared at the four of them for a moment before her dark eyes moved to Jon. "House Mormont has kept the faith with House Stark for a thousand years," she told him. She paused, watching them. Sansa crossed her fingers behind the folds of her dark gown, waiting. "We will not break faith today."

Beside her she heard Jon release a shaky breath that he had been holding. She felt her lips turn up at the corners. When she glanced at Lenora, the princess was smirking. Jon stepped forward, his head bowed, "Thank you, my lady," he told her emphatically. He paused, not wanting to seem ungrateful and unpracticed in the ways of diplomacy, but then he asked, "How many fighting men can we expect?"

This time when Lyanna turned, it was not to her maester, but to her master-at-arms. They whispered for a moment before she nodded and returned her gaze to Jon. "Sixty-two," she told him, her voice leaving little room for argument.

Jon's brows furrowed, his face fell, "Sixty-two?" he echoed. Sansa sighed, it was even less than Lenora's eighty men. And would help very little against Ramsay's five thousand.

"We are not a large House, but we are a proud one!" Lyanna defended. "And every man from Bear Island fights with the strength of ten mainlanders!"

"If they're half as ferocious as their lady the Boltons are doomed," Ser Davos cut in, soothing the young girl.

She smiled.

Lenora chuckled as their party left the Hall. Sansa looked at her, "What is so funny?" she asked, leaning in closer to the princess so that they could whisper without anyone else hearing them.

Lenora was still laughing softly, "I cannot wait for her to meet Arya."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Their arrival at Deepwood Mott was met with even less welcome as their initial arrival on Bear Island. The new Lord Glover wouldn't even let them past the courtyard. He did not give Jon a chance to plead their case. He stared at them, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. "The answer is _no_ ," he growled at them before Jon could even open his mouth. "We've only just taken back this castle from the Ironborn. The Boltons helped us do it. Now you want me to fight against them?" He shook his head, "I could be skinned for even talking to you."

"The Boltons are traitors," Jon argued. " _Roose Bolton_ -"

"What other Northern Houses have pledged to fight for you?" Lord Glover interrupted. The entire time he spoke he made a point to keep his gaze on Jon. He barely looked at Sansa. He never looked at Lenora.

"House Mormont," Jon told the man honestly.

"And?" Lord Glover pushed.

Jon sighed, "We've sent ravens to Houses Manderly -"

"I don't care about ravens," Lord Glover interrupted. "You're asking me to join your army. Who is fighting in this army?"

Jon glanced at Lenora, silently asking her what he should tell the older man. Lenora shook her head, _whatever you do don't mention the -_ "The bulk of the force is made up of wildlings," Jon answered the man, saying exactly what Lenora had not wanted him to.

Lord Glover laughed, low and dark, biting and bitter. "Then the rumors are true," he mused. "I didn't dare believe them." He stared at Jon for a moment and the next time he spoke his words were softer, his tone almost kinder, but it still held the bite it had carried since the beginning of their meeting. "I agreed to meet with you out of respect for your father. Now I would like you to leave. House Glover will not abandon its ancestral home to fight alongside _wildlings_."

He turned and started to walk away when Sansa stopped him, angry. "I would remind you that House Glover is pledged to House Stark," she told him sharply. Lenora reached out, trying to silence the girl, but Lord Glover had already turned around to face her. "Sworn to answer when called upon."

"Yes," Lord Glover told Sansa, glaring at her. To the girl's credit, she did not back down. "My family has served House Stark for centuries. We wept when we heard of your father's death. When my brother was lord of this castle he answered Robb's call and hailed him _King in the North_."

Now he turned, his glare landing on Lenora. "And where was King Robb when the Ironborn came for this castle? When they threw my wife and daughters in prison? And brutalized and raped our subjects?" He scoffed, his eyes still on Lenora. "Taking up with his Lannister bride and getting himself and those who followed him killed. We served House Stark, but House Stark is dead."

Lenora shook her head. She had not asked for the man's tirade and anger, but since a good deal of it had been centered on her she would answer it so that Sansa did not have to. "House Stark is not dead, Lord Glover," she told him, lifting her chin so that she could stare the man in the eye. "Any more than House Glover was when the Ironborn held Deepwood Mott. I am sorry Robb was not able to help you take back your keep, I am sorry that it was the Boltons who did so, but I can promise you that winter is coming for the enemies of House Stark, and if I were you I would not want to be one of them."

The man scoffed, "And are you going to deal it, my lady?" he asked her, picking up on her use of the Stark's words as a threat. His gaze drifted toward Jon, "If the boy were smart he would keep you far from the battlefield. You were King Robb's down fall. And war is not a game for a woman to play."

Lenora shook her head, "You say that war is not a woman's game, Lord Glover, but you have seen me at war. I know how to play. I learned from the best. _You_ may not think it is a game for women, but you will watch me play it. And I promise you, I will be better at it than the Boltons."

...

They were waiting for him in a field just north of Winterfell. Lenora had not realized that her uncle's forces had pressed so close to the keep during their battle - she had found Stannis miles from here. She could see Winterfell in the distance. If Stannis had been successful she would not have had to escape from Ramsey. She and Rickon would already be free.

Now she was back, staring at the group of riders approaching from the keep. She was on a horse, between Jon and Jaime. Behind her Bronn, Tormund, Lyanna Mormont, Ser Davos, and Ser Justin. They had left the girls with Brienne and Sandor and the majority of their force at their camp in the Wolf's Wood. The wolves were there too. When they had saddled up earlier that day to meet Ramsay and his men outside of Winterfell Grey Wind had moved to her side, prepared to travel with her. _No_ , she had told the wolf, speaking to him as she would speak to a man. _You must stay here. Protect the girls_.

The wolf had whined, both an angry and disappointed sound. But he had listened to her.

Now, as she watched Ramsay approach she regretted her decision. She wished she had brought the wolf with her.

"You don't have to be here," Jon told her, his voice soft and full of concern, his eyes never leaving the approaching party.

" _Yes_ ,I do," Lenora argued. She hoped that, perhaps, her presence would shake Ramsay, leave him feeling nervous. Though as the riders got closer she realized that it was _she_ that was shaken. Her fists clenched around her reins as she fought every instinct to turn around and ride away from this meeting as fast as her horse could take her.

 _He was riding Casterly_.

"Len," Jaime started, no doubt recognizing her horse.

"Not now, Uncle Jaime," she interrupted him. Her eyes narrowing as three riders separated from the rest of Ramsay's small group and continued to approach them. It was Ramsay and two Karstark men. "Later, if you must, but not now."

When Ramsay reined Casterly, his pale blue eyed gaze landed on Lenora first. The dark horse recognized her, pulling against the reins slightly in an attempt to get closer to her. Ramsay yanked the reins back sharply. "My beloved wife," he sneered at her, smirking as Lenora winced at the sound of his voice. "I've missed you terribly." Then he turned, his gaze drifting between Jon and Jaime, taking in their tense postures, their clenched jaws. His smirk widened and his blue eyes sparkled, he was enjoying this. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely," he told them, no doubt laughing to himself at the great joke of it all. "Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and declare me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." His gaze fell solely on Jon. "I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my House."

He was met with silence and glares, none darker than Lyanna Mormont's.

He sighed, his voice softening, "Come, _bastard_ ," he entreated Jon, as if he too weren't the bastard son of a Lord. "You don't have the men. You don't have the horses. And you don't have Winterfell. Why lead these poor souls into slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel." His gaze drifted to Lenora, "As my wife can tell you, I am a man of mercy."

Jon nodded, turning his own head to study Lenora for a moment. "I've heard all about your version of _mercy,_ " he told Ramsay, bringing his gaze forward again. "I believe we differ on the meaning of the word. But you are right, there is no need for a battle. And thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us." He paused for a moment, staring Ramsay down. "Let's end this the old way. You against me."

Lenora turned her head sharply, watching Jon for a moment. When discussing and planning this meeting he had never suggested doing this. She thought him smarter than that. Ramsay would never agree to it. He _had_ to know that.

She heard Ramsay scoff, laughing to himself. "I keep hearing stories about you, _bastard_. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked." He paused and shook his head, "Maybe you are _that_ good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I _know_ that my army would beat yours. I have six thousand men. You have ... what?" he paused, his brows furrowed. "Half that? Not even?"

"Aye," Jon agreed with a nod, and an almost smile. He was better at this, the taunting, than he had been at diplomacy. Lenora wondered if it was just that he was finally angry enough. "You are right, you have the numbers." His gaze left Ramsay to search out the two Karstark men. "But will your men still want to fight for you when they hear that you weren't willing to fight for them?"

There was a moment of silence when Ramsay realized what had just happened. Lenora sighed quietly. Jon had known all along that Ramsay wouldn't agree to it. He had wanted the Karstarks to know that Ramsay did not care if they lived or died as long as _he_ won. Ramsay's silence was all the answer they needed. He scoffed, his jaw clenched. He didn't like it. He had come to play games with them, and right now he was beaten. His gaze landed on Lenora as he pointed toward Jon. "He's good," he told her, as if they were playing a friendly game. His tone did not match his eyes. "Very good."

His pale eyes drifted back to Jon. "But tell me, will you let your little brother die because you were too proud to surrender?"

It was Jaime who spoke up from her right. "How do we know you have him?" he drawled out. Jaime was better at playing Ramsay's game than Jon was. Though as Lenora turned slightly to look at her uncle from the corner of her eye she could see how tightly his left hand was clenched around his reins. His eyes and his jaw were tight. He wanted to kill Ramsay as much as Jon.

She supposed they both wanted to kill the bastard about half as much as she did.

"Don't," she whispered, unsure if she was warning Jaime not to push him to prove anything, or begging Ramsay not to murder another Stark boy in front her.

The young man's pale eyes landed on her face, the right corner of his lips tugging up into a smirk. He was feeling in control again. Jaime's question and Lenora's whispered plea had put him back on top. "You could ask my wife," he told them, his smirk widening when Lenora visibly flinched at the word _wife_. "She knows full well that I am a man of my word. But -" he paused and turned toward the Karstark with a nod.

The bannerman did not take his eyes off of the group from the Wall as he reached back and untied his saddlebag before he threw it across the empty space toward them. The bag was open and as it bounced on the ground something large and black fell out of it. The object bounced on its own for a moment before it came to a rest, right side up, dark eyes staring blankly up at the sky, mouth pulled back in a snarl. _Shaggydog._

That was all the proof they needed.

The wild direwolf would never have been separated from the boy. If Ramsay had Shaggydog, he had Rickon too.

He was enjoying this. She could see it in the way his pale blue eyes moved from her face to Jon's and back again, as if all of this were a joke. "Now," he drawled out, "if you wish to save -"

Lenora could not hear anymore. She would not listen to him lie about their chances of saving Rickon. She loved the little boy, but there was no way that Ramsay was ever going to let them get him back. "You're going to die tomorrow, Ramsay," she interrupted him, her voice sounding hard and cold as it cut across the open space between them.

She glanced up at him, her jaw clenched, as his gaze fell on her again. His smirk was failing him. She very deliberately reached up and ran her thumb across her face. From under her left eye, across the bridge of her nose, to her right cheek - following the exact path of the scar she had given him for a wedding gift. They were two far away from each other for her to see it now, but she knew it was there. And she knew it bothered him. He sat up straighter, his jaw clenching. She smirked and inclined her head to him, a proper lady, like Sansa. "Sleep well," she told him.

And then, as if he were no longer worth her time she pulled on the reins and turned her horse around, falling out of line and riding back toward their camp. Jon and the rest of the men could stay and trade insults with Ramsay longer if they wished. But she would not.

She heard another horse behind her, no doubt her uncle there to comfort her. She shook her head, "You shouldn't have followed me, Uncle Jaime," she told him without looking back at him. Her voice sounded bitter even to her own ears. "Ramsay will already be delighted that I ran away, I don't need him thinking that I need my uncle to come take care of me."

"Then good thing I'm not your uncle," she heard Bronn say from behind her. His voice was light and teasing and, she realized, exactly what she wanted to hear at the moment. If Jaime or Jon had followed her she would have had to deal with their cautious glances, their gentle voices, the way they would treat her like she was made of glass and would break at any moment. But Bronn, he would joke and tease her and treat just as he had before they met Ramsay.

She forced her lips into a smile. "Jaime send you to check on me?" she asked the older man as he nudged his horse forward to ride next to her rather than behind her.

Bronn shook his head as he lifted his gaze toward the sky, a smile working its way onto his weathered face. "I was just tired of looking at that fucker's smug face," he told her, bringing his gaze back to her. "I know that I'm no looker, but how could you stand seeing _that_ every day, my lady?"

"I couldn't," she told him honestly. "It made me sick." She paused for a moment, a true smile spreading across her lips. "Though it was easier with the scar."

Bronn raised his eyebrows, "He hadn't always had that scar across his face?" the sellsword asked.

Lenora shook her head, feeling the insane urge to laugh in spite of their current circumstances. "No," she told the man. "I gave him that as a wedding gift."

Bronn let out a whistle, "And the whole time we rode north, you uncle had me believing you were some helpless maiden, locked in a tower. He never told me that you could take care of yourself."

She finally turned to look at the man riding beside her. There was a certain respect and almost pride shining in his eyes. One she had never seen before. She smiled. "I wasn't completely helpless," she told him. "But I needed the two of you."

Bronn seemed somewhat uncomfortable with her sincerity. He nodded and looked away from her, his gaze landing on the woods before them. "Do me a favor, Princess?" he asked her. Lenora nodded, silently waiting for him to tell her what the favor was. "Tomorrow during the battle, show the bastard who he was playing with and do your best to give that fucker another scar."

Lenora smiled. "Oh," she told him with a determined nod. "I'll give him more than one."

Bronn chuckled, low and deep. "That's a girl," he praised her.

Lenora turned to face forward, the smile slipping from her face the moment she had turned away from Bronn. She meant it, she would try to give Ramsay more than another scar. She was certain of it. But there were so many things that she was uncertain about when it came to the battle the next day. They didn't have the numbers, Ramsay did. Their victory was in no way certain. There was only one thing that she was truly certain of - if they lost, she would not go back to Ramsay alive.

* * *

Author's Note:

And I'm back! Thank you so much my friends for all of your patience and support! You guys are fantastic and without a doubt some of the most fantastic readers on this site. (And I truly mean that!)  
Thank you so much for stopping by and reading! (And hopefully enjoying this chapter!) Thank you for adding this story to your favorites and alerts lists! But most of all, thank you for the reviews, you know how much I love them!

 _ZatoShadow:_ That is a good question. I haven't entirely decided if I am going to address the story of Jon's true parentage in this story. Call it creative liberty, but this story focuses on Lenora and Robb. It could get messy if I start playing with Jon being a Targaryen, especially considering that I have largely ignored the Targaryens for most of this story.

 _ZabuzasGirl:_ Where's the Hound? Still around. He's coming into play soon, I promise. :) Thank you for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter!

 _JanaOliver:_ I am ridiculously excited that your shrieked when you saw that I updated and I am selfishly hoping that you did so again when you saw this update! I'm very glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that this one continued in the tradition of not disappointing you!

 _guest (1):_ I did spoil you guys! And it was a good thing, since it turned out that I didn't update during my last week off. That's the universe, looking out for my update schedule, I suppose. I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ Aww! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. It's wonderful to hear that it was one of the best ones I had written yet because it is definitely one of my favorite ones so I'm happy to hear that you guys enjoyed it so much too! Thank you so much for your review my friend! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter (almost) as much as the last!

 _RHatch89:_ I can't wait for the Battle either! It's all finished and just waiting to be edited. And I cannot wait for you guys to read it! (And for Ramsay's death. But I finished the chapter after the battle this morning and there's a death in that chapter as well ... and I didn't realize it until after I had written it that I am now even more excited for that second death. You guys will see why shortly!)

 _RainbowLabs:_ Aww! I'm so glad that you're enjoying not only this story but my others as well! Thank you so much for stopping by and writing a review! That really means a lot. When I started this story I figured that I would catch some flack for keeping the Red Wedding in, but the way I figure it, that was going to happen no matter what, I just hoped that I could work some magic and make it a little less painful in the long run. And I hope I managed to do that! I also hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _HPuni101:_ You are more than welcome for the additional update. I'm so glad that you guys enjoyed it! The girls are finally safe with Jon, but this is GoT and this is me, so they won't be completely safe and happy for long! So enjoy it while you can! As for the Nigh King, I'm pretty sure I'm going to keep that out of the story for long. Maybe once it's finished and I've had some time away from Lenora and Robb (and if season 8 really inspires me) I might write a sequel and include the Night King and his army, but I'm not making any promises on that front. As for Jon and Jaime, they've got a bit of a truce right now, Jaime did help bring his sisters to the Wall, and Jon is smart enough to realize that in the grand scheme of things ... Jaime is not his enemy.

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ That's a good thing to be thinking about. I just wrote a Cersei point of view this morning and it got me super excited for when Lenora and Cersei meet again. Once I've finished with BotB maybe I will start a countdown to that reunion. Thank you so much for your review!

 _StarkTeller:_ Haha! I'm glad that I caught you by surprise with the update! And you flatter me by calling it a work of art! Thank you, friend!  
Season six was fantastic! Season seven was alright in comparison, but season six will always be my favorite, I think. (After season one which of course got me hooked on the show that I was convinced would never be as good as the books, but somehow turned out to be just as good as the books!)  
From time to time I had people ask how Robb actually made it out of the castle, so I've had it in my head for a while that when he finally ran into Tyrion he would explain it. And of course while he was crawling out, he was thinking of Lenora! Oh the accent!  
Yeah, I'm going to be really sad if the show doesn't give us at least five solid minutes of Jon and Arya reunion! We need it! But I'm worried that with the show speeding up as it reaches the end that they'll gloss over it and break my heart. We'll have to see.  
As for your special request. I laughed out loud when I read that! I never like Talisa either, though I don't know if I'll make her a spy in this story. I have so much left to do that I don't know where I would fit her in!

 _celinesLineC-Line:_ I'm glad you stuck around and that you think I write well. I know for a great deal of the story I stuck tight with the show and the book. It was a comfort blanket for me, GoT is so big and intricate that I wanted to make sure that I was completely comfortable with the characters before I jumped in.  
For the most part, people really seemed to enjoy it. I'm sorry you did not. But I'm glad that you stuck around and are enjoying it now. Thank you so much for your patience and faith!

 _sltsky96:_ Two updates! I was on fire! And then I lost it on my last week off. But here I am with a new chapter and the hope that I can make it up to you guys!  
I'm so glad that Tyrion and Robb are everything you've ever needed! One of my favorite things is to not only take relationships that the show stops short, but also relationships that no one is really expecting and flesh them out into something that I hope is surprising and entertaining. It's good to see that it's working!  
A great deal of Sansa's storyline was given to Lenora. Partially because it made sense with the addition of Lenora, (why would Bolton take Sansa when he could have a princess?) but also because I did not want to do that to Sansa, she's a child. I couldn't. As much as I love Lenora, she's a grown woman and much stronger than Sansa was so I knew that she could handle it. And I _knew_ that once she escaped Ramsay her resolve would be to get an army and fuck shit up, but I don't know if she would have made that decision if she hadn't suffered at the hand of the Boltons first. So an evil, but a necessary one.  
And I'm glad that you're enjoying Jon and Lenora's relationship. He was on the fringe at the beginning of the story, but I am a sucker for Jon Snow. And I knew that he'd play a part because of what I was going to put Lenora through. Plus, it will be easier for her to believe that Robb came back to life after she already heard it from Jon. Totally selfish plot driven relationship as well!

 _Gina2:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed it!

 _Guest1995:_ Aww! I even enjoy the chapters where I kill off beloved characters. I now have a complete understanding of why so many characters die in GoT. It's kind of fun! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter though and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well (no one died!)  
I'm excited for when Lenora and Gendry meet too! It's going to be a bit, but I guess everything is happening in "the next couple of chapters" now ... we've got less than ten left now. Woah! That's a trip!  
As for your side story suggestions. I know at least one is going to make it into the story (Lenora and the Queen of Thorns) the others will probably be published after this story is finished as a separate project. I've written bits and pieces of them when I was suffering from the dreaded writer's block, but not enough to publish yet.

 _LokiLova:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! Thank you so much for your review! There will be a Lenora/Robb reunion soon. (With only ten chapters left, everything is _soon_ now!)

 _Maddy:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last two chapters and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well! No Melisandre in this one, but she will make another appearance. After BotB Lenora is pretty done taking shit from people (as you guys will see) and she becomes aware of what happened to her cousin then.

 _myafroatemydog:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!

 _Gamemaster77:_ I love reading your reviews! Thank you so much for them! And I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I'll keep my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this one as well!  
And I am super happy that you picked up on that little tidbit from Tyrion and Robb's game of questions. Robb's escape was credited as much to his stubbornness and love for Lenora as it is to Walder Frey getting wrapped up in the chaos and forgetting the entire point of his betrayal. As for their relationship, it will be strained, but you are right, Tyrion will be the first to get rid of any harsh feelings, he's a bit more understanding than Robb will ever be.  
I'm so glad you enjoyed, "THE REUNION THAT WAS PROMISED" that will forever be my unofficial name for chapter 74! I'm so glad that you enjoyed it. I had to make sure to focus on Jon and Arya because I'm terrified that the show will fuck it up. Time's moving faster in the show now and they have so much to cover in like 8 episodes? That I'm afraid things like reunions between Stark ... cousins will just get lost in it all. I would not let that happen in this story.  
The conversation between Jon and Lenora was terrifying to publish. I loved it, but I was worried that I wouldn't do it as much justice as it deserved. So I'm happy to hear that it hit all the right notes. As for Jon and Lenora, if Robb hadn't lived they might have become a match, but it would have taken a while. After Ramsay Lenora would have been cautious, even with someone like Jon. and Jon is so loyal to Robb that he would have seen marrying Lenora as some sort of duty. And that is not a future I wanted for either of them. So I settled on them having a very brother/sister relationship.  
As for the final chapter, I suppose heartbroken and somewhat satisfied is exactly how I want you guys to feel! So I hope I deliver!

 _ambersnowflake:_ Aww! Two reviews from you! (three if you count that review from chapter fifteen when you decided that you hated Robb Stark ... I'm glad you don't still hate him!) Thank you so much for reading this story. And thank you so much more for your reviews! I loved them!  
Your cuss filled review made me so happy! And if this were an actual book that got published I would definitely use that review as one of those "blurbs" they put on the back to make people read the book, you know?  
I'm so glad that you understand why I stuck close to the canon. I love Lenora, but any changes she makes to the story are going to be subtle. She's not going to stop any of the major plot points, but that at the end, when you step back and look at it as a whole you realize that she did change things, one person at a time.  
And that statement, "You understood that Lenora herself would finally decide her own fate, after everything. Even if Robb is to return, her road is now set." Fuck! YOU GET IT! And I love that! I've said since the beginning that this story was very much a "the princess saves herself" story and now you guys get to see where I've been leading this story the whole time!  
And I am so glad you're enjoying it.  
As for Jon being legitimized? I finished that conversation this morning. So you will see it very soon!

 _Bik:_ Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _GoldenKeeper2567:_ You're welcome! I am so glad that you enjoyed this story and that it brought you all the emotions that I have been hoping to bring you guys! And thank you for taking the time to tell me! I hope that you continue to enjoy this story!

 _Guest (2):_ I really love when my readers cuss in their reviews because they can't find the words to express how much they like it! Thank you so much for your review! And you're welcome!

 _WildThing:_ Aww! Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you thought the last chapter was amazing and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. As for my day job? No, I'm not a writer or a publisher and I don't get paid to write. :) But it is very encouraging to hear that I write well enough that you think I do!

 _chibichibi98:_ I'm glad that you liked the first reunion and I can't wait for you to read about the others. As to it happening before the BotB ... you will have to see.

 _Anna B:_ Your review was like a book! And I loved it! Thank you so much for not only taking the time to read this story, but then writing that massive review! It really made my day! And I love that you enjoy the multiple points of view. I got that idea from the books. I loved how GRRM managed to puzzle all of these characters together to form a cohesive story that could make you sympathize with all the characters, even the ones you didn't particularly want to. And I knew when I sat down to write this story that I wanted to do that too.  
Besides, there are so many important events that shaped Lenora's story that began with someone else. I wanted to make sure that I was able to do justice to the complex, interconnected world that is GoT and I am so glad to read that I am somewhat doing that!  
I wish I could respond to everything in your review, but it was just so big that I can't do it justice here. Just know that I read every word and I appreciated all of it! (Especially when you picked up on the fact that Lenora says _just so_ just like Cinderella ... it was a little easter egg that I have been hoping people would pick up on!)  
Thank you so much for your review! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _FoxFables:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad that you like the story! And believe me, I can't wait for all the reunions too! I'm rather impatient about it!  
Long live the Queen! _yes!_

That's all I've got for now, my friends. Thank you so much!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	76. Chapter Seventy-Six: Four Arrows

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

This whopper of a chapter, **11,300 words** (before the author's note at the end) is for my friend **StarkTeller**. You may recognize her as the lovely soul who has now posted **two** fan videos for this story on youtube, but her birthday is also this week. I wanted to make sure I got this published before then. Happy birthday, friend!

Just as a warning, though I don't think anything in this chapter is particularly gruesome (I have a strong stomach and a tendency to watch SAW movies when I can't sleep so I might be biased) I will warn you that this chapter is the BotB so it will involve quite a bit of blood.  
In particular, someone will die during the **third** POV and then during the **last**. Be prepared for both!

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Six: Four Arrows_

 _Jaime_

"Do you think Ramsay will try to attack us tonight?" The boy posed the question once he and the others had returned to camp after meeting with Ramsay. It was dark outside, already late, and the tent was filled with the members of his war council. Ser Davos from the South, Tormund the Wildling, Jaime, Lenora, and even little Lyanna Mormont who had stubbornly refused to be left out. They were gathered around the table where Jon had laid out the battle plan for the next morning. His dark eyes lifted from the map and landed on Jaime. "Do you think he'll try to catch us by surprise?"

The corner's of Jaime's lips turned up into a smirk. "It is what I would do," he told the boy honestly. "It's what I tried to do with your brother once, but he set the trap better than I did." His gaze fell on Lenora, silently wondering how she would handle the reminder of the night Robb had captured him. Her shoulders were tense, but that was the only sign of discomfort. He turned his gaze on Jon again. "But I don't think the bastard will," he told the boy. "When you already have the larger force, surprising your enemy in the middle of the night makes you appear weak."

Ser Davos nodded, "It's not his way," he agreed. Jaime turned toward him, the old man had surprised him over the last month. For a man who had never been a true knight and had very little in the form of proper schooling, he was smart in the ways of battle. He could understand why Stannis had relied so much on the man. "He knows the North is watching," Davos continued. "He'll want to give them a show. And as Ser Jaime said, attacking us under the cover of darkness shows weakness. If the other Houses sense it, they will stop fearing him. He can't have that, _fear_ is his power."

"It's his weakness too," Jon agreed. "His men don't want to fight for him. They're forced to fight for him. If they feel the tide turning -"

Jaime felt Lenora stiffen beside him, a silent indication that she disagreed with Jon's statement. "The Karstarks are not _forced_ to fight for him," she interrupted, not only silently disagreeing with Jon now. "If given the choice between fighting for you and fighting for Ramsay, even if the odds were better, even if the odds were in our favor - they would chose Ramsay. Harald Karstark will never choose the brother of the man who killed his father."

Jon turned to her, "But his brothers," he started. "Harrion and Torrhen they -"

"I killed them," Jaime admitted, his voice quiet, and yet hard as steel. "Slid my sword through the throat of one of them. Cut off the other one's arm." He knew he was being callous, but it was the way he had always dealt with battle, keeping it at a safe distance, taunting the dead, if only to keep himself from feeling guilty for what he had done. "Don't know which was which, I didn't care at the time."

Lenora nodded, she wasn't as callous as Jaime, but she understood, "And then Lord Rickard and his men killed Willem and Martyn Lannister, two little boys, as revenge for Jaime killing his sons. And then Robb beheaded Lord Rickard. It goes on and on. And whatever loyalty the Karstarks held to the Starks was lost along the way."

"But Lord Rickard was beheaded for treason -" Jon argued. Jaime scoffed, the boy was just as stubbornly honorable as his father. He wondered how any of the Starks had managed to last this long in the world, believing that everyone was as honorable as them.

"You weren't there the day Harald bent the knee to the Boltons," Lenora interrupted him. " _I_ was. Do you know what he said to Roose? _The Starks lost my House the day King Robb cut off my father's head and called it justice. It's time for new blood in the North_. He and his men will fight to the death for Ramsay, if only because it means they will fight against the last of the Starks."

Tormund, the giant red headed Wildling, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "It's not his men that worry me," he growled out. "It's his horses." He nodded toward Ser Davos, "I know what mounted knights can do to us. You and Stannis cut through us like piss through snow."

Lenora's lips turned up at the corners, Jaime knew that over the last month she had come to appreciate the Wildling for his blunt nature. He didn't soften his tone or his language around her because she was a woman or a princess and she enjoyed that. "We're digging trenches all along our flanks," she told him softly. "They won't be able to hit us the way Stannis hit you in a double envelopment."

Tormund stared at her for a moment, his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what she meant. When he couldn't understand it he turned toward Jon, waiting for an explanation. "A pincer move," the boy explained.

Tormund was still quiet, he looked down at the map for a moment before his gaze lifted, his eyes darting between Jaime and Jon before lowering to the map again. A silent admission that he still had no idea what they were talking about.

Jon's own gaze landed on Davos, silently wondering how to explain contemporary battle techniques to a man who had learned to fight north of the Wall where they were never battles, but rather skirmishes between small, warring tribes. He gestured toward the map before them, his hands separating wide, "They won't be able to hit us from the sides," he told Tormund as he brought his hands in toward the center.

Tormund nodded, he no longer looked confused, "Good," he told Jon matter-of-factly.

"It's crucial that we let them charge at us," Jaime told them, glancing around the table, looking for any disagreement from the others. "They've got the numbers, we need the patience." Lenora smirked, patience had never been one of Jaime's strong suits and they both knew it. Jon looked away from him, glancing toward Davos to see if the older man agreed. When Davos nodded, Jon nodded too.

Jaime tried not to let it needle him or hurt his pride that the boy seemed to trust Davos more than him. He may have once been the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, but he was still a Lannister, no matter how loyal he was to Lenora. He suspected that the boy was just waiting for him to betray them. He wouldn't, not as long as Lenora was united with them. But for the first time in a very long time, he was going to have to prove himself.

"If we let him buckle our center, he'll pursue," Davos agreed with Jaime. "Then we'll have him surrounded on three sides."

It was a good plan, but there were so many ways it could go wrong. Jaime was about to say so when Lenora spoke up. "We can't surround them on all sides though," she warned the men around the table. "We should narrow the gap, but never close it."

"Why not?" Jon asked her, his brows furrowed.

Lenora looked away from him, glancing toward Jaime, an eyebrow raised, silently asking him if she should continue. Jaime could understand her caution. He could still remember the day that Lenora had sat in his father's solar with Tywin, no more than seven years old, and already learning how to devise battle plans from one of the harshest and most intelligent commanders the Seven Kingdoms had seen in recent years. Tywin had taught her about the pincer move, its strengths and weaknesses. He reached out for her hand, meaning to squeeze it, to give her comfort. The memory couldn't have been a pleasant or easy one for her now. Not after everything that Tywin had done, not after he had died.

She moved her hand away from him, she didn't want his comfort, at least not when it applied to Tywin Lannister. "If you close the gap completely Ramsay's force will be trapped. When completely surrounded the target force will fight with more ferocity. They will be fighting for their lives, and they will do so violently. But the force would lose its formation and be more vulnerable to destruction if shown an avenue of escape." She glanced around the table, quietly seeing if any of the men understood what she meant.

It was Lyanna Mormont who spoke up. "If you nearly surround them, but leave a small path to escape. They'll fight for themselves. They'll lose sight of their purpose and trample each other in an effort to save their own lives."

Lenora smiled at the girl and nodded, "You're just like your mother," she praised the child. "So smart." A ghost of a smile played at the corners of the solemn girl's lips.

Jon nodded, "So tomorrow. We allow them to think they have us on the run. We let them buckle our center and surround them, almost completely and then we pick them off from the outside."

"It won't be that easy," Jaime cautioned. "Battle never is. But that is the ideal."

Tormund glanced a Jon, "Did you really think that cunt would fight you man to man?" he asked, his voice still a growl, but quieter.

Jon shook his head, "No," he admitted. Jaime was pleased to hear it. He had thought the boy a fool that afternoon when he had suggested it to the Bolton bastard. "But I wanted him angry." He spoke louder when he turned toward the table, "Tomorrow I want him coming at us at full tilt."

Many around the table nodded in agreement. Out of the corner of his eye Jaime could have sworn that he had seen Lenora shake her head, as if disagreeing with Jon. When she spoke her voice was quiet, but it was not soft. It left little room for argument from anyone, including him. "We should all get some sleep," she told them. "Tomorrow will come early enough as it is." She paused for a moment before her grey eyes landed on Jon. "I would like a word with you," she told him.

Tormund, Davos, and Lyanna started to leave the tent. Each of them nodded goodbyes to everyone they passed, whispering well wishes. Jaime did not move, he assumed that whatever Lenora meant to say to Jon she wanted him to hear as well. Lenora put an end to that assumption when her grey-eyed gaze flicked to him. " _Alone_ ," she commanded softly.

He opened his mouth to argue with her before he remembered his place. He was no longer her uncle or guardian. It was no longer his job to raise her or govern her actions. He was the Lord Commander of her new Queensguard, it was his duty to protect her, to serve her, to offer his suggestions. But if she told him to leave her, it was also his duty to obey. Even if he did not like it. He closed his mouth with a snap and nodded.

She reached out for him, dropping her hand on his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze, silently telling him that she was not angry at him. He nodded again, this time forcing a smile onto his lips before he turned and left the tent. He did not go far, he stood just outside the tent flaps, leaning back, his ear turned toward them. Whatever she wanted to tell Jon, she didn't want him to hear and that made him even more curious.

It was quiet for a moment on the other side of the tent flaps and then he heard Lenora take a deep breath in, as if steeling herself for a fight. "It's not going to work," she warned Jon carefully, her voice almost a whisper. He leaned closer toward the tent flap, turning even more so that he could squint through the small opening an watch what was happening.

Lenora and Jon were standing on opposite sides of the table. Jon staring down at the map, Lenora watching Jon. At her words the boy looked up sharply. "The plan?" he asked, he turned slightly, gesturing toward the tent flaps, "Why didn't you tell them that? Why send them away just to tell me that we're going to lose tomorrow."

Lenora shook her head, not backing down from the boy's anger. "Not the plan," she specified, " _that could work_. But making him angry. It won't work."

Jon's voice and face softened. "Why not?" he asked her.

"You've known him for the space of a single conversation. I _lived_ with the man. I know the way his mind works. I know the way he tricks people. I know _him_." She paused and shook her head, pacing on her side of the table. Jaime watched as the boy's dark eyes tracked her. Even from his distance, even peeking through the tent flaps he could see the guilt and pain shining in Jon Snow's eyes. He was disappointed in himself that he had not protected Lenora sooner, that she had had to live with Ramsay for so long. Jaime could see it in the boy, because he knew the feeling, he lived with it every day.

"His men might fall into your trap," Lenora continued as she paced. "In the heat of the battle once Ramsay's control over them is weakened. They might fall into your trap, but not Ramsay. He doesn't fall into traps, he's the one that lays them."

"He's overconfident," Jon argued.

Lenora shook her head, "He _plays_ with people," she corrected Jon. "And he's far better at it than you or I or even Jaime. He's been doing it all his life."

"Aye," Jon argued, the anger back in his tone. "And what have I been doing all my life? Playing with broomsticks?" He stepped closer to the table, some of the anger in him softening when Lenora took a quick step back, as if afraid that he meant to attack her. "I've fought beyond the Wall against _worse_ than Ramsay Bolton. I've defended the Wall from _worse_ than Ramsay Bolton."

Lenora shook her head, " _You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your good sister._ " She whispered, reciting the letter that Ramsay had sent Jon. Jaime was surprised, he had burned the letter the day after it was delivered, he couldn't imagine when his niece had found the time to memorize it. Jon shook his head, silently asking her to stop, but she refused, she kept going, her voice getting louder with each line. " _You will watch as I peel the skin from her body one piece at a time. You will watch as she suffers. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother. You will watch when I turn your two younger sisters into my new toys. Then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see_."

She paused for one long moment, her grey gaze dark and stormy as she stared at Jon across the table. The boy looked almost broken, completely defeated. She nodded and when she spoke again her voice was soft, "Tell me again how you have fought against worse than Ramsay Bolton." She shook her head, "You don't _know_ him."

Jon sighed, "Alright," he agreed. "Tell me. How do we get Rickon back?"

There was a long pause. Jaime watched as something danced across Lenora's face, it looked almost like fear and heart break. Her gaze dropped from Jon's face and she sighed, "We'll never get him back," she told Jon softly. Jon shook his head, silently arguing with her, but she kept going. "Rickon is Ned Stark's last trueborn son which makes him a greater threat to Ramsay than you, a bastard, or Sansa, Arya, and me as girls. As long as he lives Ramsay's claim to Winterfell will be contested, which means ..."

"He won't live long," Jon interrupted, his voice soft. He shook his head, looking utterly defeated now. He sank into one of the chairs, looking up at Lenora, almost pleading with her. "I can't give up on my brother," he told her, beseeching her to understand.

"And you think I want to?" Lenora asked. " _I_ was the one who took care of him after Bran fell, when your mother couldn't leave his bedside. I was the one that wiped his tears, who sang him songs and told him stories and promised him he would be safe at Winterfell when Robb and I left. I don't want to give up on him either. But this isn't about what you or I want. This is about what Ramsay wants. And he wants _you_ to make a mistake." She shook her head, her voice softening. "Just _don't_ do what he _wants_ you to do."

Jon nodded, "You'll let me know when you find out what that is?" he asked her sarcastically.

Lenora smiled ruefully and nodded. She started to turn away, to walk toward the tent flaps, Jaime turned, meaning to move away, to find some place to hide so that she wouldn't know that she had spied on him, but then she stopped, and turned back toward the table.

"What is it, Nora?" he heard Jon ask softly.

Jaime turned back toward the tent flap, squinting and peeking through the opening again. He watched as Lenora moved back toward the table, this time coming to stand on Jon's side of it. He watched as she reached out and grabbed a cup of ale off the table, he couldn't remember who it had belonged to, perhaps Tormund, she brought it to her lips and drained it in one long sip, as if stalling and searching for courage at the bottom of the cup.

"Lenora?" Jon asked again as she put the now empty cup back on the table.

"If Ramsay wins," she said softly, "I'm not going back there alive." She spoke softly, but her voice did not waiver. No matter how horrible her statement was, she had made up her mind. She wasn't telling Jon so that he could try to talk her out of it. She was telling him so that he would know what she expected of him.

Jaime could not see her face, her back was turned to him, but he could see Jon's. He could see the way the boy's brows furrowed. He could see the way his face softened, almost crumbling under the weight of Lenora's words. Jon Snow's face was an echo of the painful tightening in Jaime's own chest, his heart beating rapidly at what Lenora meant by her words.

"Do you understand me?" she asked him, her voice hard.

Jon's dark gaze locked on her face. When he spoke Jaime could hear the pain and guilt in the young man's voice. "I won't ever let him touch you again," he promised Lenora. "I'll protect you, Nora, I promise."

Lenora shook her head, "If he wins no one will be able to protect me. No one will be able to protect anyone. We'll all be dead, it'll just take longer for some."

This time when she turned to leave the tent she did not turn back. Jaime barely had time to move away from the tent. He barely had time to hide. Though, he wasn't sure that it would matter. Lenora's head was so full when she left the tent that he wasn't sure if she saw anything.

He would have to go after her soon. He still meant to try to talk her out of taking part in the battle the next morning. But they both needed space to come to terms with what she had just told Jon Snow. He couldn't go to her now, she would know that he had spied on her.

He needed time to mourn.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

 _I'm not going back there alive_.

He hadn't slept well the night before. Every time he closed his eyes he heard her voice. It had been a contradiction, her voice. She had spoken softly, barely more than a whisper, but that whisper had held more power than he had ever heard. It was like water or wind, or even fire. At first quiet, almost peaceful. But a moment later it was a dull roar, leaving no room for argument. Powerful enough to make his bones vibrate.

 _I'm not going back there alive_.

She hadn't told him that to give him a chance to argue with her. She hadn't been pleading with him to save her or rescue her or protect her. It had been a warning, a promise, a vow. She would sooner kill herself than let Ramsay take her back alive.

He had promised that he would protect her. He swore to her that he would never let Ramsay Bolton touch her again. It was a vow that he intended to keep. But every time he closed his eyes he saw her face the moment he promised her that. He saw the pain in her eyes, the way that for a brief moment her lip trembled. He could see her fear when she admitted out loud that she doubted anyone could protect her from the bastard.

She had told him that he was the only one at camp who knew what Ramsay had done to her, _all_ that he had done to her. She hadn't told her uncle anything. He had seen some of the bruises, the cuts, and the scars. But he had not seen the worst of it, and she wouldn't tell him. She had trusted Jon with her story. But the night before in the tent Jon wondered if she had held back even from him.

That was how great her fear was. That was how strong her conviction was.

 _I'm not going back there alive_.

When dawn came, cold and grey he gave up on pretending to sleep, her voice was still ringing in his ears, still so full of determination. He made a vow to himself, no matter what happened, win or lose, he wouldn't let Ramsay take Lenora alive, even if he had to kill the girl himself.

He had failed Robb once when he was unable to protect his wife. He would not fail his brother again. He would keep Lenora out of Ramsay's grasp. He might not be able to keep her alive, she was so certain that he wouldn't, but he would protect her.

...

In spite of their situation, in spite of the battle looming on the horizon, he wasn't able to stop the smile from spreading to his lips when he saw Lenora mounting her horse, dressed in breeches and a shirt, a sword belted around her waist, a small breastplate covering her chest. She did not wear a helm, they could not find one small enough to fit her head without obstructing her vision. She did not wear chainmail, she swore it slowed her down. Her dark hair was pulled back, away from her face, braided into a plait.

She looked ready to go to war.

Jaime Lannister, always at her side, looked less certain as he watched his niece out of the corner of his eye.

"Your uncle wasn't able to persuade you to stay back with the other girls?" Jon asked, purposefully keeping his voice light as he started to saddle his own horse. He had never been certain that the knight would try, but he had hoped. And more than that, he had hoped that the man would be successful.

Lenora glanced between the two of them, clearly unimpressed with them. "As I have told both of you, several times, I am through letting men fight for me. This is as much _my_ fight as it is yours, Snow, and I will not allow the two of you to put me on the sidelines."

Jon chuckled, she was stubborn and strong. Everything Robb had needed in a wife. He could see, now clear as day, why his brother had fallen so deeply and so quickly for Lenora Baratheon. And he wished, more than he had ever done before, that Robb had somehow lived to see what Lenora had become. He knew his brother would be proud of her. "Far be it for me to tell a princess what to do," he told her softly, inclining his head to her in mock respect.

"Haven't you heard, Snow?" Jaime asked him from his horse. "They're calling her queen now."

Jon nodded, he had heard the men that she had brought to the Wall with her calling her queen. At first he had thought it was a hold over from when she and Robb had claimed the North. but he soon realized that Stannis' men had claimed her as their own, not because of Robb, but because of her. She had yet to tell him outright, but he could imagine that _if_ they won this battle against Ramsay and took Winterfell back, Lenora did not intend to stay in the North for long. She had other battles planned in the South.

"And a fine one she is," he forced out with a smile to hide his worries.

When she turned to look at him, her grey eyes were distant and careful. As if she were trying to guess what he was thinking. Perhaps wondering if he still remembered the conversation they had had the night before. He glanced briefly at Jaime for a moment before he turned back to Lenora and nodded. He remembered.

 _I'm not going back there alive_.

...

The men were silent as he rode through them, remembering once that his father had told him and Robb that it was good to let his men see him before a battle. It wasn't a large army, though given what he had to work with and how little time he had had to build it, he was proud. The bulk of the force was made up of Wildlings. But there were Lenora's eighty southern men, some carrying their own sigils and banners, others carrying tattered direwolf banners. There was a small collection of men fighting under the moose of House Hornwood. The sixty fighting men that fought under Mormont's bear. There weren't many mounted riders. Himself, Ser Davos, Ser Jaime, Lenora, the Hound, Bronn and Ser Justin.

He had tried to give Tormund a horse, but the red headed Wildling had told him that he was better in battle on his feet. He stood now beside Wun Wun, the tall man made to look small beside the giant. Both of their gazes trained on the open field in front of them.

As Jon reined his horse to a stop he allowed his gaze to fall on the field as well. It was wide and empty. Their trenches were not nearly as deep or as wide as he would have wanted, but it was too late now.

In the middle of the field were four fiery crosses, each bearing a body that had been flayed before set on fire. Disgust settled heavy in Jon's stomach as he looked past the flayed men to the shape of Winterfell behind them. Flaying had been outlawed in the North under his father, it made him sick to see it now in the shadow of Ned Stark's keep.

Between the flayed men and Winterfell stood Ramsay's army. Many of his solders were mounted, the front line seemed to stretch on forever, stretching the entire length of the clearing. Jon had never been particularly confident with their odds, but now, as his gaze landed on the men he would be fighting he realized that he had led each and every one of his men to their deaths.

He almost turned to them, about to order them to abandon him, to tell them that this was _his_ fight, not theirs, when Lenora moved her horse to stand beside his. "They look united now," she told him, her voice soft and almost comforting. "But in the chaos of battle they will forget their orders, they will try to save themselves."

"That didn't happen to Robb's men," Jon argued.

Lenora nodded, "You're right," she agreed with him. "But Robb's men were loyal because they loved him. With the exception of the Karstarks, many of these men are loyal to save their own necks. And _that_ loyalty will not hold."

He nodded and reached out for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as a way of thanking her. Perhaps she had not known that he had needed her encouragement. But she had said exactly what he needed to hear. He appreciated that.

Then, still holding her hand in his he turned to face the Bolton army, waiting for them to make the first move, certain that he would be able to be more patient than Ramsay. He reminded himself of the plan, he intended to let Ramsay come to him, to rush at him, to buckle their center, and then they would close the gap and surround his force on nearly all sides.

Ramsay's horse moved slowly through the men, he was pulling something behind him. Just after his horse had cleared the front line he pulled the reins to stop the beast. And then he climbed down.

He was so far away that Jon had to narrow his eyes and squint to make him out, but he _knew_ , bone deep, that Ramsay was watching him as he walked forward, pulling whatever he had behind him away from the line. They moved far enough forward that Jon was able to pick up on some of the details. Ramsay was pulling a human behind him. Awkwardly stooped, and underfed. Dressed in a warm wool cloak.

It took him a long time to make sense of what he was looking at. From the moment he had realized that Ramsay was pulling a man behind him he had assumed it was Rickon. It was the only thing that made sense to him, Ramsay had been taunting Jon with Rickon since Lenora had run to the Wall. Lenora had warned him the night before that Ramsay would try to play with him, to torture him before the battle even began. They had both come to the quiet, unwanted agreement that no matter what happened today, Rickon would not live. And so, he had come to the battlefield half expected to watch as Ramsay killed Rickon before his very eyes. It made sense. And _this_ was the moment.

But as he squinted at the two figures across the field he realized that the stooped, underfed man behind Ramsay was not his little brother.

Lenora was much quicker than him.

He heard her sharp intake of breath as she recognized the man. He felt her tense underneath his hand as Ramsay yanked the poor soul to a stop beside him and unsheathed his sword. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched as her eyes widened as Ramsay lifted his blade above his head and stood for a moment, completely still and poised to kill.

"Theon," Lenora whispered.

"Nora," Jon warned, his voice quiet and hard.

Her fist tightened around her horse's reins. She wasn't listening to him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

Her heart was no longer in her chest. It was in her throat, threatening to come up. It was beating in her ears, loud and roaring, blocking out all other sounds around her. She could not blink, she could not look away. Without noticing she had dropped Jon's hand and swung herself down from her horse, rushing forward on foot to get a better look at the two distant figures to ensure that it truly was Theon and not one of Ramsay's tricks.

It was him, she knew it. She had spent too many months staring at him while he pretended to be _Reek_ that it was impossible now for her to not recognize him. She had thought that after setting her free he might go back. That under Ramsay's torture and anger the brief glimpse of Theon that she had seen when he helped her escape would disappear and Reek would return. But she had been wrong. Even from this distance she could see him for what he was. Theon Greyjoy, stubborn and strong and brave even while starved and beaten.

Ramsay began to lower his sword and Lenora thought for a moment she might throw up before instead of cutting off Theon's head Ramsay cut the rope just above his wrists. It left Theon with his wrists bound, but he was no longer physically trapped by Ramsay.

Both Jon and Jaime had moved quietly, dismounting after her and approaching her on such silent feet that she jumped a bit when Jaime's hand fell on her shoulder, restraining her, while Jon spoke from her other side. "Whatever happens," he warned her, his voice hard, he was steeling himself for the worst. "Don't play into it. He's trying to break you."

Lenora nodded, she knew that, but as she watched Theon standing so close to Ramsay it was hard for her to remember it. _This_ was her fault. If she had not taunted Ramsay the day before, if she had not insulted him, he might not have thought to punish her before the battle. A part of her had always known that just like Rickon, Theon would not survive Ramsay long, but she hadn't thought that Ramsay would make her watch it.

She had not thought that _she_ would be his target before the battle began.

For a moment they stood side by side, man and monster. They seemed to be having a conversation. And then she watched as Ramsay shoved Theon away from him, pointing toward Lenora and Jon and their men. "What is he doing?" she whispered as Theon started to slowly, uncertainly make his way forward. She had expected Ramsay to kill Theon, she could not understand why he seemed to be setting him free. None of it made any sense to her.

"Setting a trap," Jaime whispered back. But Lenora barely heard him because across the field one of the Bolton men had brought Ramsay a bow and a sheath of arrows.

Theon started to run faster. Lenora stared for one more wide-eyed moment as Ramsay unsheathed the first arrow and then she turned, shaking Jaime's hand off of her shoulder, pushing past Jon as she sprinted back toward her abandoned horse and threw herself into the saddle. In the back of her mind she knew that this was exactly what she had warned Jon against the night before. This was one of Ramsay's games, one she was meant to lose. But she couldn't just stand there while she watched Ramsay go through target practice while using Theon as the target.

She couldn't.

She wasn't gentle when she kicked the horse's sides, urging it forward, pushing it to a gallop before she had even cleared her line. Jon was still standing where she had left him, his dark eyes trained on Theon as the broken man continued to try to cross the large open space between the two armies. "Lenora!" she heard him yell as she rushed past him.

She did not stop.

Ramsay took his time nocking his first arrow. He took his time, finding his aim. He loosed it. The arrow landed to Theon's left, missing him by almost five feet. Lenora felt hope bubbling up inside of her, all she needed to do was reach Theon, to save him like he had saved her. All Theon needed to do was keep running until he was out of range. Jon had told her the night before that Ramsay was over confident. She had laughed it off, but perhaps he had been right. Maybe this game wouldn't play out the way that Ramsay meant it to.

Maybe they could beat him.

She heard the sound of a horse's hooves behind her and she turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder to see Jaime and Bronn chasing after her. But she had gotten a head start and they were much heavier than she was. They would not reach her. They should have stayed back. Jaime called out to her, begging her to stop, to come back. She turned away from him, her gaze forward again, locked on Theon as he continued to run.

Ramsay reached for his second arrow. Lenora yelled, urging her horse to go even faster. Theon was running at her full tilt. This arrow flew wide, landing to the right and behind Theon. _Just a bit further,_ Lenora thought. Just a bit further and Theon would be safe and out of Ramsay's reach. She had told Jon the night before that he wouldn't be able to save anyone, that no one could. But she could do this.

She could save Theon.

Ramsay reached for a third arrow.

Theon stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground for a moment. "Stay down!" Lenora yelled at him, urging her horse to go even faster. He didn't listen, his hands were still bound as he clumsily pushed himself up to his knees and then onto his feet. For a moment he stood there staring at her. "Run!" she yelled to him, unsure if he could hear her over the sound of her horse's hooves. "Theon run!"

He started to run again, straight toward her. But he was no longer silent, perhaps he never had been. He was yelling to her, ordering her to turn around and return to Jon and the rest of her army. His voice cracked, much the way it had the last time she had seen him. He meant to send her back to safety, but the sound of his voice did little more than push Lenora forward. He was _so_ close, she needed to get to him. She needed to save him.

She was holding her reins in her left hand now, her right hand was outstretched down and out, ready to catch Theon and swing him up into the saddle before turning around and riding back to the line. She would send Theon with a guard back to the Stark girls and Lyanna. They were being guarded by a small group, Brienne of Tarth had been tasked with their safety. He would be safe there too.

The third arrow sailed over Theon's head and landed in front of him.

Ramsay reached for a fourth.

Lenora was so close now that she could hear Theon, whimpering as he ran. There was a time when Theon would have been too proud to admit that he was afraid. There was a time when he would have faced Ramsay rather than run from him. But that time was gone, it had been beaten out of him. Theon was afraid, he was broken and starving and afraid. Just as he had been the night he helped her escape from Winterfell. She had seen it that night and she had left him, she had allowed him to talk her out of forcing him to come with her. She had abandoned him. And failed him. She would not do that again. She would save him.

She was no more than three feet away from Theon, _so close_ , when the arrow shot through him, piercing his heart from behind. The man fell, landing on his back and gasping for air. Lenora pulled her horse to a sharp stop and stared down, watching as her friend, one of the few connections she had to Robb, died. A few more wet, gurgling gasps of air before everything stilled.

She could not hear the men behind her. She could not see the battle lines. Her vision tunneled, all she could see was Theon. The arrowhead peaking through his chest. The blood on his lips. His pale, bruised skin, stretched tightly over the bones in his face.

She felt nothing. As she rode toward Theon she had allowed hope to rise up inside of her, to chase away any doubt or fear she felt about the battle. For a few moments she had felt certain that as long as she was able to save Theon everything else would work out as well. But now she had failed.

When the hope had rushed out of her, the fear and doubt had not rushed in. She was left feeling empty and cold. She was not afraid to die. In fact, as she watched Ramsay turn his back as his she and Theon were nothing, she realized that she feared nothing. She did not care if she lived or died. She did not give a shit about anything, as long as that monster died with her.

The sounds of the battle came back to her in a roar. Behind her she could hear Jaime and Bronn desperately trying to rach her. Davos and Jon were yelling at their men to prepare to charge. In front of her she could hear one of Ramsay's commanders giving orders to the archers. _Nock. Draw. Loose_.

She yelled, urging her horse forward again, her eyes trained on Ramsay as she rode, arrows soaring past her though non of them hit her.

"Follow your commander!" she heard Davos yell and without looking behind her she knew that Jon was following her. And behind him, their men. Their battle plan had fallen apart, just as she had warned Jon that it would. They were supposed to wait for Ramsay to come to them and instead she had fallen into his trap and brought the rest of their army with her. She was stupid, she could imagine Tywin watching her and shaking his head in disappointment, _this_ was not the granddaughter he had trained and taught.

But just as she did not fear death, she did not fear his judgement. Tywin Lannister had not known what loyalty meant. He had not known what it meant to love. Or to lose. Not since her grandmother's death at least. It made him one of the greatest generals in Westeros, and one of the most terrible men. If she were given the choice, she would rather be a fool who died trying to save a friend's life than one who died alone.

They would both end up in the ground no matter what.

The second wave of arrows hit her horse, sending the large beast tumbling to the ground to die. Lenora fell with the animal, launching herself forward and away from it so that she wouldn't end up trapped beneath the beast. It took her a moment to find her bearings and to stand, once again, facing Ramsay's troops.

When she did she was met with a wall of mounted riders, quickly closing the gap between themselves and her. She waited for the feat to settle in now, now that she knew for certain that she would die.

It never came.

"Alright," she whispered to herself as she began to unsheathe her sword. _This_ was why she was here. To defend her family. To defend Theon, the man who had risked his life to save her. To defend Winterfell. To die for them. It was a good way to die. When Jon had told her about his own death he had told her that he was ready for it. She had laughed, thought it impossible to ever be ready for death, but now she understood.

She was ready too.

Before Ramsay's men reached her, her own men charged past her to meet them.

And then, the chaos of battle truly set in.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

He charged forward with the rest of them. He knew that many seasoned commanders would have held back, they would have led from the rear. It was what Tywin Lannister might have done; it was what they liked to pretend Joffrey was doing when he was still alive. It was how Cersei Lannister had lived her entire life.

But Lenora, who had been raised by these Lannister lions would not have done that. And neither would Jon. He was the son of Eddard Stark. And his father had always led from the front. And so had his brother. And so would he. His father was dead, his brother was dead, he had no doubt that by the end of the day Lenora would be dead as well. But he would not let her die alone.

He would not let their men die alone.

Lenora had led the army headfirst into a battle they had no hope of winning. And because they loved her they had followed, many of them knowing that they would not survive. It was a loyalty that Jon had never seen before in his life, one he doubted he would ever see again. He would not leave them alone in it.

And so, he unsheathed his sword and with a roar he charged with the rest of them. Ahead of him he could see Grey Wind moving though the men, desperate to reach Lenora. Ghost was at Jon's side, growling, his red eyes locked on the Bolton men ahead of them. Jaime was not wearing his helm, his gold Lannister hair was shining in the weak sunlight as he chased after his niece, "With me, Lenny!" He heard the older man yell, just as desperate as the large grey wolf to keep the girl safe. "With me!"

Jaime and Jon got to Lenora at the same time. One of her men, Ser Justin, had given her his horse. In spite of their situation, or perhaps because of it, Lenora grinned as she turned her head toward Jaime. "No!" she yelled out of ver the noise. "With _me_ , Uncle Jaime!"

Jon watched as Jaime Lannister turned, staring at her for a moment before his own lips twisted into a grim smile. Then he held his sword high above his head, "Baratheon!" he yelled.

Ser Justin and many of the men around her took up the cheer, adding their own voice as they rushed forward to meet Ramsay's men. _Baratheon!_

Jon smiled, adding his own voice. His last thought before the chaos around him took over was that he hoped that Ramsay heard that cheer. And he hoped that the bastard knew that it was for _her._

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She quickly realized that Robb had not given her as much freedom in battle as she had once thought. _This_ was nothing like the times he had allowed her to ride with him. _This_ was complete chaos. _This_ was death _. This_ was mud and blood and excrement. It was the screams of dying men and horses. And the hopelessness of not always being one hundred per cent certain of who her enemy and who her friend was.

Her basic rule of thumb was to fight anyone who raised their sword toward her, but in the chaos she was certain that a few of the men she had killed were her own. Though she had no time to make certain, no time to mourn.

She was covered in blood, she knew that some of it was hers. Her sword arm felt heavy, it was becoming increasingly difficult to lift it. But she was not too wounded to fight. And she was not too weak to continue.

She could not always see Grey Wind, but she could hear him, growling as he tore through the men around her. The wolf was the only one she trusted to know friend from foe. She would never understand how he knew, but the animal _knew_. She had seen several men try to kill the wolf, but he was too fast, too fierce, too strong.

It was almost as if he was invincible.

Her uncle seemed invincible too, even with his golden hand. She had seen him on several occasions even throw the hand up in front of his face to block a swing and then, using that brief moment of surprise kill the man with his left hand.

He had asked her once if she would rather have someone _whole_ lead her Queensguard. And now, in the middle of this battle, she couldn't think of anyone more whole than her uncle.

She heard someone yelling behind her and she started to turn, prepared to swing. "Down girl," she heard someone growl, a large hand falling heavy on her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the Hound as he shoved her down to the ground and swung his own large sword, not aiming for the man, but the horse. His sword cut through the horse, sending it tumbling to the ground as the large man grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her out of the way.

Jaime, who had yet to leave her side, was the one to pull her up, quickly taking a moment to turn to her and catch her face in his hands. "Are you alright?" he yelled at her over the noise around them. "Hey!" he yelled when she did not answer right away, when she could not even focus her gaze on him. Over his shoulder she watched as Grey Wind soared past them, launching himself at one of the Bolton men, his teeth barred. "Are you alright?" her uncle yelled again, shaking her shoulders a bit.

She brought her gaze to his face, seeking out and latching onto his green eyes. His face was covered with mud and blood, but the green and gold in his eyes still shone through. She nodded. "Are you?" she yelled back.

Jaime pulled her close, pressing a kiss against her forehead before he let go of her and turned back toward the battle. "Never better!" he called out over his shoulder.

Ramsay's arrows had made quick work of many of the horses, both his and theirs. The men on the ground had taken care of the rest. There were very few horses left, most men were now caught in hand to hand combat. Lenora looked around, her eyes searching for Jon.

Jaime seemed to understand what or who she was looking for. He nodded to their left, toward a crowded area, the center of the fight. "Last I saw him, he was over there," he told her.

She nodded, "Then we are too," she announced before she turned and ran forward, sword raised.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jon_

They were standing back to back. Jaime, Jon, and Lenora, each of them sure that their back was safe, each of them watching each other's fronts. It made them an easy target for Ramsay's men, all of the leaders in one spot, but they were each skilled, so far no one had broken them. And it was comforting, in the middle of the battle, to hear them behind him.

To their left there was a large pile of bodies, no one had stacked the bodies, but there they were all the same. Men were climbing the pile, killing each other and dying themselves, adding more and more death to the sack. No matter where he turned, all he saw was death. It was easiest to keep his eyes trained forward, to watch the space directly in front of him and take on anyone who entered it.

A Bolton man came running toward him, launching himself over Ghost to get to Jon. He stepped forward, breaking their line without realizing it. Lenora and Jaime did not close ranks behind him, they were vulnerable. He swung his sword up to meet the Bolton man's, the collision vibrating down his arms. The man was leaning too heavily forward, trying to use his weight to cause Jon to buckle. He took a step to the left, then another, his sword sliding out from underneath the man's as he stumbled forward.

He didn't turn back toward Jon, once he had righted himself he continued forward, sword raised, ready to attack Lenora or Jaime. Jon rushed him from behind, holding the hilt of his sword with both hands as he rammed it through the man's back, hilt deep. The enemy fell then, Jon falling on top of him as he tried to withdraw his sword. A moment later another body fell on top of him. And another. If he didn't get out soon he would be buried alive.

He struggled, still trying to pull his sword free when another body fell on top of him, this one was still alive. He grabbed at Jon, his hand wrapping around his throat as Jon tried to turn himself over to face his attacker.

He couldn't breath, and it wasn't simply the man with his hand around his throat. It was the bodies, the dead ones and the living ones that were piling on top of him, pressing and pushing. It was warm in this pile, and wet and muddy. The smell was horrible and the taste of the air even worse. He hated to think that _this_ was how he would die. He had asked the Red Woman not to bring him back again, but he had thought that perhaps he would die _for_ something. This, the press of bodies against him, the smell of shit and vomit. _This_ wasn't for anything.

Perhaps even with that disappointment sitting heavy in his chest he would have given up, if it weren't for her. He could hear her, somewhere beyond the bodies around him, calling out for him. _Jon!_ He had promised her that he would take care of her, that he would protect her. She shouldn't be alone now. With a growl he pushed the man off of him, freeing _Longclaw_ and beginning to kick and punch and crawl his way out of the pile.

It seemed to take forever, he almost lost consciousness before his head broke through, gasping for air as he looked around wildly, searching for her. She and Bronn were fighting, together. Jaime Lannister was nowhere to be seen. Then, a gold hand dropped into Jon's sightline, he followed it, up a gold plated arm, to find the Lannister man grinning sarcastically down at him. "Good of you to join us," the man teased as Jon grabbed at his hand and Jaime pulled him to his feet.

He had often wondered how Jaime Lannister could make a joke of almost anything, but now, he was nothing but grateful. "Couldn't let you have all the fun without me," he joked in return as he continued to breathe deeply.

It was at that exact moment that everything seemed to still. He couldn't understand why until he heard a heavy set of footsteps behind him. He turned, looking up to see Wun Wun, the giant, standing behind them. He pointed past them, toward Winterfell.

While they had been distracted with Ramsay's first line, the bastard had sent his second line in. A line of foot soldiers, all of them carrying large Bolton shields and lances. They had encircled the battle, closing in on all sides, three men deep. They used the mountain of bodies as part of their barrier.

When they charged forward to meet Lenora they had abandoned their safe area with the trenches. They had played into Ramsay's trap just as Lenora had told Jon they would the night before. And Ramsay had executed a pince move, just as Jon had promised Tormund he wouldn't. They were surrounded.

For one long, silent moment the Bolton men stood still. And then, in unison they inserted their lances in between their shields and stepped forward. And then again. Two steps forwards, a pause and a jab. They were killing their men on the outside and pressing further in with each set of steps. Soon, Jon's men would be killing each other, trampling over each other to save themselves. Just as Lenora had said they would.

Jon turned, glancing at Jaime for a long moment before allowing his gaze to fall on Lenora. Silently telling the knight to grab her and run. The battle was lost, but if anyone could save Lenora it would be Jaime. She would not be pleased. She would be angry at Jon for the rest of her life for this, perhaps she would even hate him, but she would _live_.

Jaime stared at him for a moment before he nodded and turned toward Lenora, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the large mountain of bodies. It took her only a moment to realize that he meant to help her escape. "No!" she screamed at him, trying to pull back. Jaime did not let go.

Jon moved forward, his own hand falling to Lenora's shoulder. "Go, Nora!" he ordered her.

A roar pulled their gaze left, Karstark men were climbing over the mountain, attacking from the final side.

The men trapped in the circle were frantic, Bolton and Stark men alike. They turned away from the shields, all rushing toward the mountain of bodies, trampling over each other to get away.

Some still pausing to fight, most of them simply running.

He lost sight of her. He lost his grip on her shoulder.

They were separated.

And even if he had wanted to stay and fight in the center of Ramsay's trap, the men were pressing him forward. He could not stop moving.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

The horn blowing three times was the only thing that stopped the panicked rush of the men over the mountain of bodies. Even in the middle of the battle, both sides seemed to stop to see who the reinforcements were for.

An entire force of mounted riders, riding under the blue and white banners. _The Vale_. She was still uncertain of who they were for until she had managed to pull herself to the top of the mountain. They were circling Ramsay's men, cutting through them and yet not fighting once they reached the center. They were not there to help the Boltons. She turned, searching for Ramsay. He and Harald Karstark alone sat on the top of the hill on horseback. They had to know this battle was lost. She felt someone come to stand beside her and she turned it was Jon, his face was red and sticky with blood.

He turned to her, his dark eyes darting over her face to make certain that she was alright and then in unison they both turned back to watch as Ramsay and Harald turned and rode their horses back toward Winterfell.

Without speaking to her Jon threw himself over the mountain of bodies, tumbling down to the other side, followed quickly by Tormund and Wun Wun. "Stay here, Nora!" Jon ordered her before they started running after Ramsay and his men.

Lenora bristled at the command, she did not appreciate being ordered to stay. But a hand closed around her wrist and she turned to see Jaime standing behind her, his green eyes locked on Jon and the others as they ran. "Let him go, Len," Jaime whispered, "after what you told him last night, after everything he's seen. He _needs_ this."

Lenora turned to watch them as they ran. She could understand what her uncle meant, she knew that this final battle for Winterfell belonged to Jon. But he could not have Ramsay, and if he did, she needed to be there to witness it. It would not feel real, she would never feel safe until she saw him executed with her own eyes.

"I _need_ to see it," she told her uncle, turning briefly away from Jon to look at Jaime. "Don't you see that? I _need_ to see it."

Jaime watched her for a long moment, his brow furrowed and then he nodded. "Then let me get you a horse, my lady."

...

It did not take them long to find a horse and to reach Winterfell. But Wun Wun had already broken the gate when they arrived. The archers on the wall, the ones who would have alerted Ramsay to their arrival had their backs turned, they were too busy watching something in the courtyard to be watching for new arrivals. All the same, Jaime had her dismount outside the gate and creep in.

"You suggested one on one combat, didn't you?" she heard Ramsay sneer as they neared the gate. She paused, all of her fear from the battle catching up to her at the sound of his voice. He was still alive. And her heart beating rapidly in her chest seemed to think he was still a threat. Jaime was there, his hands on both her shoulders, silently urging her to breathe. "I've reconsidered your offer," Ramsay continued. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

For a moment Lenora could not understand why Ramsay sounded so sure of himself. But when she ducked under Jaime's hands and peeked through the gate she could see it. Jon held a sword, Ramsay a bow.

He was not slow this time as he nocked his arrow, he did not pause for dramatic effect. Jon had barely a moment to duck to the ground and pick up an abandoned shield before Ramsay loosed his arrow. It hit the shield.

Jon lowered the shield as he walked toward Ramsay. Ramsay loosed another arrow. _Thunk_ , it embedded itself in the shield. The third as well. Ramsay no longer looked as sure of himself as he nocked his fourth arrow.

He never got to shoot it. Jon hit him twice with the shield and knocked him to the ground before he fell on top of him and started punching him in the face. Yelling the entire time.

Lenora had thought that she would feel better watching Jon kill Ramsay with his bare hands. She had thought that it would make her feel vindicated. That it would be enough. But it wasn't. She remembered that Jaime had once told her that killing a man, even an enemy never felt as good as he hoped, but that wasn't it. She felt hollow as she watched Jon punch Ramsay, quickly breaking the monster's teeth and bloodying his face. She did not feel bad, nor good, only hollow. And jealous that the man who had spent months torturing her would not die by her own hand.

Without noticing she had stepped away from Jaime and moved through the courtyard, coming to stand in front of Jon and Ramsay, as if hoping a better view would make her feel _something_.

"Jon," she called out softly.

His fist was pulled back, ready to punch again when he heard her voice. He was breathing heavily when he glanced up at her. For a moment his fist remained lifted, poised above Ramsay's head and then it dropped to his side as he pushed himself off the broken man. "You don't belong to me," he whispered as he moved toward Lenora, reaching out to cup her cheek in his hand. His dark eyes never left her face, "You belong to her."

Lenora's gaze darted from Jon's face to Ramsay's body on the ground. He wasn't unconscious yet. His head was tilted back, his swollen blue eyes locked on her. "What do I do with him?" she whispered, her gaze on Jon again.

"Whatever will make you feel whole again," Jon told her before he stepped away from her, commanding everyone in the courtyard to give her space.

There were many things she could think of that might have made her feel whole. She was angry enough that she thought she might have had the strength to flay Ramsay herself, to peel the skin from his body a little at a time, keep him alive for days, only to make him suffer as he had made her suffer.

She could have fed him to his dogs as he had threatened to do to her so many times.

She could have used him for target practice as he had done to Theon.

She could have kept him alive for forty nights - whipping him, beating him, cutting him and starving him every day.

Her fingers twitched at the thought of it, she liked that. But then her gaze landed on his smirk. Even now, facing his death at her hand he was smirking. She clenched her hands into a fist, he thought he had won. She could have made him suffer as he had made her suffer, but that would take her one step closer to becoming a monster like him.

She couldn't do that.

Without looking up from his body she called out for Jaime. "Tie him up," she ordered. "And find me a horse. Load him onto the front of it. Tie him to the saddle."

"Len?" Jaime asked, not doing as she commanded. But it didn't matter, three of Tormund's Wildlings had already stepped forward to do as she asked.

"Grey Wind," she called over her shoulder, she knew the wolf was behind her, she could feel it. The animal was by her side in a moment. She dropped her hand on top of his head, his fur was sticky and matted. "We're going for a hunt," she promised the wolf.

Once a horse was saddled and Ramsay was tied to the saddle she climbed into the saddle behind him. The reverse image of the day that Ramsay had taken her on one of his hunts. Jaime was at her side, reaching for the reins of his own horse.

Lenora shook her head, "No, Uncle Jaime," she told him. "I need to do this alone.

...

They rode in silence for a mile or so into the Wolfs Wood before Lenora spoke. "It's a lovely day for a hunt, my lord," she told Ramsay, forcing a smile onto her lips as she echoed the words he had once spoke to her. "Wouldn't you say?"

He was quiet, though she had picked up on the change in his breath. He was conscious. So she continued. "There's nothing like it," she promised him as she reached behind her and unsheathed her knife. "Absolutely nothing. The dogs, the weapon in your hand, knowing that you are the only thing that stands between killing the beast and it living another day. The smell of blood in the air, the fear in the animal's eyes. The way the light leaves the eyes at the last moment as the dogs tear into its flesh."

"Is that how I will die, Lenora?" Ramsay asked her, still sneering in spite of their situation. "You'll have your wolf tear into my throat?" He shook his head as she used the knife to cut the rope that tied him to the saddle.

"No," she told him, keeping her voice light as she pushed him out of the saddle and sent him falling to the ground. "That would be too easy. Grey Wind won't go for your throat until he has torn every limb from your body. Until you are screaming in pain and begging every God imaginable for assistance. Then he'll take out your eyes, perhaps your tongue once he's sick of hearing your screams. Only then will he go for your throat."

Ramsay rolled onto his back, laughing, "You can't kill me, Nora," he told her. "I'm a part of you now."

Lenora stared down at him for a moment before she shook her head. "Your words will disappear," she told him. "Your House will disappear. Your name will disappear. All memory of you will disappear. You were born nothing but a bastard and you will die nothing but a bastard. And if what you say is true, and you _are_ a part of me now, you are the part of me that will enjoy every single one of your screams."

She glanced at Grey Wind, and nodded silently, the wolf had been patient long enough.

And as the wolf moved in on Ramsay, his teeth barred and Ramsay screaming, Lenora smiled.

* * *

Author's Note:

There we are. BotB and Ramsay Bolton's death all in one chapter. What did you think? Did you love it? Hate it? Were you surprised by who Ramsay used as bait? I've been waiting to hit you guys with that monkey wrench since this story began. And I'm terrible at keeping secrets so I'm quite proud of myself for that.  
Though I am a bit sad and heartbroken because I love Theon. Adore him really and honestly would have picked him over Rickon any day (unpopular opinion, I know) but this is where the story led me. And I could not ignore it.  
Anyway. Thank you so much for stopping by and reading. Thank you for adding this story to your favorites lists, your alerts lists, your communities. And most of all, thank you for reviewing. Your reviews give me life during my work weeks and encourage me to not sleep my weeks off away because I know you are waiting for updates.  
 **You** keep this story going.  
So really, thank you.  
Now, to my wonderful friends who reviewed the last chapter:

 _dvali:_ Thank you so much for your kind words, my new friend! I'm glad that Lenora has grown on you and I can personally guarantee that her reunion with Robb will, in fact, be epic. You are correct, I do plan on writing a Jon/OC story and I'm glad that you're looking forward to it. As for this story, no there will be no Jon/Dany pairing, no Dany at all actually, not a huge fan of her.  
Season seven wasn't terrible, my biggest complaint was that it felt rushed. They had a lot to fit in and not long to do it which I understand, but I would argue that they should have prolonged the season rather than rushed to make it all fit.

 _Kathiena:_ Aww! Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoy this story so much! And I hope that you do get back to whatever story you dropped to read these updates! Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _bellaphant:_ The next chapter was, in fact, Battle of the Bastards. I hope it was everything you hoped for (and perhaps even a bit more!)

 _Guest (1):_ Thank you! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so much and I hope that you continue to do so! I try really hard to make sure that it is a well-written story and I'm glad that you guys think so. As for the long-awaited reunion? We're looking at about five more chapters before Robb and Lenora find each other again. I promise it will be worth the wait!

 _StarkTeller:_ Lord Glover is an asshole. And he will quickly learn the error of his ways. The reason that he blamed Lenora is because it is easier to blame her than anyone else. And if you think about it, Glover isn't stupid. He knows that Frey and Bolton would not have betrayed Robb unless they were guaranteed to get something out of the deal. The only person in the Seven Kingdoms capable of guaranteeing that would have been Tywin Lannister. So, from a northman's black and white perspective, perhaps if Robb had not married Lenora, Tywin Lannister might not have been in such a hurry to make an alliance with Frey and Bolton.  
Reylo's a pretty good ship. I'm not a huge Star Wars fan (Trekkie over here) but I have seen all the movies, and I will admit, I felt some major Reylo vibes during the last one.  
We get to see Lyanna and Arya interact in the next chapter and I'm pretty excited about it. They don't do anything remarkably spectacular, but I think they're both fantastic and I'm really mad that they haven't met on the show yet, so once again I'm using this story to fix the short comings of the show.  
Happy birthday, birthday request granted! I hope you enjoyed it!

 _darkwolf76:_ Don't worry that you missed chapter 74! You found it! And chapter 75 for your trouble! And playing catch up isn't always a bad thing! It means you have to wait less time between updates! So that's good! Doing a little happy dance after reading that your eyes watered a bit at Jon's reunion with Arya, That's what it was supposed to do!  
I know, some of Lenora's conversation with Jon was recycled. I try to put my own spin on it, but there are certain lines from the series that I feel like I _have_ to put in. They're the ones that while I was watching got my creative juices flowing and made me want to continue writing this story (even if in this case, they were given to another character). I try my hardest when I do that to really get into the characters head and thoughts so that even if you are reading lines you've already heard, you're seeing some insight that _I_ got from the show or book into the characters head.  
I'm glad that you enjoyed Lenora's line _It's time to fight my own battles_ , that line has been a long time coming.  
As for how I crank out such "great chapters so quickly"? The truth is I don't. This chapter, for instance took me a week and a half to write (three weeks ago). I like to be ahead of where you guys are and don't write each chapter all in one sitting. In fact, my original document for this story has bits and pieces of multiple chapters all written and ready to be connected. My secret? Before I published this story I went through and made a very detailed outline. It includes a character interview with Lenora so that I could get to know her and a break down of all eighty-four chapters. Each chapter description is broken up with which POVs I will use, what events they will cover, and any quotes I want to use. That way as I skip around, writing parts of chapters, I know what I want to put in. And somehow, it all seems to work out. Which is good.  
I'm glad you're enjoying Arya and Jaime. I have always wanted them to become friends so this story kind of fulfilled that item on my wish list and I am glad everyone else likes them too.  
No Brienne in BotB, I really wanted to put her in there, especially since she will most definitely be joining Lenora's Queensguard, _but_ every time I tried, Brienne stopped me. She's still got to keep her word to Catelyn, to see the girls safely home to Winterfell. So during the battle, it wouldn't be true to her to let her fight and leave Sansa and Arya unprotected.  
So we finally know how Ramsay died, direwolf attack. Flaying, as briefly discussed in this chapter would not have been Len's style, though after the next chapter (which I have already written) she may regret that (input foreboding music here).

 _The Three Stoogies:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too!

 _MaiarofThedas:_ Haha, Robb was lost for a while. It was about time for him to get back in the game. I'm glad that you enjoyed it! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!  
Yes, screw Glover for calling her Lannister, she's most definitely not one. And Jaime and Tyrion will most definitely be redeeming that name.  
Tyrion and Gendry and Robb are kind of my new favorite group. I like the idea of them traveling throughout Westeros together. As for Tyrion putting her on the throne. Perhaps that will include Robb as well, you will have to wait and see. (Can't give all of my secret plans away, much as I'd love for you guys to all know exactly what I have planned!)

 _celinesLineC-Line:_ Thank you! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed my take on Battle of the Bastards. Some things stayed the same because it is how it would have played out no matter what, but one thing that definitely changed was Theon. As much as killing Rickon would have played with Jon's mind, Ramsay had another play in this one. Lenora had taunted him the day before and he knew that Theon would perhaps hurt her more than Rickon would. And by hurting her, he would hurt Jon. Killed two birds with one stone (er... arrow) with that one.

 _JanaOliver:_ Your new update delivered as quickly as humanly possible! Did you enjoy it? I was very happy to hear that the last chapter did not disappoint, and have my fingers crossed that this one did not either! No Robb and Lenora in this chapter, but soon. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that (or, you know, Lenora has some ass kicking she needs to do on her own still).

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _LunaEvanna Longbottom:_ Rickon spared. (For now). No promises though. I, like GRRM use murder and grizzly deaths as plot devices. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter all the same though!

 _purple-pygmy-puff16:_ I'm so glad that you loved it! I hope you loved this chapter just as much! Thank you so much for your review!

 _Guest1995:_ No one died in the last one, I saved that up for this chapter. Two major deaths, one sad and one that I cackled my way through writing. I hope you enjoyed it!  
And I am so glad that you are enjoying the new harder Lenora. If she was going to suffer under Ramsay, she was going to come out stronger for it and we're just starting to see that now. (As for Casterly, yes, she will get him back).  
I love your pun! And while Jaime would definitely have wanted to have a hand (haha!) in Ramsay's death, especially after he heard Lenora's conversation with Jon in this chapter, he also understands that Lenora needs to start rescuing herself. He can guide her and help her, but there are some things that she needs to do alone. Something that both he and Jon realized in this chapter.  
Yes. Ten chapters left in the whole story. Seems so short now, doesn't it?  
As for Theon and Rickon, we know what happened to one of them. You'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happened to the other.  
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

 _ThelonewolfNT:_ You do, and according to Lenora it's time for some people to get what they deserve. You'll see a lot more of that coming up.

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I had written the part where Lenora traced the scar she gave Ramsay before I had even written the chapter where she gave him the damn thing. So it's fantastic to see so many of you enjoying that tiny detail. Is that chapter still your favorite chapter? Because I'm not going to lie, I really like this one.

 _Vyb:_ Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _AnnaB:_ I love reading your reviews! You pick up on so much and I am so happy to read how much you enjoy this story. So thank you! And I am even happier that you picked up on how the Stark girls both admire Lenora for different reasons. With Lenora in the story both girls are very different from their show counterparts, Arya has not gone to Braavos and Sansa has not needed to survive nearly as much, but it's still for those very reasons that each girl respect and admire Lenora and I'm happy that you picked up on it.  
Jaime would not be as supportive of Jon taking his home back if it weren't for Lenora. He's quickly learning that Lenora is now standing up for herself and that she will do what she wants. He will support Jon for as long as Lenora supports Jon. Though, I don't think minds doing the right thing for once either.  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as previous ones and that it was not too detailed or gruesome!

 _Maddy:_ Everyone loved that part with the scar so much and I'm so glad about that! I put it in there, as like a small detail hoping that some of you might notice it, but so far almost everyone has. It makes me smile!  
I hope that you enjoyed this chapter even though Robb still has not shown up yet. We've got another chapter or so before he gets to Winterfell. But don't worry, he will still manage to redeem himself.  
What did you think of the battle? And Ramsay's death? Everything you hoped it would be? (I hope so!)

 _Gamemaster77:_ Aww! So glad I got your last week off to a good start! I hope that this chapter will do the same whenever you read it! And best GoT fanfiction on this site? You are too kind! (Not that I mind it, thank you!)  
I'm so glad that all of you are enjoying Arya and Jaime together. I get a kick out of them every time I write about them. And she is a prime candidate for Queensguard once she gets older. I appreciate that the story has led her to this point where she could stay at Winterfell, or she could go south to serve Lenora and both paths would be true to who she is. Arya has always been one of my favorites and I would hate for her to be stuck anywhere, you know? As for her dying, that will not happen. I could not do that to myself, let alone to you guys.  
No one else has mentioned Sansa and Lenora's conversation about Cersei which makes me sad, because love her or hate her that woman is a central part of not only this story, but both girls' lives. She knows how to play the game and whether purposefully (in Lenora's case) or inadvertently (in Sansa's case) she taught them both. Depending on the conversation and who makes the comparison, it could be a **huge** compliment to be compared to her, something that both Sansa and Lenora are both aware of.  
Haha! "Lord Glover's only redeemable quality was that in the show he gave the best "the King in the North!" shout!" I adore that. But don't be too hard on Glover, he lost his home to the Ironborn and it was the Bolton's that gave it back. He didn't have to be such a cunt, but I can't blame him for not siding with them. Plus, I needed him a plot device, Lenora needed someone to cut her teeth on before the battle.  
Ugh! I was so mad when I read your review! I thought I had done so well at hiding my intentions of Ramsay using Theon to taunt Lenora before the battle instead of Rickon/Jon. And there you go, twelve days before I post this chapter putting it in your review! I thought I was going to surprise everyone, and you guessed it! But, I hope that it was an enjoyable chapter anyway!

That's all I've got for now, friends! Thank you so much for stopping by!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	77. Chapter Seventy-Seven: Too Late

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

Shorter chapter today, but definitely a lot happening in it.  
Also ... please don't hate me ...

* * *

 _Chapter Seventy-Seven: Too Late_

 _Cersei_

There had been no news from the North, not since the Red Wedding. The Boltons had taken over Moat Cailin and tightened their control over everything between it and the Wall. It was worse now than during the Battle of the Five Kings. At least then there had been spies in the North, Lannister sympathizers willing to send news.

Now there was nothing.

She had sent Jaime north to find Lenora. She had no idea if he made it. She had no idea if he had found her. She had no idea if Lenora was even alive.

She had once believed that a mother would always know if something happened to her children, even if they were far away and out of her reach. She had thought that she would feel it, that she would sense that they were in danger and that even if she was unable to get to them, she would feel the loss of them if they died.

It was a bond. Just like the one that she and Jaime had once shared.

They were once a part of her, all four of them. They had spent nine moons in her womb, listening to her voice, getting stronger every day. They were _hers_. And even once they were born, there was nothing like the bond between a mother and her child. She was certain she would feel it when it was broken.

She had felt it with Joffrey after all.

So when she sent Jaime after Lenora she was certain that her daughter was still alive. She _had_ to be because Cersei had not felt the loss.

But that was before she had received the news from Dorne.

When she had heard that a raven had come from Dorne she had thought for a moment that it was Myrcella. When the imp had first sent her to Dorne Myrcella had written to her every day, the little girl was so homesick and scared. She was too young to go, and even she knew it, though she tried to be brave and act like a princess should. As she spent more time there the ravens came less frequently, one a week and they told of the water gardens and what she thought of Trystane. She liked him, more than Cersei was comfortable with.

Then the ravens began to come once a month. They were shorter, she was no longer homesick. She was writing because she felt it was her duty as Cersei's daughter and not because she actually wanted to write to her mother. Cersei had not received a raven last month, she feared that her daughter was finally slipping away from her.

Still, she rushed to her chambers when she was told of the raven. She would take whatever she would get from her children. It was what it meant to be a mother.

But something was wrong, she knew it the moment she saw the raven scroll. It was sealed, not with Myrcella's crowned stag sigil, but with the Martell's sun and spear. When she picked up the scroll it was heavier than it should have been.

With shaking hands she broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. A familiar golden necklace fell into her hands. She closed her hand around the pendant as her vision blurred, making it difficult for her to read the words. They didn't make sense. She had to read them three or four times before she could make sense of them.

 _A fever_. Sudden and cruel. Myrcella had been there, sitting in the water gardens, bright and alive. The next day she had a fever. And then she was gone. They hadn't even had time to send her a raven before she succumbed to the illness. They had buried her by the time the raven made it to King's Landing.

"Lies," she murmured to herself as she dropped the scroll on her desk. That was all it was. _Lies_. She was certain of it.

She called for her hand maiden as she paced back and forth behind her desk, still clutching the pendant. "Send for my children," she ordered the woman without looking up when the young woman entered the room. "Send for Joff, for Lenora, and Tommen. I need to speak to them." The girl began to nod, but then she hesitated, her brows furrowed. "Gods, but you're a slow one!" Cersei hissed at her, finally turning her gaze on the girl. "I told you to fetch my children. I need to speak to them!"

"Your Grace," the girl said, her voice shaking. "I - I c-can't."

"You - you c-can't?" Cersei echoed, cruelly mocking the girl's stutter. "You're useless too then! Why can't you?"

"Your Grace?" she asked, dropping her gaze and speaking slowly. "King Joffrey is dead. He has been dead for many months. And Princess Lenora is -"

" _Dead_?" Cersei echoed, quietly.

"Not Princess Lenora," the handmaiden quickly told her meaning to comfort her. "She's -"

"Married to a traitor and betraying the crown," Cersei finished for the girl. She nodded. "She's married to Robb Stark and marching south against her brother. She was ungrateful even as a child." She shook her head, "If only -"

"If only what, Your Grace?" the girl asked, she was breathless now. Eager to please, but still too slow for Cersei's liking. She still had not left to fetch the children yet.

"Nothing!" Cersei snapped at her. She shook her head, "If you can't fetch my children, then fetch my brother and my father. I need to speak to them." She nodded, that sounded better. She should tell them first, then they could all tell the children.

The girl's gaze dropped to the floor, "I can't, Your Grace," she whispered.

"And why not?" Cersei snapped at her, her hand closing around the stem of a wine goblet. She lifted it to her lips and emptied the cup in one sip while she waited. The girl did not speak. Cersei sighed as she poured herself another glass of wine. "Why not?" she asked again.

"Ser Jaime hasn't been seen in the capitol for months," the girl whispered. "No one knows where he is. And Lord Tywin -"

"Do not tell me that he has left too," Cersei commanded, her voice soft and dangerous. "He is Joffrey's hand, his duty is to be here and help him rule. Send for my father, now."

The girl looked terrified. As well she should. As soon as Cersei spoke to her father about they should tell the children about Myrcella she would put the girl out on the city streets. She was too slow, too useless to be of any service to the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She would have to go. Cersei turned from her, ignoring her ill-performed curtsy to pour more wine in her glass, she emptied the cup in one long pull. Her back was still turned, pouring a second glass of wine when she heard the door to the chamber shut behind the girl as she left, finally doing as she was bid.

"We'll tell Lenora first," she whispered to herself, pacing as she sipped her wine. It was right, Lenora was the eldest child, and she had cared so much for her younger sister. She would also be able to help Cersei tell Tommen, the youngest boy was still so attached to his eldest sister. The news would come best from her. She could still remember him, the night that Stannis attacked King's Landing, clutching her flower crown in his hand as she told him the story of the little lion in the King's Wood.

She took another sip of wine, "No," she told herself, shaking her head. They couldn't tell Lenora first. She was no longer in King's Landing, no longer with her family where she belonged. She was in the North with the traitor, helping him betray her brother. The girl had always claimed that her family was important to her, but she had married the Stark boy and turned her back on them. "No doubt she will celebrate when she learns the news of her sister," Cersei added, her voice hard as she finished her glass of wine, pausing in her pacing just long enough to refill her glass before she continued.

Lenora was dead to her.

Joffrey then, he would be the first one they would tell, she decided as she took a long sip from her glass. "It's only right." Even if Lenora had still been in King's Landing, it was only right that they tell Joff first, he was the king after all. He should get the news first and then together they would tell Tommen.

Perhaps even Jaime would help. She knew that of all her children, Lenora was her brother's favorite, and she knew that he and Joff would often butt heads. But even Jaime could not hate Tommen, the boy was so soft, so innocent. And so was Myrcella, no matter how much Jaime disliked how the children had come to be, he couldn't blame them, they were innocent. Perhaps he would even feel Cersei's sorrow and heartbreak as he had done when they were children. He had always known when she needed his comfort, maybe he would know now. Maybe this, as terrible as the event was would be what brought him back to her.

She nodded as she drained her glass and reached for the pitcher to pour herself some more. She should have sent that stupid girl for her brother as well as her father. It wasn't Tywin she needed now, but Jaime. He would know how to comfort her.

She would tell her father and then she would tell Jaime. And he would come back to her, as he had once done so willingly. Then they would tell Joffrey and Tommen together. Perhaps they would even tell the boys that Jaime was, in fact, their father. Robert wasn't there to get in their way anymore. The entire kingdom had heard the rumors by now, and half of them still backed the Lannisters and Joffrey. They didn't need to hide it. They could be a family again.

She nodded to herself as she finished her glass. She could see it.

And it was perfect. And golden. And warm.

It was everything she had ever wanted for her life.

And it all came crashing down round her shoulders when the door to her chambers opened and her father's brother, Kevan, entered instead of her father. She turned on him, her eyes narrowing into a glare. "I sent for Father," she told him, her voice cold. " _You_ can do nothing for me."

Her uncle looked at her for a moment, his eyes soft - so unlike her father's, a frown tugging at his lips. He looked as though he felt sorry for her. She did not need his sympathy, she needed him to leave her chambers and get her father. "Cersei," he started, his voice wrapping around her name like a warm blanket. "Your father is dead. He has been dead for three moons at least."

Cersei shook her head. A memory of a funeral cutting through her wine induced fog. It couldn't be. At least not that long ago. Her father couldn't have been dead for that long. "Jaime?" she asked, her voice cracking and breaking around her brother's name.

"You sent him away," Kevan reminded her gently. "To find Lenora."

Cersei's hand closed into a fist at the mention of Lenora's name. The girl was dead to her. And Myrcella was dead. And Joffrey ... "Joff," she whispered.

Kevan shook his head, he opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her that her eldest son was gone too, but he was wrong. Because she could _hear_ him. Out in the corridor, calling for her. He called her mother, his voice soft and gentle in a way it hadn't been since he was a young boy. He was looking for her, he _needed_ her.

She pushed past Kevan, striding toward the door in quick, determined steps. "Coming Sweeting," she called out to her son, hoping that he could hear her. She had not been there when she had lost Lenora. She had not been there when Myrcella had fallen victim to the fever that had taken her according to the raven, but she would be there for Joffrey and Tommen.

He was waiting for her in the corridor. His skin was pale, dark purple bruises under his green eyes as if he had not slept well in weeks. But he was still as beautiful as he had always been. She reached out for him, meaning to grab his hand, but her fist closed around nothing, but thin air. He was out of her reach again, he had moved so fast that she hadn't even seen him.

"Sweeting," she whispered, remembering when he had told her to stop calling him that, when he had pouted and complained that he was a king and he did not need his mother treating him like he was a child. He did not fight her this time, instead he stood just out of her reach and smiled.

She tried to reach out to him again, but again her fist closed around nothing. "I don't understand," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don't understand."

Something crossed over his green eyes, a sadness and an impatience. "I'm not here, Mother," he told her, his voice echoing oddly off the walls around them. It sounded hollow. "I'll never be again. You weren't able to save me."

Cersei shook her head, she couldn't believe it. She _wouldn't_ believe it. "I tried," she told her son, emphatically, wishing that he knew just how hard she had tried to save him. "I tried." She could feel tears prickling her eyes, threatening to pour down her cheeks. She held them back, queens did not cry in public.

Joffrey shook his head, no longer smiling. "It wasn't enough," he told her. "You weren't enough. You failed. Just as you failed Myrcella."

"It wasn't my choice to send her away," Cersei argued, defending herself. "Tyrion sent her without my permission. It wasn't my choice."

" _It wasn't your choice_ ," Joffrey sneered, ridiculing her. "You were never as strong as you thought you were, Mother. Never as strong as you should have been. You _allowed_ others to make choices for you when you should have been making them yourself. You were weak. And because of that you were unable to save me. You were unable to save Myrcella. You won't save Lenora. And you won't save Tommen."

Cersei shook her head, silently denying her son's words. She couldn't understand why he was being so cruel, but he was wrong. She would save them, her two remaining children. She would start with Tommen. "I'll save him," she vowed, her voice a breathless whisper. "You'll see."

Joffrey shook his head, "You've already lost him," he told her, still sneering. " _They've_ got their _thorns_ in him now and they won't let go. He's as good as dead."

Cersei shook her head again, not denying her son's words, but silently wishing them away.

Joffrey nodded, still ridiculing her. "They do," he vowed to her. "He's no longer yours. None of us are. You're alone now, Mother. Just as you've always been."

He disappeared then, no longer simply out of her reach, but out of her sight. But his words remained, she could still hear them echoing in her head.

 _He's no longer yours. None of us are._

She shook her head, quickly striding down the corridor, looking for a servant.

 _You're alone now, Mother. Just as you've always been._

As soon as she found a servant she sent them after Qyburn. She needed him urgently, while there was still time to save him.

 _You've already lost him_.

She may have lost her youngest son, but she would not allow him to die as Joffrey had, scared and choking on his own tongue. She would not allow _them_ to make a public spectacle of her pain.

 _They've got their thorns in him now_.

She'd kill them all, every single one of them. Anyone who had dared to try to take her children from her. The Tyrells of Highgarden. The Martells in Dorne. The Starks in the North. _Everyone_.

 _He's as good as dead._

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

It took them a day before they began to speak. A day of riding silently side by side, taking turns watching each other when the other looked away. The wolf's brows always furrowed when he glanced at the boy, his blue eyes scanning his tan face, searching for anything and everything that could remind him of Lenora. And the bastard stole quick, furtive looks at the one-time king as if Robb Stark were the sun itself and he would be burned by looking at him for too long.

Each had questions for the other. But both were too nervous, too afraid to ask.

If Tyrion hadn't enjoyed watching them so much he would have said something. But he was enjoying the entertainment and was a bit upset when on the second day of their ride north, Gendry ended it by speaking.

"What is she like?" he asked Robb, echoing the question he had once asked Tyrion. "My sister," he specified, as if it were needed. "What is she like?"

 _It's not as though she's the only thing the two of you are thinking about_ , Tyrion thought to himself with a smirk. It seemed that of the two of Robert's children that he knew, only one of them had gotten the late King's mind. And it wasn't his bastard son.

Robb glanced at him for a moment and opened his mouth to speak, before he looked away, closing his eyes as if it hurt too much to speak about Lenora while looking at someone who looked so much like her. For a long moment he was silent, and then, his eyes on the small forgotten side road in front of them, he began to speak.

"Her voice was like honey," he told the boy, still not looking at him. "Clear and smooth and sweet. Always with _something_ hiding behind it. Sarcasm, a jest, a smirk. It didn't simply come out of her mouth, it _rang_ , filling the room. And even when she spoke quietly there was a power in it that made people listen to her, even if they disagreed. It was silvery and at times almost musical."

From behind them, Tyrion could see that both boys were smiling. Robb wore the bittersweet, rueful smile he always wore when he spoke of Lenora and Gendry grinned widely at the small description that the Stark boy had given him. "She sounds nice," Gendry supplied, turning to look to Robb for confirmation.

Robb laughed, a dark chuckle that rumbled its way up his throat. It didn't ring true, it sounded dangerous. "Not always," he warned the boy. "Her words were like her mind, capable of being warm and kind, but she had a sword for a tongue. If she thought you a fool, she would use her words to cut you. And she could cut to the bone."

Tyrion wondered why the Stark boy kept referring to Lenora in the past tense. He opened his mouth to ask, but Gendry had another question, and the boy was faster than the careful, thoughtful lord behind him. "Did she love you right away?" he asked. And then, "Did you love her?"

Robb shook his head, the rueful smile back on his lips, his blue eyes distant. "Neither of us did," he told the boy. "We learned that we were to be wed at a young age, before we truly understood what it meant. When we did finally understand it, we fought against it." He shook his head again, bitter, "We wasted so much time trying to hate each other." He finally turned, his blue-eyed gaze landing on the boy beside him. "Love came in its own time," he told him. "And it came faster for me than it did for her. She was stubborn, your sister, a trait I'm not entirely sure she only got from her Lannister mother." He was quiet for a moment and Tyrion thought that he was waiting for another one of Gendry's questions, but then he spoke again, unprompted. "You look just like her."

Gendry nodded, "She looks like King Robert," he told Robb, as if the young Stark had never seen the king for himself. "Since learning that he was my father too everyone that knows says that I look like him too. The dark hair, the grey eyes."

Robb nodded, "She was strong," he told Gendry, unbidden. He chuckled again and shook his head, "Not strong like a man, she didn't carry her strength in her muscles. It was," he paused, looking for the right way to describe it, " _inside_. She carried it with her quietly, but I could see it. In her eyes, the way she held herself, what she did. Robert might have been strong on the battlefield, but _Nora,_ she was strong everywhere."

Gendry nodded, taking it all in. After a long silent moment he cleared his throat. "What was it like?" he asked, and then as if realizing that his question gave very little frame of reference he tried again. "When you were happy," he specified. "What was it like when the two of you were happy?"

For the first time since they had found Robb, the Stark boy's smile was neither bitter or rueful. It pulled up at the corners of his lips, reaching his eyes, a dimple crinkling in his cheek. That smile had the power to transform him from someone menacing to someone Tyrion almost wanted to know. It was the smile of the man that Lenora had fallen in love with.

"It was like being _home_ ," he told Gendry softly. "Something that came from the inside. It was like my breaths weren't full until she was there next to me and suddenly I could _breathe_ for the first time in my life. Where at first my future had been a vague, hazy outline of what was expected of me, it was suddenly clear. Suddenly full of life, and color, and love. Suddenly it was full of _her_. I didn't simply _want_ , Nora, I _needed_ her. She was everything."

Tyrion snorted, he remembered feeling that way about Shae, it was unhealthy at best, life-ruining at worst. Robb turned to look at him over his shoulder, his blue eyes narrowing into a glare. "What, Imp?" he growled, the lightness that had filled his voice during his last answer quickly disappearing from his voice.

Tyrion shrugged and shook his head, "I am simply imagining what Len would say if she heard you speak like this about her."

The Stark boy's lips twitched at the corners, he was fighting a smile. "She'd call me a fool," he suggested. "Perhaps she'd tease me and say I had read one too many of Sansa's fairytales." He turned his gaze forward again and shook his head. "Our life wasn't a fairytale," he murmured, Tyrion was unsure if the boy was still talking to him, or Gendry, or perhaps even himself, "but she was mine."

...

The next day Gendry was not as shy with his questions. It did not take him as long to ask. He peppered Robb with all sorts of questions about Lenora.

What her favorite food was?

Did she like to dance?

Did she enjoy reading?

Was she really as good at sword play as everyone insisted?

And on and on they went.

Stark, to his credit, answered every one of the boy's questions with a patience that Tyrion had never thought him capable of. Sometimes, unbidden, he added stories of their time together that Gendry had not asked for.

Tyrion kept waiting for the moment when Gendry would run out of questions, or when one of the answers would be too difficult for Robb. But neither moment came. Before Robb finished an answer, Gendry would already have a new question on the tip of his tongue. And the Stark boy seemed to enjoy answering them. He became more and more the boy Tyrion had met at Winterfell when they first arrived so long ago.

Talking about Lenora seemed to bring him back.

And still, Gendry had more questions. At this rate he would know everything about his sister before they officially met.

There would be no need for an introduction. That thought made him smile.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

For the first time since the Boltons had brought her back to Winterfell she enjoyed walking in the courtyard. They had found some of the old Stark banners hidden away. They were dirty, many singed by the Ironborn's fires, there were holes, and some of them were in downright tatters, but they remained.

And the Stark children were determined to make the best of everything.

So they hung them, and Arya determined that they would do just fine until she and Sansa were able to sew new ones. Lenora loved it, remembering the little girl who had once hated sewing with her sister, but now happily sat down for an hour each afternoon to help.

And Sansa, to her credit, no longer ridiculed Arya's stitching, no longer fussed when it wasn't perfect. No longer puffed like a proud peacock when her stitches were neater, faster, smaller than her sister's. Though, on more than one occasion Lenora had caught Sansa quietly ripping out Arya's stitches and redoing them once her younger sister had left to practice her swordplay with Brienne and the Hound, and occasionally Bronn and Jaime in the courtyard.

The girl had no shortage of teachers now. And Lenora knew that she appreciated it. She got something different from all of them. The girl would be heartbroken when they left, though she would never admit it. She was so much tougher than that.

For the first afternoon in a fortnight the courtyard was empty of both Arya's sword play lessons and of carpenters and men working on righting some of the damage the Ironborn had caused to the keep. It was quiet and as she moved across the open space between the main keep and the stables she could hear the banners rippling in the bitter wind.

She turned, keeping her gaze resolutely off the kennels to look at the banners. Her chest tightened, not painfully, at the sight of the grey direwolf on the white field, both back where they belonged on Winterfell's walls.

Unbidden, her gaze fell on the kennels, it was where they had found him - Rickon. They found him shortly after she and Grey Wind had returned from their hunt. Apparently Ramsay had not been entirely honest when he told them that he had not fed his hounds in weeks. Ramsay, for all his faults was not stupid, she did not doubt that it had only taken him a short time to realize his dilemma. If he won the battle against Jon, he would not want Ned Stark's last remaining trueborn son at Winterfell, and if he lost, he would want to hit Jon once more, from beyond the grave, where it would hurt the most. Deep down, she had known that Rickon would not survive, but she had never thought that the monster would go as far as to feed him to his hounds.

There hadn't been much of him left when Jon found him. He had been mauled to a bloody pulp, a mess of bones and innards. The only reason they knew it was him was because before Ramsay had locked him in the kennel with the dogs he had hung a large silver direwolf sigil around his neck. It was still there when Jon found him.

He and Jaime had done their best to try to hide it from her. They both tried to keep her out of the kennel. Jaime went as far as to wrap his hand tightly around her wrist and physically hold her back until she had ordered him to let go of her. Even then he had done so after a long moment of hesitation. Jon tried next, telling her that there was nothing in there that she would want to see. But she was so _sick_ of Jon and Jaime trying to shield her from the unpleasant aspects of war with Ramsay Bolton.

She had _lived_ this. Nothing could shock her now.

Or so she had thought before she entered the kennel. The smell was horrible, even in the cold, Rickon had begun to rot. The sight was worse. But worse than that was the way the dogs growled, the way their eyes locked on her from within their cages, staring at her as if she were their next meal.

Her fists had clenched that day as she walked out of the kennel, just as they were clenched now, her fingernails digging into the scarred and broken palms of her hands. She had walked out of the kennel and ordered that all the dogs be put down, they could not be trusted around men any longer. And then she had ordered Jon to bury Theon. She did not care how he felt about Theon Greyjoy, the boy had been terrible, but he had become a man. And that man had saved her life, only to stay behind and try to save Rickon's as well, surely knowing it would be the death of him.

"Would you have me bury him here or send his bones back to the Iron Islands?" Jon had asked, his voice cold. He was not arguing with her, she took that as a good sign.

"Here," she told him, her voice still a command. "He made mistakes," she continued, her voice softening a bit. "I will be the first to admit it. But he thought he had a choice to make, an impossible one: Stark or Greyjoy. The family that had taken him in, who cared for him, who raised him, and the family he had been born into."

She had glanced past Jon at that point, her gaze landing on Jaime. His green eyes were locked on her face, her uncle knew why it was so important to her that Theon be buried at Winterfell, he knew that the reason she sympathized with Theon was because she had faced the same impossible choice on several occasions during the war. She needed redemption for Theon if she could ever hope for some for herself.

Jon didn't see it, he couldn't yet. He took a step closer to her, shaking his head. "Our father was more of a father to him than his ever was. And he betrayed him. He betrayed his memory."

Lenora had nodded, she would not shy away from Jon's anger, it was well deserved, but she would not let him change her mind. "You didn't see him at the end," she told him. "Ned Stark was still a part of him." Jon had shaken his head, but Lenora pressed on. "He saved me. And then he stayed behind to try to help Rickon. _Tell me_ , that is not something he learned from your father." She paused, waiting for Jon to argue with her, and when he didn't she continued. "I didn't forgive him for everything he did, it wasn't my place, but what I could forgive, I did. _You_ should try to do the same."

She had watched as something lit in Jon's dark eyes. He could see it now, her connection with Theon Greyjoy. When he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle. He wasn't speaking about Theon, he was speaking about Lenora. "You never had to make a choice," he told her, his voice strong despite its whisper. "You're a Stark. You're a Baratheon. You're a Lannister. You're the best of all three, Nora, never forget that."

"And _he_ was a Greyjoy," she countered, " _and_ a Stark."

They had not spoken about it again, but when Jon's men had found Theon's body, partially trampled on the battlefield he had ordered that the men bury it in the Godswood. Then he had them remove Rickon's body and bury it in the crypt with the other Starks.

That had been nearly two weeks ago and she still could not enter the kennels. She couldn't even look at them without her fists clenching, without bile rising in her throat, without her chest tightening painfully. Without thinking that, perhaps, she and Grey Wind had been too easy on Ramsay. She should have had him whipped, she should have had him beaten, she should have had him broken. She should have injured him, and then sent healers to him, helping him get better just to hurt him again. She should have cut pieces of him off as he had done to Rickon, and Theon before him. She should have flayed him as he had threatened to do to so many. She should have burned him, mutilated him, humiliated him, and prolonged his miserable life for as long as she could. And then she should have fed him to his own damn dogs.

Grey Wind, for all his fury and growling, for the hour and a half it took the wolf to slowly kill him, had been far gentler and cleaner than Ramsay Bolton had deserved.

The next time an enemy's life was in her hands, Lenora would remember Ramsay, and she would not be gentle on them.

She was still glaring at the kennels when she ran into him. She gasped when his hands fell to her waist, a touch too familiar, to steady her. "Your Grace," Littlefinger greeted her, finally dropping his hands and stepping away from her. "I apologize, I seem to have startled you." He glanced around the courtyard, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his gaze landed on the kennels. "Lost in thought?" he asked, his voice still light and friendly, it made the hairs on the back of Lenora's neck stand up. "I imagine this courtyard is filled with many happy and terrible memories. Which ones were you visiting just now?"

Lenora fought to keep her eyes from narrowing. She did not trust Littlefinger any farther than she could throw him. She did not know why he had arrived with the knights of the Vale at the Battle of the Bastards, and while she would admit that they never would have won without that support she did not entirely trust him. Still, she knew from her experience of watching Littlefinger in the capitol that she was safer if he thought that she thought they were friends. "No memories at all, Lord Baelish," she told him, keeping her voice light and friendly. "I was simply appreciating the sight of the direwolf sigil back on the walls of Winterfell."

Littlefinger nodded, he looked a shade too proud, as if it were entirely his doing. "It is," he agreed. "The keep has come full circle again. It would have been a shame if we had arrived too late and the battle had been lost. What is it the Northerners always say about Starks and Winterfell?"

"There must always be a Stark at Winterfell," Lenora supplied for him quietly.

" _There must always be a Stark at Winterfell_ ," Littlefinger echoed. "And now there are three and a Snow as well."

Lenora bristled at that, she did not like the reminder that Jon was still a Snow, at least in the eyes of the rest of the world. She was going to tell him that evening that Robb had legitimized him, but she worried that it would do little good without proof. "It was very lucky that you arrived when you did, Lord Baelish," she said instead. "Tell me, how did you know that we would need help?"

"Lady Sansa sent a raven to me when Jon Snow first started amassing forces," Littlefinger told her, his voice smooth as silk, his smile tight and cold. "You will remember that I rescued her from King's Landing and brought her to the Eyrie to live with her aunt and her cousin Robin. My beloved Lysa is dead now, but Robin cares deeply for Lady Sansa, as do I, we heard her plea and we could not ignore it."

She was unable to keep her eyes from narrowing now. On their journey to the Wall Sansa had told her and Brienne all about her time in the Eyrie. She knew that Littlefinger had kissed her, that he had shoved Lysa Arryn out of the moon door, that Sansa had helped him by lying about what had happened. She had never understood why the girl had helped Littlefinger, personally she thought that the Seven Kingdoms would be better without him, but now she felt oddly grateful that the man was still alive. Distrustful, but grateful.

She inclined her head, her gaze falling to the ground in an attempt to hide her distrust from him. "It was very fortunate you arrived when you did, Lord Baelish," she told him, knowing that it was what he wanted to hear from her - praise and gratitude. "And so brave, though I suppose if you had arrived later you could have announced that you had arrived to help Ramsay." Her voice was still soft, but there was a steel underneath it that she knew Littlefinger could hear.

The man, to his credit did not seem ashamed by her questioning his honor. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "It would not have done anyone any good for me to arrive at the battle and declare for the losing side. Without Jon Snow's forces, the knights of the Vale would have made very little progress. If we had arrived too late I would have immediately aligned myself with Ramsay, if only to perhaps protect Lady Sansa and Lady Arya."

Lenora nodded, he was saying all the right words, and if he were anyone else she might have believed them. But not him. She forced a smile onto her lips, "How happy it must be to have no skin in the game," she told him, lifting her gaze to his face. "Your actions shape a country, and yet you only act when your best interest will be served."

He bristled at that a bit, "I don't see how it was in my best interest to ride north with the Knights of the Vale. Some of Robin's men could have died. They all would have been safe if we had simply stayed in the Eyre. It was a risk."

Lenora nodded, "But a calculated one," she countered. "I did not read the raven Lady Sansa sent you, but I can imagine what was in it. You could not risk our side winning without your help for fear that she might reveal what truly happened to Lady Lysa. Now could you?"

For a moment he was quiet and then the lord started to laugh. "You are intelligent, Lady Lenora," he congratulated her. "You certainly see more than your father ever did. I see much of Lord Tyrion in you. Your uncle must be so proud."

Lenora smiled as she reached into the pocket that was hidden in the folds of her skirt. She had been carrying this with her ever since she had returned to Winterfell. Until this moment she had not known what to do with it, but now she knew. It was time to return it to its owner. "It's strange that you should mention my uncle, Lord Baelish," she told him, her voice smooth and warm again, betraying nothing. "And I'm glad that you've noticed that I _see_ things. Because this is something that I saw long ago that I couldn't make sense of until now. Perhaps you could help me?"

His chest puffed with pride and he smirked, "If I can be of any service, Lady Lenora, please allow me to help. What is it that you struggle with?"

Lenora kept the smile on her face as she withdrew the dagger from her pocket. It was a beautiful one, Valyrian steel and a gold hilt. One that she had seen and held many times as a child. The dagger that had been used in the attempt on Bran's life. She kept her gaze locked on Littlefinger's face as his gaze moved over the dagger. She had the pleasure of watching surprise color his face, quickly followed by confusion, panic, and finally a calm mask. "This was my uncle Tyrion's dagger," she told Littlefinger as she tried to hand it to him.

He would not take it.

"And what - " he asked, pausing to clear his throat, "what has you so uncertain about this dagger, my lady?"

"It was used in an attempt on Bran Stark's life before all of this started when he lay unconscious after my uncle Jaime pushed him from the tower," she explained to him, though she suspected that she didn't need to waste her breath. "An unsuccessful attempt that left Lady Catelyn suspicious of my family and forced her to travel south to King's Landing to speak to her husband," she paused, "and you."

He looked more uncomfortable now, "I assure you, my lady, anything I said or did for Lady Catelyn while she was in the capitol was to protect her. We were -"

"And to keep her suspicious of my family," Lenora interrupted, she did not have the time or the patience to hear one of Littlefinger's stories about how he had once been close to the Tulley sisters. "You told her that it had been your dagger, that you lost it to my uncle Tyrion when you bet on Jaime in a tourney and he lost. You told her that the dagger had changed hands and from then on out it belonged to a Lannister. It was exactly what she wanted to hear, she was already determined to suspect my family, so she never stopped to question that it did not make sense."

Littlefinger shook his head, he was watching her face, not her hands. He didn't notice when she unsheathed the blade. "I don't think you know what you're saying, my lady," he told her his voice soft and soothing. "You've been through so much as of late, no one could blame you."

"No one trusts the Lannisters," she mused quietly. "Whenever a Lannister says something it is often discredited because it came from a Lannister. But what no one realizes is that they are a loyal group, at least to themselves. It is true, the tournament you spoke of, Jaime lost, but you lied when you told Lady Catelyn that you bet on Jaime _against_ my uncle. Tyrion would never bet against Jaime, he's too loyal for that. _He_ bet on Jaime winning, _you_ bet against him. The Lannister dagger changed hands and landed in yours."

Littlefinger shook his head, but she did not give him a chance to defend himself. She was tired of his voice. "You were the Master of Coin, it would have been easy enough for you to pay the would be murderer. But it was a few months later when you truly showed your hand. The man who attempted to kill me had so much gold on him that it could have only come from the king. But it would have been _you_ who arranged the payment." She glanced up at him, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Tell me, Lord Baelish, in all your years playing at politics in Westeros, have you always been _this_ sloppy? Or is this a recent development?"

He never got the chance to answer. Lenora had learned her lesson with Ramsay, to never underestimate an enemy. And she had learned it well. She had gone too gently with Ramsay's death only to learn upon her return that he had deserved so much worse. Lord Baelish would want a trial, where he would speak to everything that had happened to her and how she could no longer determine who was her enemy and who was her friend. He would paint a picture of a terrified and broken woman, who should be protected from even herself. And no doubt, many men would believe it.

He would twist his words and his actions until even she questioned what she thought she had known. He would have someone else to place the blame on, and it would be so well executed that even she might start to believe it. She could not let that happen. And so, while he was distracted and floundering, searching for the right words to use in the situation she used his surprise to her advantage.

Her fist closed around the hilt of the dagger, the metal dug into her palm. As she spun quickly toward him, hitting him and pushing him, stumbling toward the wall. He almost fell and reached out his right hand, stooping slightly to catch himself on the wall and steady his feet. It was in that moment, when he was bent down, his throat lowered that she made her move. She quickly moved to stand behind him and then, without thinking, she used the dagger in her right hand to cut his throat, from below his left ear to below his right.

The Valyrian steel cut through his skin like a knife through melted butter. It cut quickly, smoothly, and deep. His head lulled back as he dropped to his knees, the back of his head resting on her stomach as his pale, panicked blue eyes stared up at the sky above them. Blood rushed from his wound, coloring and melting the snow at their feet, covering her hands and the dagger. It gurgled as he tried to breathe. His hands lifted toward his throat, slow and lazy, he had already lost too much blood, he didn't even have the strength to lift them all to his throat.

She leaned forward, smiling a bit as she moved into his sight line. He didn't have much longer, he would fall to the ground soon. Even if there was a maester with them now, he was a dead man, he could not be saved. But she wanted to make sure that she was the last thing he saw before he fell.

She wanted to ensure that her smile would be the image that sent him to the Stranger, and to whatever the Gods had planned for him now.

* * *

Author's Note:

PLEASE DO NOT HATE ME.  
I know, you all hoped that Rickon would survive. I know. And I wanted to let him. But if you check back many, many, many chapters you'll see in an author's note that I said that at the end of this story the same amount of Starks would die as in the show. I saved Robb so Bran had to die. If I wanted to keep Rickon alive I would have had to kill one of the two girls. And I could not do that.  
All the same, please do not hate me!  
If you're still here. Thank you for reading. Thank you for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites lists, your communities, and thank you so much for your reviews! You guys are wonderful!

 _RHatch89:_ No more fucking Boltons! You are right! But as evidenced by this chapter Ramsay Bolton is capable of reaching out beyond the grave and hurting Lenora even after she thinks she's safe. As for the North crowning the King (or Queen!) of the North, you will have to wait and see! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter!

 _12D3 Gorillaz:_ Damn! I thought I was being so sneaky with the Theon surprise! But you guessed it! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! (Hopefully this surprise was a bit harder to guess!)

 _Average White Writer:_ I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! Thank you so much! I'm glad that you're enjoying Lenora. I think she's one of my most favorite OCs I've ever made. Unfortunately, the story will have to end eventually (in about seven chapters to be exact) but I promise that it will all be good!

 _The Three Stoogies:_ I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

 _RoseAmeliaSarahNoblePond:_ Aww! Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so glad that the last chapter made it into your list of favorite chapters! And I'm glad that I managed to catch you by surprise! I hope I didn't make you wait too long for this chapter!

 _Emma Clair 93:_ I'm glad! Thank you for letting me know!

 _Guest(1):_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and that it was a worthy distraction from the wait for the reunion. It's still coming, but with each chapter we get closer!

 _Guest(2):_ I agree, thank goodness Ramsay is dead! It's just too bad that he didn't die a bit sooner! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter all the same!

 _purple-pygmy-puff16:_ You are the only one who guessed that even though I killed Theon I was also going to kill Rickon. Bravo! I'm so glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _janaoliver:_ "Absolute perfection!" That is some pretty big praise! Thank you so much! And I hope that I am able to live up to that in the future! That would have been fun to have Robb show up to see what she had become, but don't worry, when they do reunite Robb will be able to witness the amazing badass she has grown into. I hope you enjoyed this chapter (even though there was no reunion with the littlest Stark).

 _TheDragonSinger:_ I know! It hurt to kill Theon. (Honestly, it hurt more to kill him than it did to kill Rickon in this chapter!)

 _HPuni101:_ Aww! Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter. The confrontation between Cersei and Lenora is going to be fantastic, even without any help from Littlefinger. Season seven did have a bit of lazy writing. And there was a lot of focus on imagined stress between Sansa and Arya that I thought could have been spent on something else. So, no battles, real or imagined, between the Stark sisters in this story. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, my friend!

 _Guest1995:_ Thank you so much for your review my friend! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter (even though it was a bit conflicting!) I've been waiting since the beginning of this story for the chapter when Ramsay got what he deserved. So I am thrilled that you guys have enjoyed it so much. I've been waiting for that scene where Lenora quotes Ramsay back at him for MONTHS!  
I like to think that Theon did get his redemption. He helped save Lenora, he stuck around to try to save Rickon, and when Ramsay set him lose on the battlefield he was running toward Lenora, not so that she could save him, but screaming at her to turn back. He knew he was going to die, he was still trying to save her. If that's not redemption, I don't know what is.  
As for your request to see a reunion between Lenora and Casterly, your wish will be my command in the next chapter. Had not planned on it, but there is a scene in the next chapter that could easily begin in the stables with Casterly. So ,,, consider it done! And you are right! She does plan to go south. She might run into some friends along the way!  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, friend!

 _StarkTeller:_ I'm glad that you're jumping for absolute joy! (At least that you were! I hope you still are!) You're very welcome for your special shout out! You deserved it! It was your birthday week! I hope you enjoyed Disneyland, I've never been, I'm on the east coast so I'm a Disney World girl all the way!  
And yes! We will see some Tyrion and Cersei POVs pretty soon ;)

 _PsychoBeachGirl88:_ I'm so glad that you found this story! Thank you so much for reading it and taking the time to review! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last conflicting chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well! Yes, some of Lenora's soldiers survived, they'll be heading south soon enough!

AnnaB: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the multiple POVs of the same situation. I originally thought of adding some more, snippets of what is going on in other places in the Seven Kingdoms, but I decided I wanted to keep the chapter focused on the BotB like they did in the episode. I like to think that it worked out.  
I loved reading your review, all the parts that you spoke about were some of my favorite parts of the chapter too! So it was nice to see them so appreciated! Thank you so much! Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well! (Despite the scene at the end ... you have to admit, he deserved it!)

Padfootette: I'm glad! I hope you loved this chapter just as much!

 _rorschachmask27:_ I tend to picture Lily James as Lenora. She's a natural brunette, and I like to look at pictures of her and Richard Madden from _Romeo and Juliet_ for inspiration.  
Though others have suggest Adelaide Kane. Who is a worthy contender.

 _Damon's Special Reserve:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Bhk:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

 _Falcon Lair:_ Thank you so much! I hope this chapter was just as good!

 _LunaWolfSunTigeress15:_ Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you love Lenora! I love her too, so it's nice to hear (or read) that you guys love her just as much! I hope that you continue to love her and this story as it progresses!

 _MaiaofThedas:_ I think Robert would be proud of her, and that's something that she and her uncle will be talking about in the near future. If he weren't dead he would be pleased to know that his daughter has grown into a strong, brave woman.  
As for Myrcella, she did die. But no one killed her, Lenora doesn't know about it yet, but she'll find out soon. As for Gendry ... you know Lenora will legitimize him! As soon as she meets him.  
Now that she is officially on the war path the Black lioness will be making a comeback. Thank you so much for your review, my friend! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _Alba:_ I have had my moments of shipping her with Jon as well! There were times when I toyed with keeping Robb dead, but I couldn't do it. I wouldn't do it. They're meant for each other, the two of them. I couldn't pair Lenora with anyone else.

 _Gamemaster77:_ Aww! You reviewed just in time! So you didn't have to wait long at all for the next update! I'm glad that the last chapter had everything that you wanted! That made my morning to read that! Yes please! Let's break it down!  
I'm glad that Jamie's section left you with the warm fuzzies. Don't worry, he won't be killed off in this story at the very least! And I hope not in the show either! Though I think it would be poetic justice in a way.  
Ah! I love when people quote my story back at me! I'm so happy that you appreciated Jon's point of view and how he saw Lenora before the battle. He cares so much about his siblings, and in turn Lenora, and I am thrill that that is coming through. Jon and Robb's reunion is going to be fantastic. (And it's much closer than many of you think!) You spoil me with your praise about Lenora's ride toward Theon. I'm glad that even though you knew that Theon was dead I was able to momentarily make you think, hope, pray that Theon might live. And I love that you picked up on how Theon was running straight toward Lenora! Screaming at Lenora to turn back. No one else picked up on that. _This_ was Theon's redemption, even in the face of death he was looking out for Lenora. She won't forget that.  
Yeah, Ser Justin made it out alive. I like this pretty much made up character too much to kill him now. I appreciate that you noticed the little things like the part where she wasn't sure who her friends and enemies were. It would be less difficult in the south where everybody has different colors. But it was northerners fighting northerners in this one. And as much time as she spent with them and Robb, she's still a bit of an outsider. The moments the lines broke, she would be completely lost.  
I hope that you liked this chapter, even if I'm potentially breaking a lot of hearts with Rickon. (And also to a lesser degree Myrcella). Thank you so much for your review and your kind words, I hope I can keep this roll going!

That's all I've got for now, kiddos!  
Thank you so much!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


	78. Chapter Seventy-Eight: Ashes

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

* * *

First of all, let me apologize. Between vacation, work, a case of food poisoning, and Infinity War it's been a while since I've sat down with this story. (Didn't write while on vacation and at work, was a bit preoccupied and curled around the toilet when the food poisoning was a thing, and after Infinity War for a while the only thing I was motivated to write was Avengers related stories.  
BUT ... your reviews broke through. (See they do matter!) And here I am with an update!  
I hope it's a good one.

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 _Chapter Seventy-Eight: Ashes_

 _Jon_

She was covered in blood. The dark fabric of her dress had hid it well enough from far away when she had walked into the great hall, her eyes distant and faraway, but now that he was closer to her he could see it. There was some on her pale neck, and more on her hands, hidden in the folds of her skirt.

Before anyone noticed he took off his own cloak and dropped it on her shoulders, covering both the blood staining her neck and the her hands. "What have you done, Nora?" he whispered to her, leaning closer to her so that she could hear him. No one in the hall was looking at them yet, but they would soon. "Nora?" he whispered again, louder when she did not answer straight away.

She turned to him then, her grey eyes darting over his face, seeing him for the first time since she had entered the hall. He nodded, encouraging her. "There you are," he whispered, reaching out for her hand.

The blood on her skin had cooled, congealed and sticky. He wanted to draw his hand away, but worried that it might have an adverse affect on the girl beside him, the one that he was still desperately trying to reach. He had finally gotten her to look at him, he couldn't lose that now by drawing away. He glanced down at the blood on her hand, "Whose blood is this?" he asked her in an urgent whisper. "Nora? Whose blood?"

She glanced down too, her eyes widening at the sight of the blood on her hand as if surprised. "His," she whispered her answer, her gaze lifting back to his face. "It's his."

" _Whose_?" Jon pressed, his own gaze darting around the hall, looking for anyone that could have been missing. Most of his advisors were in the room. He could not think of anyone in the keep that Lenora had a bad relationship with, no one that she would want to kill.

"Littlefinger's," she whispered back, her voice quietly imploring him to understand what she had done though with so little to go on he could barely guess. "Lord Baelish," she specified when he did not respond right away. Her grey eyes locked on his face, "I killed him."

This time he did let go of her hand, not to pull away from her, but to wrap it around her wrist. He needed to get her out of the hall before anyone looked over into the dark corner that Littlefinger liked to stand in, spying, and noticed that the was not there. He didn't say anything, sure that he did not need to, as he began to pull her through the hall, toward the doors and out into the courtyard. They would cross quickly to the great keep so that he could bring her to her chambers. "Where is he?" he asked quietly as they walked. "Where did you leave him?"

"He's near the stables," she told him, nodding toward the wall that separated this courtyard from the one outside the stables and the kennels. Jon's gaze drifted that way too, thankful for the wall that separated them from the what he could only assume was Littlefinger's corpse by the amount of blood that covered his sister's skin and dress. "I was going to see Casterly when he approached me," she explained to him, unbidden.

"No more," Jon ordered her, his voice quiet and hard. Though they had not been approached, there were others in the courtyard, he did not want Lenora to be overheard before he could make sense of the situation, before he could come up with a defense. "Not until we are in your chambers."

It did not take them long to get to them. They were Sansa's old chambers since his red-headed sister had moved into Ned and Catelyn's chambers when they returned to Winterfell. He had meant to give her Robb's old chambers, thinking it would be a comfort to her until he learned that Ramsay had given them to her when she had arrived at the castle with him. It was there that the monster had taken her on the sham of their wedding night, there that he meant to rape her. She had quietly refused the chambers and once Jon understood he had sought out Sansa to see if she would be alright with Lenora staying in her old rooms.

He ushered her into the room and gently pushed her onto the bed as he moved toward the windows to close the casements. He heard a scream from a kitchenmaid from the courtyard. He could assume that someone had found the body, they would be looking for him soon.

He turned and moved toward the fireplace, there was a pot of water boiling on it, preparation for an evening bath. It would be scalding, but better than cold water. He lifted the pot and brought it across the room, setting it on the floor by the bed and grabbing a sheet before he settled on his knees in front of the quiet girl and held out his hand, silently asking her to give him one of her own.

She did not even wince when the too hot water came in contact with her skin. It was as if she did not even feel it. He wondered, thinking back on the time he had spent with her since she arrived at Castle Black, if he had seen anything hurt her physically. He knew that emotionally she could be hurt, had seen something in her break when Ramsay killed Theon. He had seen her shatter when she saw what he had done to Rickon.

But she had run headfirst into battle with no fear of death. She had come out of the battle bruised and cut and bleeding and had not even blinked. She walked out in the snow filled courtyard without even a summer cloak, the cold did not seem to bother her, neither did the scalding hot water he was using to clean the blood from her hands. What had Ramsay done to her?

But the pressing question at the moment was what she had done to Littlefinger. He hated himself for asking, but he needed the answer.

"You'll never get it off," she told him in a strange, empty voice. "The blood, you'll never get it off."

It was coming off her hand easily enough, staining the sheet and turning the water in the pot pink as he rang the sheet out in it. But when he glanced up at Lenora she was staring down at her hand with wide eyes, as if she could still see the blood. "I killed him," she told him. Her voice was hollow, though he sensed very little remorse in her statement. "And I will carry that with me forever."

"You've killed men before," Jon answered, a poor comfort as he moved on to the other hand.

"But not like this," she countered. "I've killed men in battle, men that meant to kill me. But Littlefinger was unarmed."

"Why?" Jon asked, glancing up. He was still washing the blood from her hands, even though he was not looking down at her hands. Someone would have seen them leave the hall together, someone would come looking for him soon to inform him of Littlefinger's murder. Lenora would need to be cleaned up by then.

"Because this is all his fault," she whispered, her grey eyes locking on his and refusing to let go. "And the Lannisters'. And Lady Stark's. But it all began with him."

"How do you know that?" Jon asked, his voice quiet as he moved up toward her neck, gently cleaning the blood that stained her skin there.

"The knife that was used in an attempt on Bran's life after you all left?" Lenora asked, ensuring that he remembered it. Jon nodded silently, he remembered Robb's raven about the knife. "It did once belong to my uncle Tyrion, just as Littlefinger told Lady Catelyn, but Tyrion lost it in a bet to Littlefinger. It was his dagger."

"Why did he lie then?" Jon asked as he moved away from her. He glanced at the sheet in his hand, it was stained red with Littlefinger's blood. There would be no way to hide it, it would need to be burned.

"To perpetuate the fight between the Starks and the Lannisters," Lenora told him as if it were obvious, and he supposed perhaps that it was. "One we were all only too happy to continue because it is the only thing we've ever known. All so stubborn in their own prejudice to realize that they were being used as puppets by a man who has been grasping at power his entire life."

Jon bristled at her statement, misliking the way it painted his family. "Your uncle -" he started.

"Threw Bran from a tower when the boy heard him and my mother talking about how my youngest siblings are bastards," Lenora interrupted him, not shying away from the ugly truth of it. "But both he and my mother were only too happy to leave it there, with him asleep in his bed, most like to never wake up. It was Littlefinger's dagger that nearly killed him and sent Lady Catelyn south where Littlefinger told her a story about it belonging to my uncle and made your father suspicious. Lady Catelyn kidnapped both of my uncles, my mother and brother had your father killed, and mine too most like, and Robb married me in a political move rather than one of love. This entire war, all the blood, all the death, all the suffering because it served _that_ man's best interests to have us at war with each other rather than peace."

Something in her had changed as she explained it all to him. She was no longer sitting meekly on the bed in front of him, whispering. She was standing, strong and sure of herself, and more like the girl he had first met than she had been since the battle. She did not think herself wrong for killing Littlefinger, and to be honest, neither did he. But he wished that she had not made such a mess of it.

He shook his head, "Why did you not come to me with all of this?" he asked her. "Whatever monster he is, the Knights of the Vale no doubt would require a trial. You cannot be judge and executioner, Nora."

She watched him, her eyes liquid silver, swimming behind tears that she would not allow to fall down her cheeks. "I was too gentle with Ramsay," she explained to him quietly. "Grey Wind was too quick. After what he had done to Rickon -" her voice dropped off as she shook her head. "He deserved so much more."

"And you've taken it upon yourself to deal out justice as you see fit?" he asked her, his tone a bit more biting than he meant it to be.

She did not flinch away from his anger. She did not ask his forgiveness. She glanced at him, squaring her shoulders. "If no one else will do it, then it is my job," she told him quietly. "However unpleasant it is." She reached out for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, for a moment a flash of the old Lenora, "This war has done nothing but take things from us, Jon," she told him. "It's time that we start taking back."

"You didn't have to do it alone, Nora," Jon told her, finally getting to the root of it all. He was not angry at her for what she did to Littlefinger, he did not doubt what she said. He was angry because she had felt that she needed to do it alone. It was his duty to protect her now, and every time he turned around, she seemed to be doing everything in her power to make that impossible for him to do.

Lenora shook her head, "You are the Lord of Winterfell, Jon," she told him. He shook his head, denying the title, but she continued to speak. "Your first act did not need to be that." She turned away from him, "The dress will need to be burned too," she told him, changing the subject as she gestured toward the laces of her dress, her voice cold and distant.

Jon sighed as he lifted his hands to unlace the dress. "What will I tell the Knights of the Vale?" he asked her.

"You'll tell them that Littlefinger betrayed them long ago," a voice rang out from the doorway, surprising both of them. Jon turned in surprise, Sansa was standing there, watching them. She smiled at him as she moved further into the room. "You will bring me to be a witness and I will tell them how he pushed my Aunt Lysa out of the moon door and threatened my life until I agreed to lie for him. I will tell them how he meant to rule through Robin, to take advantage of the boy. I will tell them how the only reason he brought them here to fight Ramsay was because I threatened to come clean about Aunt Lysa. And then we will say that we do not know how he died, but we are not surprised by it. The man has betrayed so many people, many of them in this very keep. And no one will miss him."

She gently pushed his hands away from Lenora's laces. "I'll take it from here, Jon," she told him. "You are needed in the courtyard. The bannermen will be arriving soon," she told him, "it is best that this is taken care of before they arrive."

He should have said something or done something to take control of the situation, but these two women, who were so much stronger than any of the men in their lives had ever given them credit for, seemed to have it handled. Lenora was already named queen in her own right, and he was certain that soon Sansa would be named the Lady of Winterfell. And together, they seemed to be a force to be reckoned with.

Unbidden, he moved toward them quickly, pressing a kiss against both of their foreheads. "Neither of you have ever needed a man, have you?" he asked them.

The two girls glanced at each other, sharing a silent smile.

One, he realized, that they had both learned from the Lannister queen.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Jaime_

The mess with Littlefinger's death had cleaned up nicely, much nicer than Jaime thought it had any right to do given the amount of blood that had spilled from the man's throat. He did not blame whoever slit it open and rid them of the man who had never been anything more than a thorn in his side, but he was envious of how easy it was for them. When had anything ever been that easy for him?

He had killed the Mad King, a man who was as much of a danger to the Seven Kingdoms, if not more than, as Littlefinger and all he had known was distrust, anger and disdain. But this anonymous person, they would be hailed as a savior, a protector of the realm. A saint.

The Knights of the Vale had barely blinked when they learned their lord was dead. They had not demanded justice nor investigation, they did not blame Jon Snow for not protecting the man living under his roof. All they had required was Sansa Stark's testimony. And they had eaten that up.

She had cried prettily enough, the girl, large wet tears sliding down her cheeks as she gasped and whispered her way through a confession. She told them how she had witnessed Littlefinger push Lysa Arryn through the moon door after she had caught him kissing Sansa. She told them that he threatened to kill her if she told the truth, that he meant to marry _her_ and somehow put her on the throne. She promised that was why she had run away from the Vale so soon after her aunt's death. She told them that the only reason Littlefinger had brought them to Winterfell to fight the Bolton's was because she had sent him a raven, threatening to tell the truth if he did not assist them. She showed them the very message she had sent.

And they believed every word, many of them barely waiting until she had finished her tale to start testifying that they had never trusted the man, that they had misliked him as well, that something about the story of Lysa Arryn's death had never sat right with them. And if it weren't for the quick, momentary victorious smile that Sansa had sent Jon at the end, Jaime might have believed it too.

But far be it for him to put an end to such an interesting performance, why it almost rivaled one of his sister's. He wondered if it had been from Cersei that Sansa learned her large tears, and the weak quiver to her voice that had all the men in the hall wanting to protect her.

He did not begrudge her any of it. Littlefinger would have needed to be dealt with one day, sooner rather than later, the man was a sickness on the capitol, one no one dared address because he knew too many secrets. He supposed hat he should thank Jon Snow, for doing the dirty work that Jaime had long ago resigned to.

Now would be the time to do it, while they were alone in Lenora's chambers. She had sent for both of them, told both of them that she needed to see them at their earliest convenience. Jaime did not think that she had ever intended for them both to arrive at her chamber door at the same time, but when she opened the door and saw them both she did not seem surprised.

Neither was Jaime to be honest, he was the captain of her Queensguard, but before that he was her uncle, her family, one of the few protectors she had left. Of course he would drop everything to go to her when she called. And Jon Snow? In the short time Jaime had spent with the man it had become clear that he felt that it was his responsibility to look after his dead brother's wife. He cared for her just as he did for the Stark girls, watched over her just as fiercely, came when called upon just as quickly.

She had let them both in and walked toward one of the windows, standing with her back turned to them for a long time before she spoke. When she did, she kept her gaze trained on the courtyard below the window. "Jon," she said, slow and soft. "There's something you should know before the bannermen arrive." She turned slightly, just barely making eye contact with the man over her shoulder before her grey eyes fell to the window again. "I was with child while Robb and I were on the march," she told them, surprising Jon. "I lost the baby."

Jon moved forward, reaching out to her, prepared to apologize to her for yet another loss she had suffered because of the war their families started. Lenora silenced him before he spoke by lifting one of her pale hands off the window sill and holding it in the air above her shoulder. "Robb and I were soon faced with the possibility that he might die without an heir, without one that your stubborn Northmen would recognize." She glanced over her shoulder now, shooting a pointed look at Jon. "We can't expect them all to be as open minded as the men of Bear Island, after all," she told him.

It was with that one statement that Jaime understood what she was telling Jon. She had called them _his_ Northmen. Robb had needed an heir and many of the Northmen would have been less than pleased to follow Sansa or Arya, even if they had been found by then. Jon did not seem to understand, his brow furrowed as he continued to watch Lenora, waiting for him to explain.

Jaime bit back a smirk as Lenora sighed, "He named you his heir, Jon," she told him quietly. "He legitimized you, named you Stark and made you his heir."

Jon shook his head, "But only -" he started, pausing when his thoughts caught up to his tongue.

"Only a king can legitimize a bastard," Lenora continued for him. "And Robb was a king." She finally moved away from the window to move closer to Jon, "I have no proof," she told him, reaching out for his hand as if to apologize, "I had the document once, but Ramsay burned it. All I have is my word, but they _will_ listen to it."

"How can you be so certain, Len?" Jaime asked, speaking up for the first time since the conversation had begun. "You thought they would rise to help us fight the Boltons and only House Hornwood and House Mormont rose. How can you be certain that the other Northern Houses will listen this time?"

She glanced up at him, a bitter smile playing at the corners of her lips, "Because they have now abandoned their queen twice. Once at the Twins, and again when I asked for help. The Northerners pride themselves on their honor and in the last year, I have seen very little of it. I will remind them of that before I tell them that Jon was named Robb's legitimate heir during the War of the Five Kings."

"And you think that will work?" Jaime asked, testing his niece. "I believe reminding them will do little more than anger them."

"Good," Lenora told him with a nod. "I want them angry. Because the only reason for their anger will be their own shame. And they should be ashamed. That shame will drive them. They will listen this time, they will follow, and they will name Jon the King in the North."

That caught both men's attention. Jon turned toward Lenora, his brows furrowed as he watched her. "You mean to have me named King in the North?" he asked her, watching her carefully. After a moment he shook his head, "Nora, surely you don't understand -"

"I understand perfectly," Lenora snapped, interrupting him. "I understand that under Robb the North declared itself independent and free from Southern rule. I understand that even Bolton's treachery and secret agreement with my grandfather did not change that. The North has tasted freedom for the first time in centuries and they will not go back now, especially under and Lannister King ruled by his own Lannister mother."

"But you," Jon argued, shaking his head. "Your men have named you Queen." He shook his head. "I am not blind, Nora, I know you mean to head south and confront your mother and your brother. It would be easier to do with the North behind you."

Lenora shook her head, "The North is tired of fighting," she told him. "Can't you see that? You think they will follow me south and fight with me when they learn that I mean to give them the North without a single battle?"

Jon shook his head, "Don't tell them then," he told her. He paused, and then, "Aren't you tired of fighting, Nora?"

She nodded, "I'm exhausted," she told them both honestly. "But what else can I do?"

Jon watched her carefully, his dark eyes scanning over her face, "Stay here," he urged her. "With me and Arya and Sansa. Stay here and be the Queen in the North, like you always were supposed to. _Stay_ and rule, help me, help us."

Jaime watched the boy carefully, the offer surprised him, but the more he thought, the more he liked it. The Northmen, for all their faults, had loved and respected his niece when she was their queen, they could love her again. She could stay and be safe and she would not have to travel south and confront her mother and whatever army Cersei was able to command. "She won't agree to be your wife," he warned the boy, speaking the words his niece was no doubt trying to find.

Jon smiled, a rueful twist of his lips, "I never intended to ask," he told both of them, his dark gaze never leaving Lenora's face as she thought over his offer. "Nora has had enough marriages, and only one that she wanted. I would not presume to offer her another unwanted marriage. She would rule by my side, Queen but not wife."

"And you would never marry?" Jaime asked, lifting an eyebrow. He liked the idea more and more, but he worried about Lenora's future. If Jon were to marry it would be expected that his wife would supplant Lenora as queen. And then where would she be?

Jon shrugged his shoulders, "The Night's Watch don't marry," he answered simply.

"But you are no longer Night's Watch," Jaime argued, testing him.

Jon shook his head, "I am not," he agreed. "But neither do I intend to marry again. Lenora will live and die as Queen in the North."

Jaime turned to look at Lenora, waiting for her to answer, he knew what he wanted for her, but as he took in her face, the stubborn set to her jaw as she chewed on her bottom lip he knew that she had a different answer for Jon's offer. She shook her head, "I thank you, Jon," she told him, reaching out to place her hand on top of his. "I know that your offer is because of Robb, because of the love you had for him and in turn for the love he had for me. I know that you mean to protect me, but I cannot agree to this."

Jon shook his head, "You _can_ ," he urged her.

She shook her head as well, her gaze lifting toward Jaime, a silent hint that what she said next was as much for her uncle as it was for the dark haired man in front of her. "I _cannot_ ," she told him again. "There was a time when I was happy to be named Queen in the North, when Robb was alive and we were happy, but now?" She shook her head. "I cannot keep that name, that place without him. I know you mean well, but it will only serve to remind me of everything I have lost. I will not be a Northern Queen without my Northern King."

Jon watched her, when he spoke gain his voice was quiet, pleading, "But I need you," he told her.

She smiled as she shook her head, "You don't need me, Jon," she argued. "The men here respect you, the others will as well. You are legitimate. You are Robb's heir. You will do well. And when you need help, you have two wonderful sisters who understand the North better than I ever will. They will help guide you. You do not need me."

Jon sighed, he seemed to accept Lenora's answer, even though he did not seem to like it. "Where will you go?" he asked her, putting voice to the thought in Jaime's head, _if Lenora did not intend to be queen, she would not stay in the North_.

"South," Lenora told him simply. "Perhaps by way of the Twins," there was something in her grey eyes when she said that, a flash that made Jaime nervous. "Eventually all the way to King's Landing." There was steel in her voice, she would not be traveling south to reunite with her family, that much was certain.

"Len," Jaime started, meaning to argue with her.

She turned to him and shook her head once, instantly silencing him. "You will not change my mind, Uncle Jaime," she warned him. "I will not hide away here in the North because it is safer. I will not avoid heading south because it would be easier. I must return to King's Landing."

"Why?" Jon asked, stepping closer to her. "Why must you return to them?"

She glanced between the two of them, "Look at what my mother has done," she urged them. "Not only in the last two years, but since long before that, since she became queen and betrayed my father" She shook her head, "That was why I sent for you, Uncle Jaime," she told him, turning her gaze solely on him. "It is time that we prepare to head south again. It is time that I begin to fix everything that Mother has ruined."

Jaime watched her carefully, wondering when his little niece, his Len had grown into a woman. It must have happened before his own eyes, but he had not noticed it. "Nora," he told her, for the first time using Robb Stark's nickname for her, she had earned it, she was no longer the little girl he had raised at Casterly Rock, but a woman, raised and hardened on the battlefield. "It is not your job to fix what your mother has ruined. At least not on your own."

Her lips turned up at the corners, a smirk, "Why do you think that I'm bringing you with me?" she asked him, half jesting. "This is as much your mess as her own, Jaime."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Cersei_

 _They've got their thorns in him now_.

Those damnable words had been echoing in her head for the past fortnight.

At times a quiet whisper that woke her up in the middle of the night and sent her tearing out of her bed chamber to stand outside Tommen's own chambers, listening through the door to try to hear her son to ensure that he was still alive.

Other times a loud roar in her ears, so forceful and angry that she was unable to hear anything else as she watched Tommen and Margaery in the throne room.

But always there, always taunting her. Always reminding her that she had already failed to protect three of her children. Always promising that she would, in turn, fail to protect her fourth child as well.

It had taken her no more than a day to understand what Joffrey had been trying to tell her. It was there in the angry roar every time she saw _them_ together. The Starks had been the downfall for Lenora, Tyrion for Joffrey, the Martells for Myrcella. She had had her misgivings about all of them, but no clear warning.

Until now, until Tommen.

That was why Joffrey had appeared to her the day she received the news about Myrcella. That was why he continued to appear to her every day since. He meant to warn her, to help her protect the last of her children.

 _They've got their thorns in him now_.

Joffrey did not say claws, as was the common phrase. It was not some beast that had her son in its clutches, but something far more dangerous. Something innocent and safe looking, something that could fool a person into believing that they were safe. A flower. More specifically - a rose. A rose that hid its thorns under pretty smiles and simpering looks. A rose from Highgarden.

The Tyrells would be the death of her last remaining child.

She knew it.

And it would be up to her to protect him from them.

The roses of Highgarden might have had their thorns, but she was a Lannister. A lion. And one thing she had learned from nature is that a lioness was fiercest when protecting her cubs. It was something that Highgarden had yet to learn, but they would know intimately by the end of the day.

...

She had finished pouring herself a goblet of wine when a knock sounded on the door to her chambers. She turned, her gaze landing on the corner of the room where her eldest son sat, watching her silently. She smiled at him, meaning to reassure him, to silently promise him that she would protect his younger brother.

" _You're too late, Mother_ ," he told her, his voice hollow and echoing in the chamber around them.

"I'm not," she assured him as she moved toward the door, opening it to see Qyburn standing in the corridor. She moved aside, allowing him to move further into the chamber. "Is it ready?" she asked him, her voice a whisper.

Qyburn nodded, "Yes, Your Grace," he promised her.

She nodded, taking a sip of the wine. "They're all in the Sept?" she asked.

Again Qyburn nodded, "All except for Lady Olenna," he answered. "The lady is suffering from an illness. She remains in her chambers."

Cersei felt her lips tug down at the corners. It was less than ideal, she wished to rid herself and the kingdom of all the Tyrells, in one fell swoop, but she supposed that in the end, it was better this way. This way Lady Olenna would understand how Cersei had felt all of these months, watching her children as they were taken from her.

Just as Lady Olenna had meant for Cersei to watch Tommen be taken from her. It was only right. She took another sip of her wine. "Lady Olenna's chambers look out toward the Sept of Baelor," she whispered, more to herself than her advisor. She glanced toward the corner of the chamber where Joffrey sat, watching her carefully. He smiled. She nodded, "She will see what has happened to her family from her sickbed," she assured her son.

She turned, glancing back at Qyburn as she took another sip of wine, "And Tommen?" she asked. "Where is my son?"

"Locked in his chambers," Qyburn assured her, his gaze following Cersei's goblet as she lifted it to her lips to take another sip. "Though I am certain he has yet to realize it."

"Good," she told him with a nod as she walked away. "That is very good. He thinks himself in love with her, if he were to leave the keep the first thing he would do is search her out. I cannot have him anywhere near the Sept today."

She took another sip of wine as she moved toward the window, Joffrey stood from his seat and moved with her, coming to stand beside her as they both looked out over the city toward the Sept of Baelor, each waiting, holding their breath in anticipation.

It had been easy enough to get them there. She had sent out an invitation to the entire House from Highgarden, Lord and Lady, their daughter - the pretend Queen, and her brother, the cousins and servants. She had taken it a step further, inviting any other Lord and Lady in the Red Keep that were a danger to her or her family, anyone who had ever disagreed with her, fought her, judged her.

They were all there, waiting for her. For the announcement that she had told them she intended to make. No doubt growing restless as they waited for her to make her entrance. And she did intend to make an entrance, one that the Seven Kingdoms would never forget. Cersei planned to show everyone in the realm what happened to those that threatened her and her family.

First she would deal with the Tyrells, she would protect her son.

Then she would go after the Martells for what they had done to Myrcella. She would find Tyrion, wherever the little monster was in the world and punish him for what he had done to Joffrey. Then she would travel North, hunt down the Starks in their keep and destroy them for how they had destroyed Lenora.

Only then, once her children were safe or avenged, would she be able to rest.

She took another sip of wine. The glass was empty, she turned, glancing expectantly at Qyburn, holding out her empty goblet to him. He moved, carefully toward her and took the goblet from her hand. He only filled it half way before he tried to hand it back to her. She stared at him for a moment before he gaze drifted back to the decanter, the right corner of her lips tugging up into a smirk while he filled the glass the rest of the way.

When he handed it back to her she took a long sip, draining half the goblet in one pull to make up for the delay. Then she turned back to the window, her gaze landing on the Sept of Baelor, "How long do you think?" she asked, not certain if she was speaking to Qyburn, or her silent son beside her. She turned slightly, inclining her chin toward Qyburn while keeping her gaze on the city in front of her. "How long, do you think, until it happens?"

"Soon, Your Grace," Qyburn assured her as she took another sip of wine. "Patience is a virtue from the gods."

"I don't care about the bloody gods or their virtues," she growled out, turning from the window to glare at her advisor. "I care about my son. I care about his safety. And every second those people remain breathing is a danger to him. I want it done, and I want it done quickly."

"And will be, Your Grace," Qyburn assured her.

" _Not quick enough,_ " Joffrey mocked her from beside her, his green eyes still locked on the Sept. " _They'll leave if they have to wait much longer_."

Cersei nodded as she glanced at Qyburn, waiting for his answer. The man did not respond to Joffrey's warning. She sighed, "What do you have to say to that?" she asked him, nodding toward her son. "They will leave if they have to wait much longer. We _cannot_ let them leave."

"They won't, Your Grace," Qyburn promised her, his brows furrowing in concern as he watched her. "We have members of the City Watch and the Red Guard stationed outside every door to the Sept. They have their orders, not to let anyone in or out until you arrive. They may get impatient in there, but they will not leave."

Cersei sighed, taking another sip of wine. "That is all well and good, but what about me. I do not have all day to stand here, staring at the Sept and waiting. I must go see my son. I must make plans to save my other children."

"Your other children, Your Grace?" Qyburn asked, the worry lines between his furrowed brows becoming even more pronounced. "You only have -"

" _Yes_ ," Cersei interrupted emphatically. "My other children. Myrcella, Joffrey, Lenora. I will not stop until they are all safe. This is only the beginning Qyburn. I promise you that."

"But Lady Lenora -"

She interrupted him again. "Has betrayed her family," she answered. "She will need to be punished for it." She took a sip of wine. "But she is still my daughter. She will be punished, but I will forgive her. And I will see to it the Joffrey forgives her as well. We will be a family again, as we once were. As we were always meant to be."

She lifted her goblet to her lips only to find it empty again. Rather than wait for Qyburn to refill it she moved around him toward the table and lifted the entire decanter, bringing it back to the window with her so that she could pour her own wine without leaving the window. She did not want to miss the show.

She poured the wine into the goblet hastily, some of it splashed out of the goblet and onto her hand, staining the pale skin with droplets that looked like blood. She ignored them, there may be blood on her hands, it had been there long before now, but it had appeared while she was protecting her children. The gods and her brother would not judge her for it.

There was another knock on her chamber door, she did not turn away from the window, she was not expecting anyone else to join them. "Send them away," she ordered Qyburn. A smirk played at her lips while she borrowed Lady Olenna's excuse for not attending the Sept that morning, "Tell them I am feeling ill."

She took a sip of wine as she heard Qyburn move toward the door and open it. It was her son's guards. There was a whispered conversation, one she barely heard, focused as she was on the Sept before her. She was waiting, to hear Qyburn send the guard away and shut the door. But he did not. The door to her chamber remained open as she heard him move across the chamber toward her.

"Your Grace," he told her, reaching out, placing a hand on her upper arm gently. His voice was quiet and hesitant.

She turned to him, impatient, "Why haven't you sent him away?" she asked him, her gaze drifting over Qyburn's shoulder to land on the guard and narrowing. "Send him away."

Qyburn stepped forward, "He brought you a message, You Grace," he told her.

"What message?" Cersei asked, stepping closer to Qyburn.

Qyburn glanced down, he seemed afraid. "King Tommen has sent word that he eagerly awaits your announcement in the Sept of Baelor," he told her quietly.

The wine glass in her hand fell to the floor, shattering and sending wine droplets splattering across her dark skirts. She shook her head, "No," she whispered. He was supposed to be locked in his chambers, well away from the Sept. He was supposed to be safe. Her gaze fell on Qyburn, narrowing into a glare. "Stop it," she hissed at him, an order to revers the actions that had already been taken. "Put an end to it."

Qyburn stepped forward, "Your Grace," he started, slow and gentle.

That was all he got out before a loud roar from the center of the city pulled her attention away from him and out the window again. She watched, her eyes wide as for a moment the building disappeared in a rush of green flames. There was a second when she thought that she could hear the screams of the people inside before they were all burned away. Even from the distance she could hear the rocks crumbling and tearing apart from the explosion and the fire. It would have been a moment of celebration if it weren't for the knowledge she had just received.

Her scream was silent, strangled in her own throat, unable to escape her lips. Bile was rising in her throat, she could feel it climbing its way up. Unlike the scream, this was not stopped by her tightening throat, it filled her mouth. She turned from the window, bending over as it spewed from her mouth, covering the stone wall and her skirts.

 _Tommen_.

She could hear the smirk in Joffrey's voice as he bent closer to her, " _I told you that you wouldn't be able to save him, Mother_ ," her son taunted. " _You aren't able to save anyone._ "

...

There was nothing left of him. Nothing that Qyburn could find at least. She had sent him down to the wreckage in the foolish hope that her new maester would be able to find her son, or rather some part of her son. But Qyburn had been unable to find anything, he returned with nothing more than a handful of ashes.

They could be symbolic, he had explained to her. While they might be the ashes of the sept itself, or of one of those monsters from Highgarden, she could imagine that they were Tommen's. She could imagine that they represented the three children she had lost and the fourth that was still lost to her somewhere in the North.

She had scoffed at the idea when he first suggested it. But that evening she had called for the royal jeweler and had him make a locket for her, gold with a Lannister lion on its face. When opened, inside there was a thin, glass container that she had him press the ashes into. The chain just long enough that when she wore the locket, the ashes were next to her heart so that she could carry them with her everywhere.

It was the only adornment she allowed herself on this very special day. Her hair was pulled into a simple braid down her back, her dress black velvet and leather, and her gold locket. It was meant to set her apart; not only from her past self and all the gold and red that she had once worn, but also from every other rule the Seven Kingdoms had had. Coronations were typically days of celebrations, they were held outside in the sunlight, there were feasts and dances and entertainment.

But _this_ one would be different. It was to be held in the throne room, after sunset. There would be no feast, no celebration, no bright colors. A solemn affair for the woman who had lost everything but the throne.

It had been a practical decision to plan her coronation this way. She was a mother in mourning after all. But more than that, as she walked down the aisle, staring straight ahead at the Iron Throne she realized that even if she had planned for celebrations, she wouldn't have gotten them. The lords and ladies that filled the throne room today were there out of fear, not love. They had seen what she had done to the Sept of Baelor and although no one had made a formal accusation, they all thought it was her. They would not celebrate her being queen, but out of fear they would tolerate it.

They were all sheep.

Cersei kept her head held high, her eyes locked on the throne in front of her as she tried not to let it get to her. All she had ever wanted was to be loved and all she had ever been was tolerated. Her father had not loved her as he should have; always looking toward Jaime as if he were the brightest thing in the room. Robert had never loved her; always hung up on Lyanna Stark, the woman he had lost. Jaime hadn't truly loved her; if he had he would not have abandoned her. And the same went for her children, all four of them had abandoned her when she needed them most.

But these sheep in the throne room, they would not abandon her, they were too afraid of her to do so. Perhaps _that_ had been her mistake. She had wanted to be loved, when what she should have wanted was to be feared.

She would not make that mistake again.

They watched in frightened silence as Qyburn proclaimed her Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. They did not smile, they did not cheer, no one cried with happiness as they had when Tommen was crowned. "Long may she reign!" Qyburn announced once she sat on the Iron Throne.

"Long may she reign!" they answered

As her gaze swept over the crowd in front of her she caught them in the corner, their golden hair shining brighter than anything else in the throne room. Three of her four children, standing, watching her with proud smiles on their faces.

She had been unable to protect them, but they knew she would avenge them.

And now she had the power to do it.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"Here you are, Your Grace," one of the stableboys told her, quickly running toward her, with Casterly trotting behind him. It was the first time that Lenora had seen the horse since returning to Winterfell. Every day she had meant to go to the stable to see him and every day she had stopped. First out of fear that she would find him dead, that Ramsay had killed him in a last ditch effort to hurt her, and then because she could barely stand crossing the courtyard because that meant walking past the kennels where they had found Rickon, and then because she couldn't move through the courtyard without remembering how she had killed Littlefinger.

She did not feel guilty for killing him. She did not regret it. But, she did feel guilt at _not_ feeling guilty. Whatever he was, monster and man, he had deserved a trial, if only so that the rest of the Seven Kingdoms would know what he truly was, but she had not allowed that to happen. She couldn't even remember making the decision to kill him.

And that reminded her too much of her mother for her comfort.

But she was in the courtyard today, and she was finally reunited with her faithful horse because they were leaving. Her and Jaime, the Hound and Brienne, Bronn and Ser Justin and the few other men from her uncle's army that had survived the battle with Ramsay. They were a small group, but both she and Jaime were sure that the further south they traveled, the more support they would gain.

Jon was not happy that she was leaving, he worried that with the weather getting colder they would freeze and starve on the road. Winter was not kind to travelers. But no one knew how long the Winter would last, everyone was calling for a long one, and Lenora would not allow herself to be trapped up at Winterfell for the entire Winter because Jon was afraid she would get cold on the road.

He had offered up some Northern men, they would travel with her and her men until Moat Cailin, but no further. It was much more generous than she had expected, or wanted to accept, but neither Jon, nor Jaime, would let her argue.

She smiled, thanking the stableboy as she moved closer to Casterly, reaching up to stroke his face. He had been mistreated while under Ramsay's care, she had seen it herself, the day before the battle, that he was underfed, but the stableboys had worked hard to remedy that since Winterfell had been given back to the Starks. But what they could not fix the scars, she could see them running down his back, long pale streaks, _whips_.

Ramsay had whipped him until he bled.

"You poor thing," she whispered, leaning closer to the horse and standing on her tiptoes so that she could get a better look at his face. "You and I will both carry Ramsay's scars with us for the rest of our lives."

She did not expect the horse to understand her, but he let out a soft whiney, almost a comforting noise as he leaned his head forward, knocking his nose against her forehead and sending her tripping backwards, laughing as caught herself before she could fall.

"It's good to hear your laugh, my lady," she heard someone call out from behind her. She turned, Ser Davos was standing behind her, far enough away to give her space, but close enough to talk to her. He smiled, "I know Jon Snow worried that you would never laugh again when you first arrived at Castle Black."

"Stark," Lenora murmured quietly, not so much a correction as a suggestion. "They'll be calling him Stark now."

Davos nodded, glancing down at his hands, there was something in them, something he held carefully, gently, an object of great importance. "And you're still a queen," he added. "I should be calling you, _Your Grace_ , not _my lady_."

Lenora shrugged her shoulders, she cared very little about the titles when it was a friend addressing her. She nodded toward Davos's hands, toward the object, "What do you have there, Ser Davos?" she asked him.

Davos glanced down at it for a moment, almost hesitating, before he moved forward, holding his hand outstretched so that he could give it to her. It was a stag, beautifully carved out of wood, expertly crafted even. Lenora felt her lips turn up at the corners as she looked down at the stag, her fingers brushing over the smooth lines. She glanced up at Davos, her eyebrows lifted as she waited silently for an explanation.

"I carved it," he told her quietly, his gaze locked on the wooden figurine in her hands. "For your cousin, Princess Shireen. I gave it to her before I was sent to the Wall to beg Jon Snow for help."

Lenora swallowed as she looked down at the stag in her hands. In everything that had happened to her over the past year she had forgotten that there had been another Baratheon princess, Stannis daughter Shireen. She had never met the child, as she lived on Dragonstone and Cersei would not let any of her children travel that far from their family. The girl had been infected with Greyscale as an infant, and though maesters had been able to save her life t had left her disfigured. From the rumors she had heard, her aunt never let the child out of her room, even if she had gone to Dragonstone to visit Stannis and his family, she might not have met her cousin.

"I was told she died," Lenora told him softly, her voice little more than a whisper. "During the battle between Stannis and Ramsay's men. No one knows who did it, but knowing what I know of Ramsay, it does not surprise me. He would not have spared the girl, even if she was brought to him."

Davos nodded, he understood that, but his jaw clenched, he disagreed with something she had said. "She died before the battle," he told her, his voice hard. "That stag you're holding proves it."

"How, Ser Davos?" Lenora asked. She did not doubt him, and given her recent actions with Littlefinger she was more likely than anyone to listen to and believe the man's suspicions. But she was still coming to terms with her guilt and how little she felt it. She needed to be careful now.

"Shireen would have carried it everywhere," he told her. "And I do not doubt that she did. I did not find it in a tent, or on the battlefield. I found it the night before our battle against the bastard. I found it away from camp in front of a pillar that was used to burn someone." Lenora opened her mouth, about to ask him how he knew that Ramsay's men had not burned the girl, but he kept talking. " _She_ burns people as a sacrifice to her damned god. I've seen her do it to your uncle's own men, I knew that he believed in her power. I never thought he would believe so much -" he cut himself off, shaking his head, "his own daughter."

Lenora glanced back at the stag in her hand, she felt sick at the thought of it all. She knew what she wanted to do, what Davos wanted her to do, but she couldn't. "She burned her at the stake," she guessed, glancing up at Davos in time to see the man nod.

"Her lord brought Jon back from the dead, he saved him so that he could take Winterfell back, but he also commands the Red Woman to murder children, to murder little girls, he is evil. And so is she."

Lenora nodded, glancing down, she could understand Davos' anger, though she thought some of it misplaced. She had known that her uncle Stannis had been desperate to be king, that he had not recognized Renly's claim, or Robb's, that he saw anyone who did not immediately name him King of the Seven Kingdoms as an enemy. She had never thought much of him helping her because she stood as opposition to him, another claimant of the throne. She wondered, if he had somehow found her, rescued her from Ramsay if she would have met the same fate as her cousin, burned in sacrifice to some foreign god.

"I loved that little girl as my own," Davos told her, his voice cracking. "She was good. She was kind. And the Red Woman murdered her."

Lenora glanced up, aware that her next words would anger the man, "So did my uncle," she told him, her voice quiet and hard. That seemed to stop Davos in his anger, he turned to her, his eyes wide. She sighed, " You blame the Red Woman," she told him. " _I_ would blame Stannis. She would not have burned Shireen if he had not given her his permission. Shireen died because my uncle was so desperate for the crown and the Seven Kingdoms that he believed the Red Woman when she said that burning his daughter alive was the only way to win. He chose a crown over his child, and you're angry."

"Only because he believed what she told him," Davos argued. "He believed her."

"Because he wanted to," Lenora countered. She sighed, "I've heard them say that you were there the night a shadow killed my uncle Renly, that you were the one who brought her there. He killed his own brother, he killed his daughter, all for a crown he would never wear. You _saw_ it." She paused, watching the man carefully. "I suspect, Ser Davos, that a great deal of your anger is at yourself. For serving Stannis, for believing in him, for the monster playing at being a man earlier. And I do not blame you for that."

His glance down in shame was the answer she needed. She sighed, stepping forward to place the stag back in his hand. "What would you have me do?" she asked him quietly.

Davos glanced up at her, "Give me leave to have her executed," he requested, "as punishment for her crimes."

It was watching him then that Lenora realized that Sansa's show and the story about how they did not know who had killed Littlefinger had not fooled everyone. Davos saw more than he let on and he had figured it out. He was coming to her, looking for the same sort of justice that she had doled out to Littlefinger. And for a moment she wanted to give it. But she was a queen, and one thing she was quickly learning was that every one of her actions had consequences. She would not risk that again.

She shook her head, "The Red Woman does not answer to me," she told Davos softly. "She is at Winterfell at Jon's invitation and under his protection. I do not doubt that he will soon be named King in the North, and it is no longer my place to make decisions here. If you want justice, take this matter up with him. Or seek it yourself. But I cannot help you, Ser Davos."

He took a step away from her, watching her as if she were a stranger. "She was your cousin," he breathed, his tone full of accusations.

Lenora nodded, she could handle his accusations, "And the price my uncle was willing to pay for the crown and the throne," she told him flatly. " _He_ is the one in your story that I would place the blame on."

* * *

Author's Note:

Tried to make it a long one since I made you guys wait so long for it. But, even with the length, quite a few bits of it were filler. BIG things are happening soon. AND Robb will be back in the next chapter.  
Thank you so much for sticking by me and this story during our hiatus, thank you for reading, for adding this story to your alerts lists, your favorites lists, your communities, thank you for your reviews!  
They really are love.

 _Lokilova:_ Thank you so much! I was so worried about the opening section of the last chapter. Being a sane person, I was terrified that I wasn't going to pull off sending Cersei on her path. I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it.

 _Lulu14168:_ I'm glad that you came into the chapter not that concerned with Rickon. I know a lot of people were very worried about him, but as far as I was concerned he was dead from the beginning. Thank you so much for your review! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

 _PsychoBeachGirl88:_ I love how obsessed you are! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well. There's a reunion in the next chapter, no promises on it being the BIG reunion, but there is one. Thank you so much for your review!

 _kira444:_ She will. We're working toward her learning about it now. It'll be good when it happens!

 _RHatch89:_ No more Baelish! I'm so glad that you're excited for this story! I'm excited too!

 _Lbuj:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope the chapter was worth it.

 _Guest1995:_ Don't worry, I have a plan for Lenora and Cersei. When they have their reunion, it won't be a cold shoulder. I'm so sorry though that I have crashed all of your hopes for the Baratheon/Lannister siblings in the span of two chapters. No reunion for Lenora with either of her siblings, but they did serve to help Cersei along to where I need her to be. Not only is she not able to protect her children, but she is now directly responsible for at least one of their deaths.  
As for Gendry and Lenora, I can personally guarantee that meeting. So you will have that to look forward to.

 _ZabuzasGirl:_ She won't marry Jon. I promise you that. Robb is it for her. I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as well.

 _StarkTeller:_ Those seemed to be everyone's favorite parts of the last chapter. Cersei going insane and Gendry's questions about Lenora. I'm strangely proud that I got you to the point where you wanted to cry! That means I did my job.  
That sounds like a lot of fun. I would have been right there with you, screaming for Robb Stark and Winterfell!

 _The Three Stoogies:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter!

 _HPun101:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter. And as always, a HUGE thank you for the compliment. I'm always a huge fan of hearing that my chapters are well written. It makes me smile. I was totally absent for way too long and I apologize for that.

 _darkwolf76:_ Can I start by saying that I love when you play catch up! Most people would just read all the updated chapters and review on the most recent update. But you review every chapter and I adore it. So thank you for that!  
And also, you're welcome for letting a direwolf be the one to kill Ramsay, I don't know why they didn't do that on the show, they've got ghost. For a show and a book that is all about symbolism, I feel like they really dropped the ball on that one, so I decided to make it right here.  
And while Lenora's reaction to Ramsay's death wasn't necessarily your cup of tea, I'm glad that it was well written. And the banter between Jon and Jaime. You're the only one that brought that up! So thank you for noticing that.  
Moving on to chapter 77. I'm glad you enjoyed Cersei's going crazy. It's a mix of the wine and a bit of my attempt at turning Cersei into a Lady Macbeth. She's seeing things, hearing voices. And it's just going to keep getting worse.  
Lenora got dark in that chapter too. She's trying to work her way out of it in this chapter, but you can kind of see based on her almost justification for Melisandre's actions. But she'll get there. Most likely with Robb's help.  
I'm glad you picked up on the fact that Lenora and Cersei were traveling down very similar paths in the last chapter. There was a reason for that.

 _Padfootette:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well!

 _JanaOliver:_ Thank you so much! I'm thrilled that you absolutely loved the last chapter! I hope that you enjoyed this one as well.

 _Gamemaster77:_ I almost cried when I read your thoughts on the Cersei part of the last chapter. You really think it was the best part of the story that I've ever written? That means so much! So thank you! I was very worried about that section so it was wonderful to hear/read that you enjoyed it.  
Blossoming bromances. Don't worry there will be more of it in the next chapter! I have such a soft spot for those two beautiful boys that they need to have a happy, wonderful bromance as soon as possible. And your review gave me an idea ... not sure if it will make it into the story, but I'm just imagining Tyrion, Lenora, and Jaime, all cozied up together with Tyrion telling them about Robb and Gendry, embellishing and making fun for the two guys while doing it.

 _ElderDragonSage:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

 _UnknownReaderHasJoined:_ I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and that it answered some questions for you. I've been playing this fun game of deciding which GoT deaths I want to keep and which ones I want to trade for someone else. Bran definitely got the short end of the stick for that one. You're right.  
All of your other questions will be answered in time, though I did answer your Shireen question by complete accident!

 _LorettaV:_ Thank you so much! Welcome to the review club and the binge club! I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! Thank you so much for letting me know! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as much as the other seventy-seven!

 _MusicismySoul87:_ Oh my goodness! Two days! Damn! And then because I'm an asshole I made you wait a month for an update. I'm sorry for that. I hope you enjoyed the chapter though!

 _ericaphoenix16:_ You're welcome! Thank you for reviewing!

 _Guest(1):_ Oh no! I'm so sorry that I made you wait so long! Life and Avengers got in the way. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that it helped to make at least some of the wait worth it.

 _Hannah-Hurricane:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm absolutely thrilled that you are enjoying this story so much! Thank you for reading, and also for reviewing! You are wonderful!

 _Lenora Stark:_ Ah! I love the name! That makes me so happy! I've missed you guys too!

 _Dray:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so much! As for who will rule the North (and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms) you will have to wait and see. Though I am thrilled that you are as happy with my portrayal of Jaime as you are ... he has always been one of my favorites.

 _JP:_ Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you are enjoying this story and the relationship I have created between Jaime and Lenora. I've got a few more twists planned for them, and I hope that you will enjoy them all.

 _Guest(2):_ I'm not gone for good. I promise! I won't do that to you guys. I might go away fro a bit, but I will always come back. I _have_ to finish this story.

 _unichick21:_ Here you go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though it will still be a bit before Lenora and Robb find each other!

That's all I've got for now friends!  
I will (hopefully) be back much sooner than last time!  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane

P.S. **Cavs in 7!**


	79. Chapter Seventy-Nine: Returned

_Read. Enjoy. Review. (The reading and enjoying are for you, the reviews are for me!)  
_ _I own Lenora Baratheon, nothing more._

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Ah! It's been so long and I have no excuse for it. Besides that this chapter was _really_ hard to write. It didn't seem to flow like I wanted it to and I kept trying to fit more and more into it and it didn't work.  
So, that being said, I have extended this story. It was originally 83 chapters, and then it was 84. And now it's 89. So, I know I made you guys wait a while (hopefully at least some of you are still here), but because of the wait I have given you five more chapters.  
That counts for something, right?  
Also ... just as a warning, there's some fun smut in this chapter. Just thought that I would tell you guys, in case anyone is sensitive about that kind of thing. (Not that it would make much sense, I imagine it is hard to be a fan of GoT or any kind of GoT fanfiction if you're sensitive about smut, but you never know.) So if you are, the final POV in this chapter ... you can pretty much skip over it. Yup, that's all for now.  
Enjoy.

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 _Chapter Seventy-Nine: Returned_

 _Robb_

It was just as he remembered it. The structures were all still standing, he could see the great keep and the great hall over the outer walls. The bell tower was there, the library tower had been rebuilt. The rookery and the Maester's tower. It was the home that he had grown up in, the home that he had been dreaming about since he had left. It was all so familiar, and yet, the longer he stared at it, the more foreign it seemed.

There were scorch marks on the old grey stone, remnants from when the Ironborn had set torch to the keep. Some of the stone on the walls and the high towers was newer, _someone_ had begun work to rebuild the keep.

His body reacted strangely to seeing Winterfell for the first time. There was a lightness in his chest, a feeling of relief at the realization that he was finally _home_. But his breathing came faster, in quick, short bursts. Winterfell was not the same, no matter how much he wished it to be. _He_ was not the same. What if, after everything that had happened within the keep, it did not belong to him anymore? What if, after everything that had happened to him, he did not belong to it anymore?

The imp spoke up then, giving him an unexpected comfort, "It's still your home, boy," the older man told him. "Dying and then coming back to life won't change that. Not for a Stark at least." There was the instinct to bristle at the comment, to take offense to the fact that the imp had called him _boy_ , but the instinct died quickly. He could not be angry with the man who had brought him here, the one who sought to give him comfort when he hadn't even known to ask for it.

As far as Lannisters went, Tyrion Lannister was not the worst of them. He _saw_ things, and what was more than that? He knew what to do to help without even asking. His anger at being called boy quickly settled into something close to gratitude.

He turned toward the man and nodded silently, hoping that he understood that he was grateful. Feeling grateful for a Lannister was one thing, voicing that gratitude was not something he was ready to do yet.

"Do you really think she's there?" Gendry asked from his other side, his grey eyes locked on the keep ahead of them. They were still a ways off, they had not even reached Wintertown yet, but they could all see Winterfell clearly, raised above them on the hill. He turned his head slightly, glancing at Robb and Tyrion with his left eye, while his right remained turned toward the keep in front of them. "You don't think that she has left or anything?"

Tyrion snorted, "It would be our luck for her to have left while we rode here," he told Gendry, his own gaze turning toward the castle before them. He watched it for a moment before he shook his head, "But I don't think so."

"Why not?" Robb asked, his heartbeat picking up in his chest. He had not thought that she might leave the keep. Until the imp had said something it had never occurred to him that they would arrive at Winterfell to find that she had left it. This entire time they had ridden north the thought of coming home to Winterfell and coming home to Lenora had been tied together. He could not separate them now. He would not.

Tyrion glanced at him, one of his eyebrows raised, he _saw_ him again, he saw the panic rising in his chest and once again he sought to stop it. His face softened, "You've heard the whispers on the road," he told them, both of the younger men. "No one has seen her since the battle between Jon Snow's forces and Ramsay Bolton's. She has stayed within the keep. But one thing everyone does know is that both Jon Snow and Lenora Baratheon have returned to Winterfell."

He turned, his intense gaze locking on Robb's face, "I do not pretend to know your brother better than you do, Stark, but I did spend some time with him while we rode to the Wall. I respect him, there was a time when I considered us friends. The Jon _I_ know would not let Lenora leave his side after everything that has happened."

Unbidden, the right corner of Robb's lips turned up into a smirk, "The Lenora _I_ know would never let Jon, or anyone else, tell her what to do."

Tyrion chuckled at that and nodded, admitting that Robb was correct in his assumption. "Very true," he agreed. "They are both very stubborn. I suppose we will have to see who won out, _your_ stubborn brother or _my_ stubborn niece."

Robb shook his head, the smirk still on his lips, "You're wrong in that, Lannister," he told the older man as his gaze turned back toward the great keep in front of them. "We will have to see who won out, _my_ stubborn brother or _my_ stubborn wife."

Something crossed over Tyrion's face at that statement, something that looked surprisingly like pride. Robb could not understand it, he knew how much Lenora meant to both of her uncles but Tyrion seemed proud of the fact that Robb had claimed Lenora, he seemed pleased that even after everything Robb still considered the woman his.

This mystery did not last for long. Tyrion smiled at him and nodded, "I knew you still cared for her," he told Robb softly. "Hearing you describe her to Gendry was enough to know that. But it is good to hear that you still want her. I had worried."

Robb shook his head, there was nothing the man needed to worry about, he would always belong to Lenora. He could die a thousand times, forget who he was, be at war with her family - he would always be hers.

And she would always be his.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

"Are you so set on leaving us that I cannot persuade you to stay one more day?" Sansa asked, looping her arm through Lenora's as the two women walked through the godswood. Lenora turned, her gaze landing on the young woman beside her. Sansa had grown so much since the first time they had met. When she first arrived at Winterfell Sansa had been a girl, dreaming about knights and ladies, shorter than Lenora, soft. But now she was a woman, not as naive as she had once been, so tall that Lenora had to look up at her, hardened by everything she had seen and done in order to survive.

She was no longer a younger sister, but a companion - an equal.

She interlaced her fingers with Sansa's and squeezed her hand gently, "I never thanked you," she told the girl. "For what you did after," she paused, looking for the right words, "after Littlefinger. I never thanked you."

Sansa smiled softly and inclined her head, "And I never thanked _you_ ," she countered. " _You_ were the one that was strong enough -"

"Stupid enough, you mean," Lenora interrupted.

" _Brave_ enough," Sansa corrected with a gentle smile that made her look so much like her mother that Lenora's chest tightened. "He was a danger to the Seven Kingdoms, he was a danger to everyone at Winterfell, to our family. And you were the only one who saw that clearly enough to do something about it." She sighed and shook her head, "You can thank me for coming to your aid, but it is unneeded, I know you would do the same for me, it is what sisters do for each other."

Lenora's chest tightened again, in their brief time together at Winterfell before the war had started she and Sansa had spent very little time together. Then they had been separated for nearly two years, they were together now, closer than ever, but it had never occurred to her that Sansa thought of her as a sister. The girl was kind, but more reserved in her affection than Jon or Arya. She shook her head, "Are we?" she asked, hating how surprised she sounded. She meant to sound confident, but her Lannister confidence had failed her. "Sisters?"

Sansa smiled at her and drew her closer to her side, "You were married to my brother," she told Lenora. "You _loved_ my brother. And he loved you. After everything that happened _you_ , your first thought was to find Arya and me, to bring us to Jon, to take back our home. You may have been born a Baratheon, but you are a Stark as far as I am concerned. You're a Stark and you are my sister."

Lenora watched the redheaded woman for a long moment before she sighed and shook her head, a smile found its way onto her lips as she whispered a quiet curse word, "Now I have to stay for at least a day," she told Sansa softly. "It would be unkind of me to leave after that."

Sansa smiled and nodded, "Good," she told Lenora as she turned them on the path so that they could head back toward the entrance to the godswood. "Arya and I stayed up all last night practicing our speeches, hoping that one of them would make you change your mind. We will need to tell her that you are staying before she starts in on hers."

A laugh escaped Lenora's lips as she shook her head, "Wicked girls," she teased, squeezing Sansa's hand to soften her words. She was quiet for a moment as her laughter ended and then she turned to Sansa, "You do understand that I will have to leave," she told the younger woman. "Sooner rather than later. The days are growing shorter, colder, Winter is coming and I need to be on my way to King's Landing when it does."

"Why?" Sansa asked, studying her intently. "What is waiting for you in King's Landing? Your mother?" Sansa shook her head, "I know that no matter what you will always love your mother," she told Lenora, forgiving her for the sentiment, "but she will not welcome you back with open arms. _Stay_. Stay here with us. I know Jon has asked you to stay and continue to be the Lady of Winterfell, Queen in the North. It's what you were meant for."

Lenora shook her head, "It's what _you_ were meant for, Sansa," she told the younger woman. She nodded toward the keep, appearing high above the walls that surrounded the Godswood, " _This_ was only ever meant for me when Robb was alive, when we were together. It doesn't belong to me, not anymore."

Sansa shook her head again, "You've been betrothed to Robb since you were a young girl, since your fifth nameday. You've been preparing for this nearly your entire life. Winterfell is your home. And it always will be."

Lenora squeezed the woman's hand, "I'll bear that in mind the next time I head north," she promised the redhead. "It is good to know that no matter what I will always have a place in the North to call home."

Sansa watched her closely, "It's your mother, isn't it?" she asked softly. "You're leaving because of your mother. It has nothing to do with whether or not you think you belong here. It isn't about Robb or me or Jon, or even you. It's because of your mother. You think that you have to stop her."

"I _know_ that I have to stop her," Lenora corrected. She stopped moving so that she could turn around and face Sansa. "You cannot tell me that during your time in King's Landing you did not realize that there was something wrong with my mother." She shook her head, "I don't know what's wrong with her, but all she has done in the last two years is cause harm to the Seven Kingdoms, it is time that someone put an end to it. It is time that someone saves her from herself."

"And you think it has to be you?" Sansa asked, getting straight to the point.

Lenora nodded, "I'm the only one who understands her," she told Sansa, hoping that the young woman would see why it had to be her. She could not keep having this conversation, first with Jaime and Jon and now with Sansa. It would break her if she had to have this conversation again with Arya. _This_ was why she had to leave, and soon. The sooner she left the less likely it was that the Starks would be able to change her mind.

Sansa watched her for a long moment before she nodded, "Arya will be upset," she told Lenora truthfully. "She's grown accustomed to having a large supply of teachers at her command. But when you leave your uncle, Bronn, the Hound, and Brienne leave with you. She'll have no one."

"She'll have Jon," Lenora countered. "I saw him on the battlefield, Sansa, she will not be lacking in a good tutor, trust me on that account."

Sansa smiled, she opened her mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by a long, loud, desperate howl. _Grey Wind._ Lenora turned toward the courtyard, tense, she could only imagine what the wolf had seen or smelled that would cause that sort of reaction from him. He had been quite quiet since Ramsay Bolton's death. "What's wrong with Grey Wind?" she murmured, turning to look at Sansa as if the younger woman might have the answer.

Sansa shrugged.

"Riders!" one of the scouts on the outer wall called out, warning the Winterfell inhabitants. "Three riders from the South!"

A moment later Jaime was running toward them, across the Godswood. His golden hair was disheveled, his cheeks were flushed, but his green eyes were bright. "Len!" he called to her, catching her attention. "Come with me. You'll want to see this."

He was excited. Whoever these three riders were, they did not pose a threat to those who lived within Winterfell's walls. Whoever they were, her uncle was excited about them. This could only mean one thing, Lenora glanced toward Sansa for a moment before she turned back toward Jaime. "Tyrion?" she asked him, her heartbeat picking up as she gathered her skirts in hand and began to move quickly toward her uncle.

Jaime grinned, a chuckle escaping his lips, "You always were more intelligent than I," he told her as he led her out of the wood. "You got that from him. I had to stare at the stunted rider through a spy glass for much longer than I'd like to admit before I realized it was him."

He took three steps backward and grabbed her hand, pulling her along behind him when she did not move fast enough. Lenora allowed a chuckle to escape her own lips. It was strange enough for her uncle Jaime to have found her outside of Winterfell after she had escaped from Ramsay. It was even stranger for Tyrion to have found her as well. How did he make it north all by himself? Who were the two other riders?

Jaime pulled her to the outer wall so that she could use the spyglass to look at them herself. Sure enough, the one on the right was short, stunted, a dwarf riding in a special saddle - one he had designed himself. Lenora felt her chest tighten at the thought of how uncomfortable the long ride must have been for him. It would have all been for her.

The one on the left was tall and strong. Built like a soldier. But his face, one that was blurry in the spyglass, they were still a great distance away after all, the features she could make out were young. She was sure that she had never seen him before in her life, but there was something about his broad shoulders, his strong chest, that felt _familiar_.

Sansa arrived on the wall, panting slightly from her run, just as Lenora turned the spyglass on the third rider. He was in the middle, riding slightly back from the other two. Unsure and hesitating. "Is it really your uncle?" Sansa panted out as she came to stand beside Lenora.

Lenora wanted to answer the girl, it was only polite. But she couldn't speak. She couldn't even nod. She felt stuck, frozen in place as she stared at the third rider.

It couldn't be. It wasn't possible. That was what she told herself in an attempt to slow her heartbeat down, but it wouldn't listen. It felt as though her heart was clawing at the inside of her throat, attempting to choke her. His face was blurry, but she was certain that she _knew_ the third rider. Certain that she had loved him.

She knew the way his shoulders would feel underneath her hands. She knew the way his arms would feel wrapped around her. She knew his heartbeat. She knew his voice. She knew the way he breathed. She knew _him_.

"Robb," she breathed, the spyglass dropping from her hands and clattering to the ground at her feet.

"Lenora no," Jaime countered, stepping quickly to her side, his hand falling down to her shoulders. He shook his head, "It's not possible, love," he told her gently. "Much as you want it to be, much as _I_ want it for you. It's not possible."

"Jon died and came back," Lenora argued, turning to look at her uncle. "It _is_ possible. Jon is _living_ proof of that."

"A red witch brought him back," Jaime told her, trying to soothe her, to quiet the excitement thrumming in her veins. "There would have had to be a red witch there at the Twins. You were there. Was there?"

"No," a quiet voice sounded from behind them. Lenora turned, not surprised to see Arya there. She had been following Jaime around since they had returned to Winterfell. "There was a red priest though, Thoros of Myr and a man that he brought back to life. _I_ saw it with my own eyes."

Lenora's heartbeat hammered in her ears. Beside her Jaime was trying to temper her, to bring her back down to earth, but in front of her was Arya, telling her that it _could_ be Robb.

She needed to _know_.

"I have to see," she told Jaime, pushing past him.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

She was running toward them. They had just ridden north of Wintertown when the south gate opened. He expected a group of guards, all on horseback to ride out, to surround their small group and escort them to the keep.

He might have even expected Lenora, with her blonde Lannister uncle and Jon riding at her sides.

What he had not expected was to see his small, stubborn wife, running down the hill toward them. He could hear Tyrion laughing beside him, but all he could see was her. Her brown hair flying behind her as she tripped over her gown and tumbled to the ground.

He felt his lips turn up at the corners as she pushed herself back up off the ground and continued running toward him. Riding would have been faster, but he dropped down from his horse and ran toward her. Tyrion, to his credit, stopped riding, he even reached out and grabbed the reins of Gendry's horse to keep the boy back so that Robb could see her first. Alone.

The space between them seemed to both stretch on for an eternity and disappear much too quickly. One moment he was convinced that he would never reach her, the next he didn't have enough time to decide what he wanted to say to her when he got to her.

His heart was in his throat blocking his breath, but it was also in his ears, thundering and louder than anything else around him. His feet were heavy, but he continued to run, like the winter wind colliding with Winterfell's walls and crashing waves hitting the shore. Like ravens soaring across bright, clear skies and a herd of horses racing through fields.

He didn't know what he was going to say to her when he reached her, he didn't even know if he would have the voice to say anything. This entire time he had been so focused on finding her, he had never thought of what would happen when he did. But it didn't matter. He didn't know much, but he knew one thing - _forward._ He had to keep running _forward_. Not stopping for anything.

Except her.

Except for Lenora.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

It wasn't until they were running across the field toward each other, almost within reach that she allowed herself to think about what would happen if she was wrong. If this man, with auburn hair and familiar shoulders was not Robb.

She felt a sob rise up in her throat and she swallowed, hard, forcing it back down. She had already lost him once, she could not lose him again now. It _had_ to be Robb. She would not survive this if it wasn't.

They were getting closer, she would be able to call out to him at any moment. But her throat was closing up, she could feel it. She was certain that when she opened her mouth she wouldn't be able to speak at all.

"Robb!" she gasped out, her voice little more than a whisper as she continued rushing forward in her desperate need to get to the man. "Robb!"

They crashed into each other with enough force to send her stumbling backward, her hands flew behind her, preparing herself for the fall that never came. His hands settled on her hips, holding her steady on her feet for a single moment before he pulled her forward, sending her crashing into his chest as his hands left her hips so that his arms could wrap around her, one arm around her waist, the other wrapped around the back of her neck, both working to keep her pressed against him.

And it was _him_. She knew it. He smelled different, but the way he held her was _so_ familiar _._ And she knew the way that he breathed, was so familiar with it that her own body was hurrying to move in time with his, her own chest rising and falling at the same rapid pace as his own. Her hands were pressed against his chest, pinned between their two bodies. She could feel his heart beating beneath her right hand.

A sob bubbled up in her throat, escaping her lips as she began to push against him. She didn't want him to move away from her, but she needed to be able to move her hands. She _needed_ to feel skin underneath her hands, warm and whole and _alive_. He seemed to understand what she needed without her saying the words because he loosened his grip just enough for her to move her hands off of his chest and onto his cheeks. "Robb," she gasped out, her voice barely a whisper the moment her hands touched his face. She couldn't look up at him yet, an irrational fear building in her that it wasn't him, that she would look up and the face in front of her would not be her husband's. "It can't be you," she whispered, though everything in her wanted it to be.

He chuckled, they were pinned so close together that she could feel his laughter building in his chest. It was deep and warm, just as she had always remembered it, though there was a hint of darkness, of steel that she did not recognize. "Look up, Nora," he whispered, his voice caressing her name as it always had. "Look up, and see for yourself."

 _It was him_.

-.-.-.-.-

 _Robb_

It was not fair. For months he had been set on finding her. For months he had known that he would see her again. It was not fair of him to show up unannounced like this with no warning. She did not have time to prepare. But Lenora was doing remarkably well, there were tears in her voice and she seemed half likely to persuade herself that he wasn't entirely real, but she had not fainted yet, as most ladies would.

Though he had expected as much. Lenora Baratheon was not like most ladies. She was stronger than that. She had survived on her own, and now she would survive this. With or without him, his Nora would have been alright.

Even with his own preparation, this was more difficult than he had anticipated. He felt his breath catch in his throat, tears blurring his own vision when the woman in his arms lifted her head off of his chest and brought her gaze to land on his face. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Her grey eyes were liquid silver as they scanned his face, looking for any injuries. She wouldn't find any there. He had injuries, plenty of them, but Walder Frey and Roose Bolton had left his face alone. Her eyes dropped down to his neck, checking for a scar that would not be there. No doubt she had heard the rumors that they had cut off his head and sewn on Grey Wind's in its place.

Her eyes lifted back to his own. It was odd, the feeling when their gaze met. He felt light. As if he could float to the sky. His breath found its way out of his mouth, escaping in a gush of air. His entire world seemed to shrink, until it was just him, until it was just her, until it was just _them_. There was a sharp pain in his chest, it almost made him wince, but it slowly faded, it felt as if his heart was finally beating again, as if it had been waiting for her to start again.

"It's you," she whispered softly, still staring at him, her hands pressed against his cheeks, holding him there in front of her just as much as he was holding her. It was of no use, she needn't have held him so. It had taken him months to get back to her, but now that he had arrived he did not plan on straying. He would follow her to the ends of the earth. She would never be without him again.

He smiled, a rueful twist of his lips as he turned his head to press a kiss against the inside of her palm. "It's me, Nora," he whispered against her palm, kissing the soft skin after each word. "It's me. I'm here."

It was those words that did it. Those words that broke her. Her hands faltered against his face, almost falling away before she brought them back, pressing tighter against him as if to make sure that he was truly there, to make sure that she had not simply dreamed him up in her desperation to see him. The tears that had turned her eyes liquid silver were now sliding down her cheeks, dripping off of her chin. When she inhaled it was shaky and broken. "I thought I had lost you," she whispered, even her quiet tone rough with emotion.

"Oh love," Robb told her, reaching up to wiper her tears away. "You never could have. And you never will. I made you a vow."

Her smile was timid, as if she was uncertain that she would be allowed to smile at all, a giggle bubbled up in her throat, but died on her lips. "But I saw -" she started.

Robb shook his head, "Do not think on what you saw," he told her, leaning forward so that he could press his lips against her forehead. He had been with her for too long without kissing her, it was her lips he wanted, but he would not rush her. This would be difficult. "I am here. That is all you need to know." It wasn't all she needed to know, but it was enough. For now.

She seemed to agree because she took a deep breath and nodded, still staring up at him as if he were about to disappear.

From behind them he could hear the dwarf chuckle, "Are you going to stand there all day and talk to her or are you going to kiss her, boy?" the dwarf taunted. "I thought you wolves were brave."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Tyrion_

He felt Gendry stir beside him as the Stark boy finally leaned down to press his lips against Lenora's He knew that the boy beside him was growing impatient, that he had been longing to meet his sister since they left King's Landing together. He was too, he had been separated from his niece for too long. He knew, bone deep, how the young bastard boy felt, but he still reached out, his hand landing on Gendry's shoulder in an attempt to still him, to keep him from riding forward and interrupting the scene unfolding in front of them.

"Leave it for now, boy," he instructed him. "No doubt she will want to meet you, but now is not the time for it."

Gendry turned to look at him, his brows furrowed, "Do you not want to see her, Lannister?" he asked, tempting the older man.

Tyrion nodded, "Of course I do," he assured the boy. "But look at them," he nodded toward Robb and Lenora who were still kissing. "Now is not the time for bastard brothers or dwarf uncles. Now is the time for the two of them." His gaze moved on, drifting over the couple toward Winterfell rising against the grey sky behind them. "Though, I daresay there are people in that keep that will have time for the two of us."

He was thinking of Jaime. Perhaps even Jon. He doubted that Sansa would care to see him, but a man could hope. And as for Gendry, during their travels the boy had told him many stories about his travels with the youngest Stark girl, Arya. He did not doubt that Arya would want to see the boy.

Gendry seemed to understand that Tyrion meant that Arya would be waiting for him. He shook his head. "We did not leave on the friendliest of terms," he told Tyrion honestly. Tyrion turned to look at the boy, his eyebrows raised, the boy was making excuses, the truth of it all was that he was afraid. Gendry sighed, no doubt understanding Tyrion's silent judgement. He glanced back toward Robb and Lenora. "She'll want to see her brother," he tried again.

Tyrion chuckled, "And it will be the same for him as it is for Lenora. Now is not the time for little sisters, wild or ladylike, or bastard brothers named Lord of the keep. Now, _tonight_ , there is only time for _her_. She might want to see her brother, and he'll want to see her, but _they_ need to spend time reacquainting themselves with each other. Tomorrow the Starks will all shut themselves away for their reunion and she'll come to see me, and perhaps even you, but tonight - they'll only see each other."

He turned once more, watching his niece for another moment before he glanced at Gendry and smirked. "You are the son of Robert Baratheon," he told the boy. "You are supposed to be of braver stock too. Do not let yourself be frightened by a little girl."

Gendry snorted, "How long has it been since you saw Arya Stark, my Lord?" he asked, half-jesting. "There is much to be frightened of."

-.-.-.-.-

 _Lenora_

She supposed that they passed her uncle, his sisters, Jon. She could not remember, it had been impossible for her to look away from his face as he held her, pinned tight to his side, and dragged her through the keep. If they had passed anyone it was rude of them not to stop, but she was so thankful that they didn't. All she could think of was _him_.

She was so wrapped up in him, what he looked like, what he smelled like, what he felt like, warm and alive next to her that she didn't even notice that he had pulled her to his old bed chamber until they had already entered the room and the door slammed shut behind them. It was only then, looking around that she realized where she was.

For a moment she panicked, her heartbeat quickened, her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide as she glanced around the room, looking for Ramsay. But he wasn't there, only his ghost, and a moment later Robb was in front of her, pressing her back against the door, smelling of the Wolf's wood in the rain and leather and _so_ much like the past that her eyes filled with tears.

 _This_ was everything she had wanted since the day of the wedding at the Twins, everything she had hoped for and now she was terrified the she was imagining it all.

The only reason she was aware that the tears had spilled from her eyes and begun to slip down her cheeks was when Robb's lips landed on her skin, kissing the tears away. "I'm right here, Nora," he whispered to her without pulling away. "I'm right here."

"What if you're not," she whispered to him, terrified that she had imagined it all, her escape from Winterfell, finding Jon at Castle Black, the battle, Ramsay's death. What if it was all her imagination? What if she gave into it and the next morning when she woke up she would be back in reality, with Ramsay breathing down the back of her neck?

"I am," he told her, pressing his hips forward, into her, as if that could convince her of the truth. "I swear it." He kissed her again, this time his lips fell onto hers, he moved his lips against hers, slow and familiar, all their previous rush from their trip through the keep forgotten. As if by showing her that they had all the time in the world he would be able to convince her that he was there to stay. "Open your eyes, Nora," he bid her again when he pulled away from her. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, her grey eyes locking onto his blue ones, and then she nodded. Robb nodded too before he lowered his lips back to her own. "Keep your eyes open," he ordered, his lips moving against hers with each word. His hand lifted to her face, his thumb gently pressed down on her chin to open her mouth and let his tongue dip inside slowly, teasing her.

Her eyes closed when a low moan vibrated in her throat. This couldn't be her imagination, it was too real. Too familiar. And too foreign. All at the same time. She forced her eyes open again as she lifted her own hands to the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his auburn hair as her kisses grew bolder. His left hand lifted to her head, wrapping around her dark hair and clenching it into his fist. He pulled gently on her hair, pulling her head back as he moved away from her mouth, his lips working their way over her jaw to her throat.

"Robb," she whispered, breathless as he moved down to the skin above her collarbone, sucking the skin into his mouth for a moment before he released it. She waited until he lifted his face from her skin and looked at her, his own eyes wide with desire, his gaze drifting over her body as if she was not the only one who needed to assure themselves that they were together. " _Please_."

His blue eyes darkened, his jaw clenched. There was something _cold_ in him that she didn't recognize. If all of this was real, if Robb really was there in front of her, there was something about him that was unfamiliar. Something in him had changed. But she could not fault him for it, she had changed as well. They were both different. She would not allow this difference stop them from knowing each other. Not tonight.

Slowly, as if it were painful for him to look away from her he turned his gaze toward his bed. She watched it too, over his shoulder, waiting for the panic to set in again. But it did not come. This chamber and that bed were no longer frightening to her, not as long as he was with her.

His hands slipped from her hair, falling to her hands. He lifted each of her hands up, pressing a kiss against the inside of each palm, before he interlaced their fingers and turned, leading her toward the bed.

When they were standing next to it, he pulled her to him, kissing her swiftly before he lowered her onto the mattress, following quickly behind her, covering her body with his own. She forced a smile onto her lips when he braced himself on one elbow, lifting his free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear so that he could see her face.

She looked into his eyes, expecting the softness she had come to expect whenever he looked at her, but his blue eyes were still steely and cold. She swallowed. He must have sensed her fear because he blinked and the ice disappeared, his gaze warm and soft again as he leaned down and brushed his lips to hers, his tongue peeking out to flit against her top lip.

Without any hesitation she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to dip inside again. He groaned into her mouth, his hips pressing down against hers, when she brought her tongue to meet his, battling for dominance. She lifted her right leg, hooking it around his waist to keep him close as her hands fisted into his jerkin, pulling him closer.

He pulled back until he was sitting, dragging her with him. One of his hands reached behind him to keep her leg hooked around his waist, while the other reached behind her, untying the laces on her dress so that he could take it off. Lenora helped him, the moment the laces were undone she pulled her arms out of the sleeves and hastily pushed the fabric down to her waist, baring her chest to him.

He smiled at her urgency, but she could feel his own desire pressed against the inside of her thigh. He smiled, but he did not fault her for it. He was feeling the same sense of hurry. He reached down between them, pushing the fabric of her dress over her hips, the fabric tearing in his urgency. She winced at the noise, remembering the night she had been forced to marry Ramsay, he had ripped her dress too.

Her thoughts were quickly pulled back to Robb when his lips fell to her own again. _He_ was not Ramsay. _This_ was not that night. She reminded herself of that as she kissed him back, her hands lifting to his jerkin so that she could help him take it off, quickly followed by his shirt, and his pants.

Before long there was nothing between them, they were pressed together, skin to skin. And tears were filling her eyes again when she realized how long it had been since they were together.

He kissed the tip of her nose, her cheeks, her lips, her chin. He was working his way down her body and she smiled when she realized where he was going. As his lips worked their way down her throat, his left hand left her hip and began to slide up her stomach. Even though she knew what he intended, she still gasped, her back arched, when his lips fell to her breast, his mouth enveloping her nipple while his fingers teased the other.

When his teeth grazed her nipple, biting down gently, she cried out, her leg tightening around his waist, pulling him closer to her as her hips rolled against him. He released her nipple, his tongue lapping against it, soothing it. Then he switched, administering the same attention to her other breast as her hands moved down his back, dancing down his spine.

Just as her hand was going to slip over his back and between them, he reached back, his grip closing around her wrist. "Not yet," he whispered to her, shaking his head. He squeezed her wrist again, a silent warning before he released her wrist and allowed his own hand to travel down, tickling over her stomach before sliding down to the apex of her legs.

Her thighs tightened instinctively, but he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. She took a deep breath and relaxed as his fingertips moved lower. She watched him, her gaze heavy as he caressed up, his index finger slipping into her folds. She could tell that he had meant to tease her, that even he had been surprised at how wet she was, how ready she was for him. She saw his jaw clench as he held back a moan, withdrawing his finger for just a moment before he allowed two to slide into her, separating them once they were deep inside of her in an attempt to stretch her out for him.

She rocked her hips against his fingers, answering his moan with one of her own. His lips landed on her own, his tongue darting into her mouth, chasing after her moan as if he meant to taste it as his fingers continued their slow, torturous dance, sliding in and out of her.

Soon, it was too much for either of them. He pulled his fingers out of her, reaching up with both of his hands to cup her face and press deep, desperate kiss to her lips before he reached down between the two of them, lining himself up against her. His tip was pressed against her opening and when she rolled her hips against him he began to slide inside.

Her inhale came sharply. His fingers had not been enough to prepare her for his thick, swollen length, it had been so long since they were last together. He pressed a kiss against her lips, a comfort, before he took hold of both of her hands and threaded their fingers together. Another kiss against her forehead as he raised their hands above her head, holding them, pinning them down to the mattress as he finished pushing forward, buried inside of her.

It hurt. It felt strange. And yet it felt _right_ and _familiar._ She knew that the discomfort would go away soon enough and so even when he paused, an attempt to help her recover, she rolled her hips against his and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her own hips lifting slightly off of the mattress in order to do so.

When he still did not move she glanced up at him, expecting to see him watching her, waiting for her to tell him to go ahead. What she found was something entirely different. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched. He looked as though he were fighting some internal battle, one that she was not privy too.

"Robb?" she asked him, wriggling one of her hands free from his grasp and reaching up to cup his cheek with her hand. He winched slightly at the sound of her voice, but she did not allow that to hurt her. He did not seem to mind her voice, it was more as though it surprised him. "I'm right here, Robb," she promised him. "Look at me."

His eyes opened at her command and he stared down at her for a moment. Then he nodded, "Your here," he agreed, turning his head to press a kiss against her palm. "Right where you belong."

She nodded, "Right were I belong," she agreed with him, rolling her hips against his with each word.

And _finally_ , finally he began moving. He rocked forward, thrusting into her with a slow, steady pace. She nodded, never taking her eyes off of him as her hips rose to meet each push, twisting her hips as he pulled out of her. She wouldn't close her eyes, that much she was certain of. She would keep her eyes on him the entire time, if only to ensure that this was real.

That _he_ was real.

He began to stroke into her harder, pressing his hips down, to grind against her, quickening his pace as her fingers tightened around him. "Robb," she whispered as her body started to tremble.

He continued his pace as he let go of her hands only to allow one of his arms to slip underneath her. He lifted them, so that he was kneeling on the bed, holding her up as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tightened her legs around his waist. The next time he thrust it was at a new angle, he hit something deep within her that caused a cry to escape her lips as she tightened against him, finding her finish just as he found his own and spilled himself inside of her. Her name on his lips.

For a moment they remained still, wrapped tightly around each other. Their foreheads pressed together, their chests rising and falling rapidly, their eyes closed.

They opened their eyes at the same time, each of them seeking reassurance that the other was there, that they had not imagined what had just happened.

Lenora smiled at him, warm, and suddenly tired as he allowed his grip on her body to loosen enough for her to slide away from him, to lay down on the mattress behind her. A moment later he followed, laying on his side, using his arm as a pillow as he watched her, his blue eyes dancing over her face, memorizing her.

"You're taking all of this very well, Nora," he mused, leaning forward to press a kiss against her forehead. She arched an eyebrow at him, silently wondering _what_ she was taking so well. He smiled, "My coming back from the dead," he clarified.

She shrugged as she shifted closet to him, pushing him onto his back so that she could curl into him, her head on his chest, her ear above his heart so that she could hear his heartbeat for herself. "You are not the first dead man returned to life that I have met in my lifetime, Robb Stark," she told him, keeping her voice light.

He chuckled, thinking that she was joking. "No?" he asked her, disbelieving. "And who else have you met, love?"

"You should talk to Jon tomorrow," she told him, turning her head slightly to press her lips against his chest. "And after that I will take you to the Gods Wood, there's someone there you will want to see."

She heard Robb's intake of breath as he opened his mouth, prepared to ask her who could be waiting for him in the Gods Wood. But the answer came before the question, as if the wolf could hear their whispered conversation from where he was in the wood. Robb's question was interrupted before it could begin by a loud, seemingly unending howl from outside the chamber. Lenora felt her lips turn up at the corners, this one was so different from the others, not sad and haunted, but triumphant.

He knew his master had returned.

Robb's hand fell to her back, rubbing up and down her spine. "I thought it would be harder," he told her quietly, a whisper, to come home. "But it feels as if nothing has changed."

Lenora felt her lips twist up into a bitter smirk, plenty of things had changed, but she did not have the heart to tell him any of it. Instead she turned her head, pressing another kiss against the warm skin on his chest. "Thank you," she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his skin with each word.

"For what?" Robb asked, his hand stilling on her back.

"For finding me."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss against the top of her head. "I'll always find you, Nora," he promised. And she knew, bone deep, that he meant it.

* * *

Author's Note:

There you have it. The big, long awaited reunion. I hope that it was worth the wait. There is still much that Robb and Lenora will have to work through, but for now, at least, they are happy. They are together. They are in love.  
What did you think? (I'll just be sitting here with my fingers crossed, hoping that you loved it!) Please let me know in your review!  
Speaking of reviews ... a **HUGE** thank you to everyone who has reviewed the last chapter and waited (somewhat) patiently for this new update. **YOU** are the reason that I keep writing. I'm not even kidding. This story has **895** reviews! That is amazing! So thank you, thank you, thank you for each and every one of them!

 _RHatch89:_ Thank you friend! I hope that this (long awaited) update was just as enjoyable!

 _The Three Stoogies:_ Thank you so much! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one too! The move south got postponed a bit, but I suppose you cannot blame Lenora for that.

 _ZabuzasGirl:_ Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter!

 _HPuni101:_ I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! There is still a bit before the mother/daughter reunion, but I hope the reunion in the chapter and the ones that are sure to follow in the next will tide you over until then. But I think it is safe to imagine that she will have many allies when she finally makes her stand. As for the Twins ... you will have to wait and see. :)

 _purple-pygmy-puff16:_ Sadly, my Avengers stories are not published anywhere yet. They are still trapped on my computer where they will stay until they are perfect. But they are coming (probably after I finish this one), but that might change.

 _StarkTeller:_ I'm happy to hear that the last chapter was a breath of fresh air for you! I hope this one was equally as refreshing. (There was a whole lot of Robb in it ... and a whole lot of Robb and Lenora ...) I forgot how much I enjoyed writing them together. This felt a lot like coming home for me. I hope that it felt like coming home to you guys too!  
Ah! Avengers! I saw it like four times opening weekend and I balled like a baby all four times. It was AMAZING!

 _Pinkbeachlulu:_ Aww! Well then, I hope that this alert was a welcome one! I'm sorry it took so long, summer's always a busy time for me, but I'm going to try to update at least once a month if not more. You wanted to hear from Robb? You wanted a reunion? Your wish is granted! I hope that you enjoyed it!

 _JanaOliver:_ I hope that this chapter was another perfect end to your weekend as well! Apparently Sunday's are my new update days! I'm so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well! Thank you so much for reading (and reviewing!)

 _MaddHatt:_ Oh that's dangerous! Because if every chapter is better than the last, eventually I'm going to reach the top of that mountain the chapters will just coast (or worse ... get worse!) But I'm so glad that you've been enjoying them so far and I hope that this chapter does not disappoint. I'm glad you're enjoying the relationships between the characters, especially Jon and Lenora (I figure that they are about the same age). They're some of my favorites.

 _darkwolf76:_ Hello friend! I love reading your reviews because you pick up on things that a lot of people don't. There was a reason that both Lenora and Cersei were featured in the last chapter. It was so that people could see the difference between how they recovered. And you saw that! So thank you!  
And I'm glad you like my depiction of Cersei better than the show. That was one of my complaints when Tommen died on the show, she was clearly insane (both on the show and in this story) so of course she might not feel his death like one would expect a mother to, but the show kind of glossed over most of her pain and instead crowned her in some triumphant moment for her. Of course it is triumphant, but it came at the expense of her son and I wanted to make sure to drive that point home.  
Next chapter we'll get to see how Robb and Jon interact after everything that has happened. But knowing those two, it won't be nearly as dramatic as when Cersei and Lenora meet again, honestly, I could see either of the boys basically just handing the crown over. So we'll have to see.  
As for your question, I don't think this story will have a sequel. With the extra six chapters I've added, and how I've changes some things around in my story plans, this one is going to end (in ten chapters) fairly neatly, not completely, but it's Game of Thrones so I can't be blamed for that. But depending on the ending, and the response to it, I might be persuaded to write a sequel. I know that after all of this, I'm going to need a bit of a break, some time to breathe before coming back to Robb and Lenora, but I might miss them. (correction: I will miss them.)

 _Guest (1):_ Oh! I made you wait forever! I'm so sorry! But finally, they have reunited. What did you think? I hope you loved it!

 _dvali:_ Thank you dear! I'm glad that you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope that you enjoyed this one as well! I'm so happy that you enjoy my writing (every time I hear that I'm honestly a bit surprised, you guys have been wonderful in boosting my confidence!). As for Lenora and Cersei ... there will definitely be a reunion. And it's going to be AMAZING! I promise!  
A song of Fire and Gold will be updated. I promise. Right now I'm focusing all of my GoT writing energy on this story, but that one will not be forgotten!

 _Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967:_ Thank you! I hope you loved this one too!

 _Arianna Le Fay:_ The North could follow Lenora, but I don't think she would ask them too. Right now what she is battling is that she does not feel like she belongs to the North, no matter what the Starks say. And after Ramsay ... she might not want to. And yes ... Cersei can't be queen with Lenora alive, but no one has told her that yet. :)

 _Prodriguez123:_ Awww! I'm so happy to hear that. You seriously have no idea how much it means to read that you guys are enjoying this story, or that it is some people's favorite GoT fanfiction. I started this story because I was sick of reading ill-thought out, cliched, boring Robb/OC fanfictions - so it was mostly for me. I thought it would get a few readers, but everyone's response to it has been so much more than I imagined. So thank you! I hope that you enjoyed the reunion and that it was worth the wait!

 _Padfootette:_ I'm so glad you loved the last chapter! Did you love this one too?

 _Guest (2):_ NO! I could never have done that! From the very beginning (despite the poll on my homepage meant to throw people off the scent) Lenora and Jon were never going to be together. They were going to have a strong brother/sister relationship from the start. This was always about Robb and Lenora. So, I'm thrilled that you're enjoying it and that you love Lenora as much as I do!

 _PsychoBeachGirl88:_ I'm so happy that you enjoyed the last chapter! I'm also thrilled that no one saw Tommen being in the Sept until we got there. In the show Cersei is very much to blame for her son's death, but here, for my own selfish purposes I wanted to make it very clear that Cersei was entirely at fault, even if she didn't mean for him to die. Her son died as a direct result of one of her actions. And that's going to play with her mind for the rest of this story. As for the Twins, that's going to be exciting too! I can't wait for you guys to see how it plays out!

 _Guest1995:_ Glad to be back my friend! Even though it was another month between updates! I have been reading and rereading reviews whenever I had a chance and they have been a great motivation to keep coming back to this chapter. Even when it proved to be more difficult than I wanted it to be!  
I hope that Robb and Lenora's reunion (or at least the beginning of it) was everything you hoped it would be! And Gendry and Lenora? That's in the next chapter and I've already written at least that part of the chapter because it was supposed to happen in this one, but Robb and Lenora kind of ran away with me. Ditto for Lenora and Tyrion!  
Thank you so much for your review and support! I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much!

 _unichick21:_ Don't worry about the Spicers, they'll get what's coming to them. They were under house arrest, but with Robb's death they were left to their own devices again. Lenora will soon find out that it was not her fault that she could not get pregnant, and when she does ... the proverbial shit will hit the fan for several houses in the Seven Kingdoms.

 _adidi778:_ Aww! Thank you! I'm so glad that you are enjoying this story and that Lenora feels like she could be canon. As far as I am concerned that is the only way an OC should feel. They need to change things, but they also need to blend in enough that when you watch an episode you look for them! So I'm thrilled to hear that you sometimes wonder where she is!  
As for Cersei and her descent into madness. It came quickly, but I feel like that was always the way it would go with her. Ever since the beginning when she tried to kill Lenora, it's been waiting just under the surface for her. Between the death of Joffrey, her father, Jaime leaving her (even though she ordered him to, she felt like he would fight her on it and he didn't so that would feel like a betrayal) and then Myrcella's death - those were all triggers. Pair that with the drinking, and the fact that she has no one there to tell her no, to speak reason to her ... it progressed quickly, but still hopefully somewhat naturally.  
As for Robb, you'll have to wait and see what sort of trouble that causes for the North.

 _ericaphoenix16:_ You're welcome friend! I'm sorry it took so long for this update to come out as well, but I hope that it was at least sort of worth the wait!

 _shinigami-karin:_ Hello Alex! Thank you so much for your review! I'm glad that you're enjoying this story so far and I am only too happy to give you more of it! And I'm so glad that Lenora is one of your favorite OCs. That is really amazing to hear! You asked for a reunion and I gave you one! I hope you enjoyed it!

 _Guest (3):_ Here you go! The next installment of this story! I hope you enjoyed it!

 _Guest (4):_ I missed you guys too! Trust me, I didn't spend the last month running around saying "screw this story!" I thought about it every day, sat down and wrestled with it whenever I could. And swore every time I read a new review that I would most definitely come back!

 _ReyloLove:_ Hello new friend! I'm so glad that you have enjoyed this story so far! And as always, I'm thrilled to learn about another binge reader! (Those are some of my favorite kind of readers!) StarkTeller told you about this story? Aww! That is very sweet! She's a favorite of mine as well! I'm so glad that she recommended it to you and that you took a chance on it!

 _Guest (5):_ Aww! Well, you are the sweetest! I don't think anyone has ever wished one of my stories a happy birthday! Thank you so much! Damn this story is two years old already? Time flies!

 _Guest (6):_ Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

 _sltsky96:_ I'm so glad that you enjoy Jon and Lenora's interactions. There's been a lot more of them than I originally planned because of how much I love the two of them together (in a completely non-romantic, platonic way) so it's great to hear that other people are enjoying them too!  
GOOD! You should be feeling anxiety over Lenora and Cersei's reunion. It's going to be a shit show! In the best (and possibly worst) way possible. But it's one of those bright, shining points in this story that keeps me motivated to keep going because it's going to be fantastic. Even with Jaime and his one hand. :)  
That is one of my favorite things about this story. It's a Robb/Lenora story. Even when Robb was dead Lenora still clearly loved him. But when you think about it and do the math, they've really only been together for like half the story. So, as much as this story is about Robb and Lenora, it's also really just about her.  
But they're finally back together and I hope that it was fantastic.  
And hopefully it won't take either of us a month to update/review again!

 _Guest (7):_ That is actually exactly what I did. I spent the last couple evenings watching episodes from season 1 to remind me why I loved this story so much! and then yesterday and this morning ... I finished this chapter!

 _Guest (8):_ I DID NOT LIE WHEN I SAID I WAS FINISHING THIS STORY! The wait between chapters might be a bit long, but the next one will always come! I promise!

 _Guest (9):_ I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story! And I hope that you enjoyed this chapter as well!

That's all I've got for now friends. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
Please let me know!  
Now, I'm going to throw myself into fanfiction writing to distract myself from # **LebronWatch** because I will not be able to take it if he leaves us for the damn Lakers.  
Until next time,  
Chloe Jane.


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